Chasing Forever Page 9

  “It’s dark in there and you were on my left side.”

  “Both times?” Now he felt like a totally unobservant ass.

  Mal smiled.

  “Well, thanks for covering my tab. How much do I owe you?”

  Mal waved him down. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I don’t usually bail like that.”

  He didn’t normally go searching dive bars for men like Mal, either. Not that he could explain why—except that Mal didn’t come across as easy, which was Brian’s preferred flavor. Nor did he seem simple or uncomplicated. He was altogether too quiet, and quite a bit older than the guys Brian usually went for. But even now, sitting in a teacher’s lounge of all places, Brian could feel the indefinable spark that drew him to this man.

  It wasn’t some weird professor fantasy, though he loved the scholarly look—Mal’s glasses, the intelligent glint in his gray-blue eyes. The sweater that didn’t quite match his pants. God, his shoes . . . He didn’t love the shoes. But those shy smiles. The way Mal had fallen into flirting, then made it awkward. The sense Mal needed someone to chase him.

  Probably shouldn’t be me.

  Mal was watching him, expression not exactly bored, but definitely patient. Brian felt like a student again, coming up with an excuse as to why he hadn’t done his homework.

  “Your students like you, don’t they?”

  Mal smiled. “Most of them, yeah. History isn’t math or English. It’s not so much a matter of skill, as interest. And I like to think I make it interesting.”

  “And Josh is in your class?”

  “I met him this afternoon. He has—” Mal stopped. Fiddled with the Velcro tabs on his brace.

  “Blue hair?”

  Mal glanced up with a more rueful smile. “He looks a bit like you.” Oh. “He seems like a nice kid.”

  “When he’s not cleaning out my wallet, credit cards and all, and disappearing with a packed bag on New Year’s Eve.”

  Eyes widening, Mal echoed Brian’s earlier thought. “Oh, wow.”

  “Yeah. Took me until nearly one in the morning to find him. He was at the train station. He . . .” Brian pushed a hand through his hair. “He’s been having a rough time.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. He seemed to have an okay day here. I sat him next to a kid who’d make him a good friend.”

  “Good, that’s great. I don’t think—” Brian clamped his lips shut. Josh wouldn’t thank him for expressing several thoughts: that he didn’t seem to have any friends, that he could use a friend, that he needed someone more qualified to care for him, that he needed a father, damn it, and that Brian didn’t feel up to any of it.

  “Kids can be complicated,” Mal said as though he’d guessed at Brian’s thoughts. All of them.

  “Yeah.” Brilliant repartee . . . not. Why had he come here again? Brian leaned forward, putting a hand to Mal’s good knee. “Listen—”

  The door to the lounge opened, and Josh walked in, eyes widening. “Why are you here?”

  Brian withdrew his hand. “I, ah, came to pick you up.” He could hear Mal shifting beside him and immediately cursed himself for lying—even though that could have been his intent all along. Mal would be the sort of guy who preferred the truth, though, and not only because he wanted to set a good example for his students.

  “I would have been fine on the bus.”

  “I know, I just thought you might like to see a friendly face.”

  “More like you wanted to hit on my teacher.”

  Brian pushed to his feet and immediately regretted it as blood swirled behind his ears. This had been a terrible idea. “I, ah . . .”

  “I’ve only been here one day and you’re already fucking it up for me. God, why do you have to be so gay?”

  The sound of Mal clearing his throat drew both of their attention, and when Brian turned, he understood what it was that kept drawing him to this man. He hadn’t seen this expression before, but he’d known it was possible. Authority. Command. But also a gentleness that impelled a frightening amount of respect.

  “We do not tolerate that kind of language in this school, Josh. Morristown High School is a safe place for all students, regardless of their gender, race, or sexuality. I’ll ask you once to remember that. Next time, I’ll be handing you a note for detention.”

  Josh didn’t exactly sag, but he did seem to curve backward. His shoulders drew down and his chin dipped. Nodding toward the floor, he mumbled something like “Yes, sir.”

  Brian produced the keys to his car. “Why don’t you go wait for me? I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Without looking up, Josh snatched the keys and fled.

  “You need a minute?” Mal reached for his crutches. Josh had left the door open and Brian appeared to be in no mood to close it. The moment, the hand on Mal’s knee, had been utterly shredded anyway.

