“I want you to take the day off tomorrow,” he said. “Seriously. Let’s go over to the beach or something.”
She waved a hand toward his dining room area. “I need to unpack. Plus, I don’t want to hit the beach on a Saturday. Are you crazy? It’ll be nuts.”
“It can wait. You need to let out some stress. Take your time. Relax.”
“I could relax a lot easier if I wasn’t living out of boxes. I mean, some of my stuff will stay packed. Like the kitchen stuff. But I want to get everything organized.”
“Not going to convince you, am I?”
She shook her head. “Nope. I even plan to spend about three hours tomorrow afternoon working on my job search.”
“You did get the memo that I’m an independent adult and paying my bills on my own, right? If you can’t chip in, it’s okay. Seriously. I’d rather you take time to recover.”
She struggled against the dark cloud wanting to consume her thoughts. “I’m kind of beyond that point, but thanks anyway. Until I can get another job, everything else is moot. Relaxing won’t even be an option until I get some sort of paying job.”
Right now, she had just enough money left to transfer her car registration to Florida, pay her car insurance and cell bill for the next couple of months…and that was about it. If Ron hadn’t shown up with the moving truck and supplies, she would have been totally hosed.
She’d honestly been thinking about how to manage living out of the storage unit she would have had to get to put her things in.
“We need to plan your birthday party,” he said.
Surely she hadn’t heard him right. “Say whut?”
“Birthday. Party. Yours. What don’t you get?”
“I don’t want a party.”
“You’re getting one anyway.” He smiled. “Publix caaaaaake. With buttercream frosting. How long’s it been since you had one of those?”
“Damn you, knowing my biggest weakness.” She held up the mug of mead. “And creating another one for me.”
“I’ve already reached out to a few people.”
“Like who?”
“Oh…Rusty and Eliza. Darryl and Grant and Susie. People like that.”
“They still live around here?”
“Yes, they do.” The mischievous grin he wore meant trouble and she knew it.
Her gaze narrowed as she studied him. “What’d you do?”
“Never you mind.” He nodded. “Finish your pizza and mead. Let little bro handle everything else.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
* * * *
Meredith was pretty shit-faced when she finally went to bed that night. At least it was her bed, even if it wasn’t her house.
No matter what Ron said, she didn’t want to mooch off him.
Sleep, however, wasn’t soon in coming, despite her exhaustion.
Even though it happened months earlier, Peter’s voice still rang hollowly in her memory.
The sound of him “gently” letting her down, telling her it was fun while they lasted.
And hey, didn’t he get brownie points for not being an asshole and dumping her before her surgery? He’d waited a couple of days, until after she’d been discharged. He’d driven her home that morning and did it then.
After three years with him, he all but came right out and said he should be praised for being honest with her that he wasn’t attracted to her now.
Fucker.
It was for this very reason, the rage that started to simmer inside her, that she had deleted his contact information from her phone.
Too tempting to let the rage have voice and unleash it on him.
Too satisfying to imagine calling him out, telling him what a fucking doucheball he was for dumping her just because he was uncomfortable with her body post-surgery.
Too angry at herself for being suckered by him for so long, for thinking he was a nice guy.
That maybe he loved her the way she’d loved him.
For maybe thinking she’d finally found her personal landing pad, her safe harbor.
The truth was, the only people she could trust were herself and Ron, and she wasn’t even really sure about herself anymore.
Especially since she couldn’t even support herself now.
This was supposed to be the best part of my life. Good job, good place to live, a relationship.
Hell, even sleeping was different now, because at first she’d had to watch how she laid due to the pain. Then, as that eased, she realized how…awkward it felt sleeping.
How weird it felt walking around, even in the shower, without having to wear a bra, if she didn’t want to.
Yeah, she could wear a padded bra in some cases, but as she’d packed her corsets that no longer fit the way they should, she’d tried to hide her tears from Ron.
She didn’t feel like…her anymore.
And how the hell do I get that back?
Chapter Two
“Any questions?” Elvin Wynn looked up from the laptop he’d been using to run the PowerPoint lesson on sentence diagramming for his sixth-grade English class that Friday afternoon only to find a sea of blank faces staring back at him.
“Is that a good silence, or do we need to go through all of that again?”
Finally, one of the girls in the back of the room tentatively eased her hand shoulder-high.
“Yes, Cayley?”
“Why do we need to learn this, Mister Dub?” That’d become his nickname to his students, and he didn’t mind it—Dub, short for W. He’d picked it up early in his teaching career, and now it was a given.
He stood, a dry-erase marker in his hand so he could quickly write another sentence on the whiteboard. “Glad you asked. It’s sort of archaic now, but even if you don’t remember this in twenty years, it will help you in the long run…”
By the end of their class period, they were finally starting to get the hang of it. No, they likely wouldn’t use any of it later on, but the underlying knowledge of proper sentence structure would allow them to be stronger writers when it came time to create their essays for college applications.
