Chapter 14
Fox
We hadn’t said many words after that, and the exhaustion of the day, at least for me? I fell asleep in his arms, him still half on top of me. His spunk seeping out of my arse, leaving me sticky and a little sore.
I didn’t care. I didn’t mind. This shitty day had completely drained me, but it had been worth it, for every ill-judged part of the finale.
I wasn’t sure if I’d given him his lovemaking, but instead?
He’d fucked the living daylights out of me, and apparently I could orgasm from him just staring at me.
Who the hell would have thought? That was a new first. I wanted to tell him that, but it was dark outside and the world was quiet.
Just the sound of waves somewhere in the background, my body still tangled with his. Like he couldn’t bear to let me go.
He snored gently, and that to me only made him more endearing. My lips were close enough that I could kiss his shoulder. Touch his skin with my mouth.
Having spent most of yesterday in my room, in silence and solitude, I had weirdly felt relief.
A niggling realisation that I would survive this.
All I needed to do was go back to my own space and sleep alone in my bed, and I would be fine.
I could sit on my balcony, enjoy drinks from the bar downstairs, and simply exist for the next couple of days.
I had books to read, my laptop back on charge, and I could just…
It was what I had intended to do anyway, sit in silence and peace and allow myself some rest. Not find the first bloke I’d laid eyes on and fuck him senseless. Also? Yes. I’d got drunk, burnt my skin and now I was lying underneath some stranger who…
I couldn’t lie to myself. I barely knew him, but I felt like I did. I wasn’t in love with him, but why did it feel like I was? And why wasn’t I getting up and doing the right thing? Walking away?
The thoughts in my head swirled like small, silent hurricanes, making me anxious. I needed to do this right. Because the one thing I knew? If I had to survive this? The thing I couldn’t survive would be saying goodbye. Knowing it was final. That was something I didn’t want to live through.
Decision made in my head? I just needed my body to cooperate.
Which it did. Because I was reasonable and responsible, and the first thing I needed to do was book myself in for a health check with the sexual health clinic in Glasgow, which meant I had things to do for the week when I got back.
On top of the work that was waiting for me, and the start of term, I had twenty-eight new boarders to welcome, and the room assignments were still not finalised and…
He didn’t wake up as I slid out of bed, detouring to the bathroom just in case he woke up.
Snoring. Soft and exhausted. His day had no doubt been as wrought with worry as mine had been. I was just solving both our problems, swiftly and easily. A cut with a sharp knife. The bleeding would stop, and we’d both move on with our lives.
Clothes on. No shoes. I’d brought back his one Croc, and whatever items of his I’d worn. My own flip-flops felt harsh against my foot, but bearable.
I swallowed a breath. Then stood there and watched the scene I was leaving behind.
His arm over the pillow. The curvature of his back.
His bare arse and gently raised leg. Those gentle feet of his.
I smiled, remembering how he walked. Careful and silent against the hard floors.
His smile as he watched me. I had to close my eyes for a second.
Just go, I thought to myself. So I did. I slid out the door and closed it gently behind me. Let that little click of the lock be the final nail in this sordid rebound.
Because that was what it had been. I had to make peace with that.
Then I did exactly what I set out to do. I stayed in my room. Drank water from the tap. Cried for hours. Didn’t even open my laptop. I did sit on the balcony, if only to stare at the horizon and wonder if I truly was as crazy as this seemed.
The next time I allowed myself to relax was when the plane took off, to return me to the place I belonged.
Home.
It was fine. Everything was fine. And forty-eight hours later, my taxi dropped me off at the gates, where Jones, our trusty security guard, greeted me with a smile and a stern clap on my shoulder.
“Not the same without you, sir. Welcome back.”
Yes, I could have once again told him that we were off term and Mr Riley was perfectly acceptable, but Jones was part of this place as much as I was.
Ten years of it. Perhaps from the outside, Kilmartin School looked dark and imposing, like a haunted castle full of bad vibes set against the backdrop of the Scottish Highlands.
The grey shadows cast from the mountains a constant backdrop to the black stone and gravel.
The pine trees surrounding us. Dark, damp and wet.
The perfect setting for depression. For me, maybe once it had been, but where I, too, had once been intimidated by the large buildings and ornate steps, the gravel crunching alarmingly under my feet.
Now it was just home. And these days, I appreciated the sunshine, the fields, the bleating of sheep and the many farm animals that now inhabited our courtyard.
In term time? The courtyard would have been full of students, teachers and staff.
Off term? We housed a small number of permanent boarders, as well as visiting exchange students and summer school groups.
If I remembered rightly, we should have a group of forty Italian students in Summer House, and everyone else should be at afternoon tea.
Apart from all the chickens pecking around in the gravel, the dog from Autumn House skirting across the back, barking at Spring House’s mutt, and yes, chasing one of our many cats.
We had that here, synergy with nature, and I smiled like I was reading that straight from our school website.
A well-rounded education. A future full of experiences and companionship and…
snacks. Snacks and togetherness were important.
Nobody missed afternoon tea, because if we did?
Cook would have us hauled in and demand explanations over our disrespect of her baking efforts.
Mrs Cook. That was actually her name, so Cook it was.
I actually loved her, since she was the closest thing to a mother I had, and on top of that?
I was jet-lagged and tired and starving.
“Riley!” I hadn’t even got inside the heavy oak doors leading to the main school building before I was getting roped in to work.
Ms Blessing, Emma, my second-in-command.
“Riley, good to have you back. I need you in the office; we’ve had a few issues come up.
” She held the doors open for me, allowing me in before looking me up and down.
