Jack
The memory plays on repeat in my mind, vivid and unrelenting.
Last night was so amazing. Weird, but fantastic.
Never in my wildest imagination would I have ever thought I'd be sharing a woman with other men.
I'd always thought such an arrangement was kind of sick.
What man would willingly share his woman with another?
I was very skeptical and nervous, but when we went to my room, everything just felt ... natural.
And wasn't that the surprise of my life? I didn't feel ashamed or embarrassed like I thought I would. Noah and Blake didn't get in my way, they only added to Mia's pleasure. And watching that, watching her being pleased by us, was worth everything.
I'm possessive by nature. Always have been. The thought of another man touching what's mine usually makes me want to put my fist through a wall. Yet with Mia, something shifted. Watching Blake and Noah pleasure her ... it aroused me in ways I didn't know were possible.
The jealousy I expected never came. Instead, something darker took its place. Something that made me want to watch them touch her, taste her, make her moan. The three of us claiming her together, marking her as ours.
I lean back in my office chair and close my eyes. We weren't competing for her. We were sharing her. Worshipping her together.
And God help me, I want to do it again. And again. For a lifetime.
The crossword puzzle book on my desk pulls me back to reality. I bought it this morning at the bookstore. The difficult ones Robert likes, the kind that take hours to complete.
My best friend is dying. And this afternoon, I'm going to sit on his porch and pretend I'm not sleeping with his daughter.
Now this is where I feel guilt and shame.
I know Robert well enough to know he'd never forgive me if he found out.
He'd blame me for taking advantage of his little girl.
And he'd be right, of course. Mia had only been eighteen the first time.
I shake my head with a groan and straighten up my desk. It's lunch time, and I've scheduled myself a long break to go visit my old friend.
The drive to Robert's house feels like a countdown to judgment.
Linda answers the door with a warm smile that intensifies my guilt. "Jack! How wonderful to see you. Robert will be so happy you're here."
"How's he doing today?"
"He's having a good day. The new medication is helping with the pain." Her voice drops. "But he's getting weaker. The doctor says maybe a few weeks."
My throat tightens. "I'm sorry, Linda."
She pats my arm. "He's on the back porch. I'll bring you both some lemonade."
Robert sits in a wicker chair overlooking the backyard, a blanket across his lap despite the warm afternoon. He looks frailer than last time I saw him. His skin has a gray, paper-thin quality that makes him seem almost translucent.
"Jack." His voice is rough but his smile is genuine. "Didn't expect to see you today."
"Thought you might be up for some company." I settle into the chair beside him and hand him the crossword book. "Brought reinforcements."
He laughs, the sound turning into a cough that racks his thin frame. I reach out instinctively, steadying him until the fit passes.
"You know me too well," he says when he can breathe again.
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Birds chirp in the oak tree. The afternoon sun filters through the leaves, dappling the porch in golden light.
"How's school?" Robert asks, opening the crossword book with trembling fingers.
"Good. Busy. The usual chaos."
"And the new English teacher? Mia settling in okay?"
My stomach clenches at her name. I can still smell her perfume on my skin. Still feel the ghost of her body against mine. "She's doing well. The students like her."
Robert's expression softens with unmistakable pride. "I'm glad she came home. Even if it took me dying to make it happen." He pauses, his gaze distant. "I was too hard on her when she first came back. Said things I shouldn't have."
"You were hurt," I say carefully. "She left without explanation."
"Still." He shakes his head slowly. "Life's too short to hold grudges. I want to reconcile with her before I die, Jack. Really reconcile. I want her to know I love her. That I'm proud of her. That whatever happened ten years ago doesn't matter anymore."
The guilt gnaws at my insides like acid. If he knew what happened ten years ago, if he knew what's happening now, he wouldn't be so forgiving. He'd hate me. He'd be right to hate me.
"That's good," I manage. "She wants that too."
"You've always been a good friend to this family." Robert reaches over and squeezes my shoulder with surprising strength. "I'm grateful for that. For you looking out for Mia at school. Keeping an eye on her for me."