That wasn’t a bad thing.
At least his next class would be easier, seventh-grade American literature. They were currently working through The Great Gatsby. It was one of his favorites, rife with symbolism the students could easily grasp and understand before they moved on to more complex works.
He didn’t even begrudge them watching the remake of the movie. Anything to get them reading and involved in the text, exploring it. Analyzing it, as well as enjoying it as art at the same time.
And since many of the students in that class had survived his sixth-grade English class, the essays they’d write about the book would probably be well-constructed.
He could hope.
The bell rang and as everyone filed out, he cleared the presentation and queued up the next one.
“Hey, Wynn, got a minute?”
He looked up at the sound of Jackson Crowder’s voice. A fellow teacher at Sorrellson Academy, Jackson was also head of the Development and Expansion Committee. While the students called Elvin Mister Dub, most of his fellow teachers and staff called him Wynn, especially the ones he’d taught with in the county school system. It’d been his nickname since middle school, even though it was his last name.
“What’s up?”
Jackson tipped his head toward the door to the English teachers’ office two doors down, his meaning clear.
Elvin followed him. Once the door was safely shut behind them, meaning no students to overhear, Elvin asked, “What’s going on?”
“You have Bobbie Jones in your third-period class, don’t you?”
He mentally rifled through his class list. “Yeah?”
“You having any problems with him lately?”
Elvin started to say no, then ran a hand over his shaved scalp. “Come to think of it, he’s been awfully quiet lately. I’d have to check, but I think his grades are slipping.”
“I talked to his math and science teachers already,” Jackson said. “They’ve noticed something off. I’m going to go talk to Ellen Cabry about it. Get his counsellor involved. I think something’s going on at home.”
“Abuse?”
“I hope not. I did ask him today at the end of class if there was anything wrong, or if he needed to talk, and he just shook his head and practically ran out of my room.”
“Shit.”
“I want to pass it off to Ellen and the counsellor and see what happens. If it’s not abuse, we need to bring his parents in for a joint conference with all his teachers, and maybe set up an IEP for him. I haven’t seen any evidence of him being dyslexic, but could be something completely innocent. I hope.”
Elvin let out a long breath. “Okay. Keep me in the loop.”
“Will do.”
They exited the office and Elvin returned to his class before the bell rang to start the next period. Another bonus of teaching for Sorrellson over the county school system was a dedicated support staff who could help kids individually and give them the attention they needed. The bulk of this kind of stuff didn’t fall on the teachers’ backs, unless a student talked to them about it.
While they’d had incidents of abuse reported to staff at Sorrellson, and they were mandated reporters, so far, Elvin had not needed to make a report in his two years working at Sorrellson following his retirement after twenty-five years teaching for the Sarasota County school system.
A nice change after the one or two reports a month he had to make while teaching for the county.
By the end of the day, he and Jackson, as well as all of the kid’s other teachers, were gathered in Ellen Cabry’s office with the guidance counsellor, Peyton McSweeny.
“You want the good news or the bad news?” Peyton asked.
“The bad news,” Elvin volunteered before anyone else could reply.
“He’s not being abused.”
“How is that the bad news?”
“His dad’s been diagnosed with colon cancer and is undergoing treatment. I just got off the phone with his mom. Poor kid broke down crying in my office a little while ago when I was talking to him. He’s staying with her parents right now because they’re trying to keep his schedule intact. His dad’s having surgery tomorrow.”
The room fell silent. Jackson scrubbed at his face with his hands. “Shit,” he muttered. “That poor kid.”
“What can we do for them?” Elvin asked.
“Right now, nothing, except the trite thoughts and prayers,” Peyton said. “His prognosis is guarded. The doctors hope he’ll pull through, but they won’t know more until after the surgery and he starts undergoing chemo and radiation. He’s only thirty-five. Only reason he went for a colonoscopy was that he’s been having some problems.”
“Reminds me I’m due for one,” Elvin said.
“Me, too,” Jackson said. “I’ve never had one. I think I want one, now. Guy’s only two years older than me.”
“Better safe than sorry, gentlemen,” Ellen said. “But as bad as this is, at least it’s something we can help with on our end. Let’s try to cut him a little slack, if we can. Help him out, but let’s not make this obvious around other students. If he wants to tell them, that’s his business. I can’t imagine how scared he is, and we don’t need to go smothering him. Peyton told him he can talk to all of you and ask for extra help if he’s struggling.”
They all nodded.
“That’s all,” Ellen said. “Thanks.”
Elvin and Jackson walked together toward their wing. “I think I need a drink,” Jackson muttered.
“I second that.”
“I was going to ask if you want to join us tonight for pizza and beers. I’m going home first to meet Noah. We drive right by your place. Noah can be our DD tonight. We’re meeting some friends. You’ll like them.”
