by Cole McCade
Summer had kept his backbone stiff, had been firm about the necessity of parental intervention when supporting the boys through a difficult developmental period, but even with Fox a watchful and almost menacing presence at his back, they just...
Hadn’t wanted to listen.
He had one more pair to get through.
Theodore Rothfuss’s parents.
And considering that Theodore was the heart of the problem...
He had a feeling they wouldn’t want to hear it, either.
They’d just be interested in getting in and out as fast as possible, before they got caught in the building storm threatening outside, leaving the day as gray and cloudy and ominously dark as Summer’s mood.
He leaned against Fox’s desk, closing his eyes, pressing his fingers to his throbbing temples. “So,” he said. “If you’re waiting to say ‘I told you so,’ I’m waiting to hear it.”
“I am not, because I did not tell you so. And you are not done yet.” Fox settled next to him, shoulder to shoulder, weight leaning subtly against him in a comforting pressure. “Headache?”
“The worst. Got any Advil?”
“No, but I may have something else that could help.”
Fox’s warmth pulled away. Summer lifted his head, opening his eyes and watching as Fox bent over to pull open the small side drawer in his desk, feeling inside before he came up with a small vial of thick golden liquid, with a cork stoppering it.
The mint scent when he thumbed it open was unmistakable, albeit much less overpowering than that night in the living room—subtle, and tinted with other things such as vanilla, maybe even a hint of clove, mixing together into something sharp-edged but somehow creamy and soft.
“Here.” Fox pressed his fingertip to the mouth of the vial and tipped it, dabbing the oil onto one finger, then set the vial down on the desk and spread the oil between the fingertips of both hands, making them glisten. “Close your eyes and just relax.”
Brows knitting, Summer did, already bracing himself for the contact—but he was still surprised by the warmth of it, that slick oily feeling seeming to absorb and amplify Fox’s body heat until it was like being touched by gentle sparks, as Fox pressed his fingertips to either side of Summer’s forehead and began to rub in slow, soothing circles.
“Breathe deep,” Fox murmured, his voice seeming to roll to the cadence of his touch. “It doesn’t work if you don’t take in the scent, as well.”
Summer started to nod, then caught himself and held still as that gentle touch massaged a quiet, relaxing sensation into his temples, the oil’s warmth seeming to penetrate deep down to slowly melt away the tension and pain throbbing in his skull. He tried to time his breaths, counting in and out so he would hold them long enough to enjoy the scent, tingling his nostrils and flowing through him until each breath felt as though it spread relaxation from his lungs out to the very tips of his fingers.
“S’nice,” he murmured. “Helping. Thank you.”
“You seemed as if you needed something before you spontaneously combusted.” Gentle amusement, turning Fox’s voice husky. “You are not wasting your time, Summer. Even if they were not willing to listen today, they will still remember and may come around later. You have let them know their sons need them, when they may not have been aware before. That is no small thing.”
“I know. I do.” Summer stopped that massaging touch by capturing Fox’s wrist, turning his head to press his lips to its underside. “I guess I’d just...wanted to see something more helpful happen today.”
“Change takes time. Change involving people, even more so.” Fox’s fingers curled against Summer’s cheek, just a warm trace of oil and then rough knuckles. “Few things terrify people more than feeling challenged in their preconceived notions of themselves and others, and being forced to take action in the face of knowledge they do not want to absorb into their worldview when it might shake the foundations of their egos.”
Summer opened his eyes, looking into that silvered, reflective gaze so close to his own, that face that even in this gentle moment of comfort was so inscrutable, so strange.
Is that you? he wondered. Are you afraid of changing this path you’ve set yourself on, because you can’t face looking at who you’ll be if that happens?
But he couldn’t say it.
He only smiled, squeezing Fox’s wrist before letting go. “We should get through the Rothfusses before they get annoyed and leave. But thank you. I feel better now.”
Fox said nothing, yet the look that lingered on Summer seemed oddly meaningful, as he withdrew to cap the vial and tuck it away in his desk once more.
Summer rolled his shoulders, breathed in with that delicate scent still hovering around him and calming his senses, then leaned out into the hall and beckoned to the Rothfuss couple with a smile.
“Sorry for the wait,” he said. “But it’s good to meet you. I’m Summer Hemlock, one of the instructors in the psychology elective track.”
He’d found that was better than introducing himself as a TA or adjunct.
Because if there was anything that would get people to ignore him, it was admitting he didn’t have any real authority.
The Rothfuss duo were a stately-looking couple just past late middle age and entering into their older years, hair still touched with hints of color, clothing quietly understated and yet clearly quite expensive without being overly flashy or ostentatious. They carried themselves with a sort of unconscious dignity that said they were used to being the most important people in the room, their authority acknowledged without necessarily requiring deference, and they offered Summer polite, not unfriendly nods as they each shook his hand quite formally before stepping into the office.
Summer settled to sit against the desk once more, gesturing to the two empty chairs; both Mr. and Mrs. Rothfuss settled with perfect posture, he folding his hands in his lap, she crossing her legs with her hands settled against her purse.