The words are a knife to the gut. If he only knew how I've been looking at her. What I've been doing with her. How I watched Blake and Noah touch her last night while arousal burned through my veins instead of the jealousy I should have felt.
I force myself to nod. To smile. "That's what friends do."
We spend the next hour working on crossword puzzles and discussing old times. Robert tells stories about fires he fought, close calls he survived. I laugh in the right places and contribute my own memories. All while shame burns through me like wildfire.
"I mean it, Jack." Robert's voice grows more serious. "When I'm gone, I need to know someone's looking after my girls. Linda and Mia. You're the closest thing to family we have here."
My hands clench on the arms of the chair. He's asking me to protect them. To be their guardian. And all I can think about is how Mia looked last night, naked and wanting between three men. How her body responded to our touch. How right it felt to claim her together.
"I'll always be here for them," I say. Another lie. Another betrayal.
When I finally leave, Robert walks me to the door despite Linda's protests. Each step seems to cost him.
"Come back soon," he says, gripping my hand in both of his. His palms are cold and dry. "I don't know how many good days I have left."
"I will."
He pulls me into a brief hug. "You're a good man, Jack. The best friend I could ask for."
I get in my car, put the keys in the ignition, and then just sit there. The weight of his words crushes down on me. You're a good man. If he only knew.
I should tell him. Should confess everything and face the consequences. But the thought of destroying our friendship, of adding more pain to his final months, makes me sick.
So I do what I've been doing for ten years. I keep the secret and carry the guilt.
My phone rings and I see my secretary's name show up on caller ID, so I answer.
"Principal Lewis? I have two couples here requesting an urgent meeting with you."
"Did I forget about an appointment?" I ask with a frown.
"They don't have an appointment. But they're quite insistent." Her tone tells me this isn't going to be pleasant. "It's about Miss Wilson."
My stomach drops. "I'll be back in the office in twenty minutes."
The Hendersons and the Pattersons file into my office with tight expressions and folded arms. I recognize them from various school events. Their children are sophomores in Mia's English class.
"Thank you for seeing us without an appointment," Mrs. Henderson says, though her tone suggests she expected nothing less.
"Of course. Please, have a seat." I gesture to the chairs across from my desk, already knowing where this conversation is headed.
They sit stiffly. Mrs. Patterson clears her throat.
"We've heard some concerning rumors about Miss Wilson," she begins.
I keep my expression neutral, folding my hands on my desk. "What kind of rumors?"
"About her past," she says, leaning forward. "About why she left Riverside so suddenly ten years ago. About her reputation. And we're concerned about whether someone with such a questionable past should be teaching our children."
I take a slow breath, slipping into the role of Principal Lewis. Calm, professional, unshakeable. "I can assure you that Miss Wilson is a qualified, dedicated teacher with impeccable credentials."
"Credentials aren't everything," Mr. Henderson says. "Character matters. And from what we've heard, her character is questionable at best."
"What specifically have you heard?" I ask, my voice hardening despite my best efforts.
The four parents exchange uncomfortable glances. Mrs. Patterson speaks first. "That she was involved with multiple men. That she left town because of some kind of scandal."
The word hangs in the air like an accusation. I feel my jaw tighten.
"We have daughters in her class," Mrs. Henderson continues. "We don't want them exposed to that kind of influence."
"Miss Wilson's personal life is her own business," I say carefully, each word measured. "What matters is her performance as a teacher. And in that regard, she's exceeded expectations."
"But surely you can understand our concerns," Mr. Patterson insists. "The moral character of our children's teachers matters."
I lean back in my chair, studying each of them.
"What I understand is that you've come to my office with vague rumors and no concrete complaints about Miss Wilson's actual teaching.
Has she been inappropriate with students?
Has she failed to maintain professional boundaries?
Has her instruction been inadequate in any way? "
Silence.
"I didn't think so," I continue. "Miss Wilson is an excellent teacher. Her students are engaged and learning. That's what matters in this school."
"Principal Lewis," Mrs. Henderson says, her tone turning icy, "We're not the only parents who feel this way. There are others. And if the school doesn't address this situation, we'll be forced to take our concerns to the school board."