Elvin started to say no, then changed his mind. He was single and didn’t have anywhere to be that Friday night. “What time?”
“We’ll pick you up about seven.”
“Sounds good, thanks.”
“Too bad you’re straight.” Jackson smiled. “I’d have a list of guys a mile long wanting to date you if you were gay.” This wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion. “I know one guy who pants after The Rock. You look so much like him, the guy would be yours for life.”
“Don’t be so sure I might not consider it. Not like I got women falling out of my ass.”
Jackson patted him on the shoulder. “We should introduce you to a different dating pond if the vanilla women are too stupid to snatch you up.”
“I’m open to suggestions.” Elvin belatedly realized exactly what his friend and co-worker had said, and decided to let it slide since they were still at work, not sure if Jackson had meant kinky women or gay men.
Jackson grinned. “Maybe we can help you out with that.”
They split off, Jackson heading down the hall to his room while Elvin walked down to his to gather his things. It would be good to get out with people. He’d had dinner with Jackson and Jackson’s husband, Noah, several times in the past. They were nice guys, and their friends he’d met so far were nice, too.
Wasn’t like Elvin had a girlfriend to go home to or spend time with right now. And he was coming out of a pain cycle, so he wasn’t hitting the gym on his way home. He knew from experience that giving his body a few days off after several days of pain was far more effective than trying to push through it. He’d do some stretching after getting home, a hot shower, and then a repeat of that tonight before bed. Along with ibuprofen, it helped.
But at least he’d been forty-eight hours without needing to take a couple of hits from his vape pen, and he considered that a win.
He also knew it meant he could allow himself a beer or two tonight.
* * * *
“So where do you know these friends from?” Elvin had climbed into the back seat after Noah pulled into his driveway.
“You’ve met a couple of them before, I’m pretty sure,” Jackson said.
At least the people Jackson and Noah had introduced him to in the past seemed like nice people. No raging racists or saccharine-sweet pseudo liberals who claimed they were “colorblind.”
With most his own family living out of state—and the few who lived in state he really wasn’t on friendly terms with—Elvin sometimes wondered how he’d managed to land himself in one of the whitest and yet fairly liberal places in Florida, relatively speaking. If Keisha hadn’t been from the area, he never would have moved here. But he’d met her in college and followed where she’d led him, for all the good it did him in the end.
Like hell he would have sold his house or given up his job back then and proved her right regarding everything she’d said about him. That he was a failure who couldn’t make a good life for himself.
Ditto his own family.
It was a matter of stubbornness and pride, at that point.
Yeah, he had black friends, most of them fellow teachers and people he’d met through them, between the county and Sorrellson. Unfortunately, the few times he made it back to Chicago for family events, he felt like even more of an outsider there than he did in Florida.
Now, there was very little that could coax him back up north, especially during winter. His body hurt bad enough in the cold, and three decades of living in Florida had thinned his blood considerably.
When they reached the sports bar, the only other black guy in the place was a server on the other side of the room who returned the nod Elvin gave him, even as a white girl who barely looked old enough to drive gave Elvin an uncomfortably too-long smile of the salivating kind before she led them to tables.
Damn, kids are getting younger.
“How many we got coming?” Elvin asked as he counted seats once they’d pulled tables together and took a chair.
“Enough. Hey, listen. I need to be honest with you.” Jackson glanced around and leaned in, dropping his voice. “This is between us, right?”
Was this where his friend revealed a hidden doucheyness he’d missed before? “Depends on what it is.”
“Personal stuff. I wanted to give you a heads-up in case someone says something…weird tonight.”
The hackles started to rise on the back of his neck. He was suddenly more aware than he usually was that he was one of only two black people in the entire damn place.
“Weird how?”
“You might have noticed Noah and I have a…nontraditional relationship.”
Confusion bled through as he glanced at the other man and then back again at Jackson. “Yeah, you’re gay. So?”
“I don’t mean us being gay. Notice how Noah sometimes calls me Sir?”
“So?”
Jackson glanced around again. “We do Fifty Shades in real-life, only the gay and not-assholish version. The friends we’re meeting tonight, that’s how we all know each other. Through a local BDSM munch group and the club.”
His fear flashed over to eagerness—and holding himself back to make sure he was hearing his friend right. “What club?”
“Venture. It’s a dungeon.”
Holy.
Fucking.
Crap.
He would have given his eyeteeth to go there, because, yeah, he knew about it. He’d Googled it and studied their website and class list, even had a FetLife profile where he listed he was from Antarctica…
But he’d never managed to force himself to go. He was a teacher. That meant like hell would he risk his job.
Except…
“And,” Jackson continued, “at least one of the people tonight you will know from work. So please don’t freak out. They already know I was going to invite you. I told them I suspected you were one of us, but that I didn’t know for sure.”
For the Roses Page 2