But before Summer could say anything, Mrs. Rothfuss spoke, her voice curdled at the edges with worry. “You said this was about Theo’s performance and behavior? But you’re in the psychology program?” She pressed gloved fingertips to her lips. “Has he done something that will affect his qualification for AP college credits?” She exchanged a worried glance with her husband. “He needs those so desperately for university.”
“Theo’s grades are holding fairly well,” Summer said carefully. “I’ve been reviewing his performance scores and it looks like he’s only had a few lapses since his freshman year. But while his grades are fine... I’m worried about his social integration with the other students.”
Mr. Rothfuss’s brows knit; for such a thin man, he had a very thick moustache, and it twitched rapidly as he repeated, “Social integration? Is he being bullied?”
“No,” Summer said. “I’m afraid he’s the bully.”
Both parents gasped, glancing at each other almost guiltily, before Mrs. Rothfuss turned her wide eyes back to Summer. “Are you quite certain? Our Theo?”
“I’m afraid so.” Summer clasped his hands together against his thighs so he wouldn’t have to really focus on how sweaty they were; he was all right now, just these two with Fox at his back, a silent protector...but his nerves were still exhausted, shredded, and it was taking everything in him to keep his voice steady and calm and pleasant when he was just waiting for another haughty dismissal. “I won’t name names, but we have reports from several students of Theo taking extremely aggressive action against them, from causing them physical injury to desecrating or destroying their personal property, as well as socially manipulating them with threats and causing schisms between other students.”
Both Mr. and Mrs. Rothfuss went stiff.
Summer braced himself.
Here it came.
Mr. Rothfuss turned on his wife, scowling. “I told you sending him here was
a mistake. We should have home schooled him where we could keep an eye on him.”
“It absolutely was not a mistake,” Mrs. Rothfuss shot back. “Theo needs to learn how to function in the larger world instead of having his every need catered to. Home schooling would have just pampered and isolated him more. He’s too used to getting his own way.”
“And he’s repeating the same patterns here, only now we can’t rein him in!” Mr. Rothfuss countered. “If keeping him at home doesn’t help and sending him away doesn’t help, then what are we supposed to do?”
Summer just watched with wide eyes.
Not...what he was expecting.
Not what he was expecting at all.
But Fox cleared his throat softly behind him, reminding Summer...
Right.
This was his rodeo, and he had to keep things moving productively.
He raised his voice slightly, just enough to cut off another volley between them. “I think Albin Academy can still be a good, nurturing environment for Theodore,” he said. “But we aren’t his parents. In order to help Theo acclimate and stop his antisocial behavior, we need you to be more present for a while. Set boundaries for him. Structure. There’s only so much we can do, legally. But we can help you know what you need to do. And I think that if we can get Theodore on a better path, that will go a long way to helping several other boys whose grades have been slipping because of his bullying.”
Mr. Rothfuss’s shoulders slumped. Mrs. Rothfuss fussed at her purse, looking at Summer in consternation. “He’s been affecting the other boys’ grades?” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. This is our responsibility, and clearly we failed.”
Mr. Rothfuss smiled bitterly. “Somehow, even after all these years, we aren’t quite ready to be parents. But you mentioned being more present?” He glanced at his wife. “I could afford to take a few weeks off of work.”
“I’m sure I could swing it as well,” she said, frowning, tapping her lower lip. “Theo won’t like it, but...”
“Sometimes we have to give our children what they need, not what they want,” Summer said—but inside, God, he was jumping, buzzing, shouting, the air in his lungs suddenly seeming to go a mile further when...maybe, just maybe, this might go somewhere. “There’s a lovely bed and breakfast down the hill that usually has rooms open year-round, if you’d like to book a stay.”
“Y...es,” Mr. Rothfuss said thoughtfully, his moustache and his brows twitching quite firmly as he stretched the single syllable out into two halting sounds with a long breath in between. “Yes, I think we shall. Thank you for informing us of this, Mr.... What was your name again?”
“Hemlock,” Summer said, offering a smile. “Summer Hemlock.”
Mrs. Rothfuss blinked. “Oh, my,” she said. “What an unusual name.” But she offered a smile as well, rueful, chagrined. “We’re so sorry we’ve not been as attentive as we should be with Theo, but we’ll be in touch again soon. Is it all right to visit our son in his room?”
“Of course.” Summer stood fully, offering his hand. “Do you need to be escorted?”
“We know the way.” Mr. Rothfuss shook his hand firmly, followed by his wife, before Mr. Rothfuss squinted at Summer. “...I say, I do know that name. I’m a graduate from the old school here, you know. And you’re the spitting image of your father at your age.”
Summer stopped, his breaths catching, before he numbly let go of Mrs. Rothfuss’s hand. “Oh, I...thank you,” he said, even if he wasn’t quite sure if it was a compliment or not.
It was just...
Odd.
To be reminded that even if he barely remembered his father...
Summer had roots here at Albin that went deep.