“I was expecting a tan. Suppose it’s a healthy glow. Good for you.”
What was I supposed to say to that? Thank you? But then Emma was a solid companion here, and I trusted her. If something had come up? It meant I needed to get involved.
“I’ll need a hot drink and a sandwich,” I huffed out, the cold corridor greeting us with its special vibe of musty cold darkness.
It was on my list to have more lighting installed in here, but we were an old historical building and the flickering lightbulbs may have been low energy and approved by our sustainability board, but for heaven’s sake.
It was freezing inside, and it was still summer.
“You need to go get a jumper and your robes, Riley,” Emma said, smiling at me. “Get into work mode again, you’re not on your hols anymore, babe.”
“Babe.” I grinned. “We’re a professional school, Ms Blessing.”
“Out of term,” she huffed. “Babe.”
“So,” I ground out as we entered our school office.
Another large room, an open fire, unlit I had to add, and several large desks with a backdrop of bookshelves full of files and folders.
Books. A glass display housing our many awards.
The walls housing all of mine. Teaching certificates.
First aid certificates. Safeguarding lead.
Headmasters award… It all brought me back down to earth.
I wasn’t special. Neither of us were. We might have been charging thousands in term fees, and our uniform alone set our students back over ten thousand pounds per year, but where this school had once lined its coffers and padded our trustees’ wallets, we no longer did.
We were not a charity, but we looked after our students.
Their fees paid for the upkeep of the building, our teachers, our outgoings, but they also paid for improvements for everyone who called this home.
The rooms were now all private, the housemasters on a rotating schedule to ensure adults were at hand twenty-four hours a day, and the animals?
Yes, it had been a pipe dream, and the allergy issues and the health and safety and we were an academic school and all of that?
The animals made a difference, even for me.
I laughed as Summer, the golden retriever from Summer House, casually walked through the door and made herself at home on the armchair in the corner.
Which immediately made me think of armchairs. Floral ones. Noah Fairweather. SHUT UP!
“Talk to me,” I said, taking a seat at my desk, sighing over the pile of paperwork in front of me.
Mail. Proposals. Exam results. Hours of sorting through ahead.
Perhaps I should go take a nap, and I definitely needed food.
Work, though? This wasn’t a nine-to-five gig.
This was my home, and the home of the kids who lived here.
The teachers and staff who were my responsibility.
Mine. Twenty-four seven. I took it seriously and in return? I got this.
“Social services in Aberdeen rang yesterday, and they asked if we’d be willing to take a twelve-year-old.
History of truancy, threats from extended family, some issues to be expected, nothing more relayed.
We have the space. The Godspeeds’ son has chosen Gordonstoun, and Darragh is moving to the States with his parents. ”
“Ah,” I said. Okay. Yes. Possibly.
“That would bring the total wards of state to fifteen here. That is a good number, and what the board expects. We agreed on fifteen, and with this new addition, we are back to fifteen.”
“The fourteen we have are settled,” I mused, scratching my stubble.
I probably smelled, which again gave me virtual whiplash.
Everything reminded me of things I didn’t want to remember.
Dealing with new wards of state was challenging, but also?
Incredibly rewarding. Remembering Noah Fairweather existed was neither. All it did was cause me pain.
“It will keep us busy. Is the child willing to come?”
“They didn’t say; we have to assume he is being forcibly removed from whatever situation he is in, and this is the option presented. Whether he will accept that and embrace a new start? We know how that usually goes.”
“We do. How are our kids?”
“Everyone is fine. Thompson had a few challenging days but settled down. He spends most of his time with Mr Carmichael in the potting sheds, which I fully approve of.”
“Good.” Even I enjoyed the potting sheds, and Mr Carmichael was an exceptional gardener. Also, a solid bloke in his thirties who embraced these kids like long-lost friends. I was very proud of our team here. Every single one of them.
“Jones’s wife is expecting again; we need to be prepared for him to have some time off when the time comes. I have contacted the agency in Glasgow and asked for a couple of guys to come up and be trained. We need to ensure they are DBS-checked and have first aid. Not having idiots at the gate.”
“Nope,” I absentmindedly agreed, flicking through the pile of papers in front of me. “Have we got files on the kid?”
“Not yet.”
“Sir?”
“Hey, Mr O!”
I grinned at the boy who slid through the door with a tray. “Cook wants to know if you’re having dinner with us at Spring House, or if you want to eat in your chambers.”
“My chambers?” I grinned. “As if, I need to catch up with everyone! How’s your week been, Olsen?”
“Fine, sir. Spring is expecting puppies. Did you know? Also, Taz is coming back early.”
“That’s great.” I nodded as the kid took his leave with a smile.
Food. Gosh, I’d missed this! Cook’s thick doorstep slices of bread, local ham carved thick and lashings of mustard. Just the way I liked it. And a cup of strong black coffee in a floral cup with a saucer. Like I was a granny. I was a bloody granny, which made Emma laugh as I said it out loud.
Home. I was back home, and everything was as it was, and things were fine. Everything was fine. Even my work phone was fully charged, waiting for me on my desk, and I unplugged it and fished my private one out of my pocket, replacing it on the charger.
There was a message. A number I didn’t recognise, and I almost froze.
People didn’t message me. I mean, Huw had, telling me he got home safe and wishing me a great rest of the summer.
I hadn’t responded, and felt no guilt. Weird but true.
Like I’d moved on with my life and entered a new era.
After the past week? I had nothing to say to any of those people, and this text?
Nobody outside work communicated with me by text, not really.
I got very few messages, especially from…
Fuck. I rubbed my face with my hands and shuddered. Because this one just said:
We need to talk.