And maybe he’d always been meant to come home here after all.
But he barely waited until the Rothfuss couple had excused themselves from the office.
Before he turned around and threw himself into Fox’s arms, catching the professor just as he was standing and hitting hard enough that for a second they unbalanced, Fox rocking backward.
“Oof!” Fox exclaimed, before steadying them both with firm hands and planted feet—then letting out a soft chuckle. “I take it you’re proud of how that went.”
“Yes,” Summer breathed, burying his face in Fox’s chest. “They listened. They cared, they...oh my God it worked.”
“Many people are inherently selfish without realizing it,” Fox said gently. “But there are those who aren’t. We just have to find them, and hope they will listen.” His arms came around Summer, holding him steady, holding him tight, gentle approval rumbling against his ear. “But they never would have listened if you had not had the courage to speak.”
Summer let out a laugh; he couldn’t stop it, bursting up from inside him, and looked up into Fox’s eyes. “So does that courage earn me another kiss?”
Fox’s lips curled. “If we’re still trading kisses as currency, I’m afraid you’ve spent years’ worth of your allotment at this point and are deeply in debt.”
“So...” Summer leaned harder into Fox—into the tall, strong breadth of his body. “What do I have to do to earn—”
A soft clearing of someone’s throat from the door cut him off.
And instinctively he and Fox sprang back from each other, Summer flushing. Fuck, if one of the boys’ parents caught them...
Worse.
Assistant Principal Lachlan Walden stood in the open door of Fox’s office, watching him with freezing eyes, and crooked his finger.
“Mr. Hemlock,” he said thinly. “A word, if you please.”
Ah, fuck.
Summer stole a nervous glance at Fox, who only gave him an encouraging nod and brushed a hand to his shoulder before gently nudging him toward the door. Shoulders slumping, Summer followed Walden out into the hall.
Walden fixed him with a critical, blistering gaze as Summer shuffled to a halt in front of him.
“What did you think you were doing?”
“Trying to stop an already bad situation from getting worse,” Summer said quickly. He hated how his voice cracked, but he’d already done what was done and wouldn’t back down now. “We can only discipline the boys up to a certain point. Once things get beyond that, we have to get their parents involved.”
“We have to get their parents involved,” Lachlan said scathingly. “Not you. You are barely one step above a temp, and it was underhanded of you to make use of Professor Iseya’s position to avoid school policies.” His lips thinned. “This is still not your job.”
“I know it’s not,” Summer said.
And that was when it hit.
What he wanted.
Why teaching felt wrong, but being at Albin...
Being at Albin didn’t feel wrong at all.
His heart rose into his throat.
The tiniest flutter of hope went through him, hope and a sense of purpose, elation, lightness.
“But if we could talk...” He scrubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs. “I’d like it to be.”
Walden parted his lips to respond.
Only for an angular, strong shoulder to bump into Summer, hard, nearly knocking him aside as Fox edged through the doorway past him.
And walked away without a backward glance, his stride swift and tight enough to make the few loose tendrils of his hair lash back and forth sharply in his wake, the set of his shoulders hard and taut.
“Fox...?” Summer called.
But Fox didn’t stop.
If anything, his stride only quickened.
Before there came a loud bang, echoing down the hall, as Fox disappeared into the stairwell.
Summer’s heart plummeted.
What was wrong?
Why was Fox...?
He threw a wide-eyed glance back at Lachlan. “Please. Can we talk later? I—
I need to—”
He wasn’t expecting the softening of Lachlan’s frigid blue gaze, or the understanding in his voice.
“Go,” he said. “It would appear you have some things to discuss with your mentor.”
Summer took a shaky breath, nodding.
“Thank you,” he rasped.
Before he turned and ran, chasing after his elusive fox with the sudden and terrified feeling that he might have lost him for good.
* * *
Fox Iseya was...
Was an entirely selfish asshole.
And this was why he was so bad for someone like Summer.
He’d known what was coming the second Summer had said he’d known counseling the students wasn’t his job; had looked at Walden with that particular light he got in his eyes when he was terrified but intended to be brave, to take a chance anyway.
Summer wanted the guidance counselor job.
Instead of replacing Fox as the psychology instructor, he wanted the guidance counselor job, which meant...which meant...
Fox couldn’t leave.
He could, he could walk away and leave Albin without a psych instructor for an elective course that was entirely optional despite the AP college credits attached, but whether or not he morally and ethically would was another question.
And that changed everything between himself and Summer, because he had realized, in that moment standing there like a shadow who wasn’t supposed to witness what he was seeing...
That Summer had been his excuse.
Summer was both Fox’s thing to run from...and the excuse that let him run in the first place. Because as long as Summer was his replacement, Fox wasn’t needed here anymore, and he could just...
Go.
Wander into that gray nebulous nothing and disappear. Stop existing. There would be no place for him anymore, and he’d wanted that, but with the idea of Summer shifting tracks into the guidance counselor role suddenly Fox would be here, would be bound by his own sense of responsibility to stay, and if he stayed...