  Brian glanced up, frowning, as though he’d forgotten Mal was there. His expression cleared immediately. Or tried to. The smile he seemed to seek eluded him, though he recovered quickly. “No. I should get going in case he decides to steal my car.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how long you’ve been Josh’s guardian?”

  “Two weeks. Two very long weeks.”

  “Trouble at home?”

  “You could say that.”

  Mal licked his lips and immediately wished that hadn’t become a habit around Brian. “Listen, I’m . . .” He pushed out a sigh. “I—”

  “Do you ever wonder what it might have been like to have all of this?” Brian asked sweeping his hands out to gesture the walls around him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A safe place, even if it was just words.”

  “Words have power.”

  “You’d really give a kid detention for being inappropriate?”

  “Yes. I would.” Now Mal understood what Brian was getting at. “And I do wonder, sometimes. It’s why I like being a teacher so much. I’m here, where it . . . not begins, but . . .”

  “Where it begins.” Brian’s expression was haunted, and it did not suit him. Again, he shook it off quickly, returning to the smile that didn’t quite work. Something had rattled this man; something more than his nephew’s behavior.

  “It is easier now, I think,” Mal continued. “There will always be people who don’t understand and a lot of folk are frightened by what they don’t understand. And there will always be the kids who will do anything for their parents’ approval. But, deep down, I do feel like there’s a shift. Kids are coming out earlier and earlier, and they’re being supported by their friends if no one else. And I—we fight hard to make sure this school is a safe space. Me and my sister-in-law, especially.”

  Brian’s face brightened. “Rachel Montgomery, of course. I knew your name was familiar.”

  “She mentioned you at Christmas.” Oh, no. Why had he said that?

  “You were talking about me at Christmas?”

  “Donny was complaining about you, actually. Something about a kitchen contractor.”

  Brian’s brow furrowed. “Kitchen contractor?”

  “He called you for a recommendation and you gave him the number of a guy who took eight months to renovate his kitchen.”

  “Eight months!”

  Mal grinned. “Is there an echo in here?”

  Brian blushed and it was . . . amazing. He’d shaved that morning, but even if he hadn’t, the flush creeping across his skin would have stood out—if only because it didn’t belong there. Men like Brian Kenway did not blush. They weren’t uncertain or left off-balance, and they were never lost for words. And yet, Brian was currently standing there, cheeks heated, lips moving soundlessly.

  “Score another one for me, I think,” Mal murmured.

  Brian smiled. “I think that was more than one point. So, tell me about this kitchen contractor.”

  “I don’t recall the name, only that he seemed rather useless.”

  Brian pulled out his wallet and extracted a card. “Get
his details for me. I’ll look into it. At the very least get him reviewed. He shouldn’t be on our list if he’s not reliable.”

  Smiling, Mal took the card. “I’ll do that, thanks. I’m sure Donny will appreciate it.”

  “So what did Rachel have to say about me?”

  “She mentioned some letters you write to the scholarship kids.”

  Brian’s recovered humor dipped again. The haunted look returned. “Education is important.”

  “I can only agree. Listen . . .” Mal cut a glance toward the door, wondering if Josh actually would steal Brian’s car. “I’m heading up the GSA this semester.”

  “GSA?”

  “Gay-Straight Alliance.”

  “Okay, yeah. Rachel has mentioned it, or I’ve seen it on a few transcripts. Another wonder of the modern age, huh?”

  “Indeed. Um . . . I don’t want to presume . . .” Mal hesitated as the color in Brian’s cheeks returned. “But it’s a welcoming place, if Josh needs, ah, support.” Way to sound like a leader, Malcolm.

  “I’ll mention it to him, maybe in a decade or so, when we’re talking again.”

  Mal laughed. “Teenagers are masters in the art of grudge holding.”

  “Please don’t say that.”

  Right, it had only been a couple of weeks. “I’d like some adult volunteers as well. Parents, guardians. The more the merrier.” Had he actually said that out loud?

  “You don’t want me talking with kids, trust me. I suck at it.”

  “It’s not about talking. Just being there . . . being gay and successful is what they need to see. You’re a businessman. Put together and charming. You’re succeeding at life and a lot of my kids need to see that.”

  “Charming, hmm?” Brian’s blue eyes twinkled, and it was wrong that they were the same color as Josh’s—that looking at a troubled boy would remind Mal of his uncle, every single time.

  “You know you are,” Mal stuttered.

  “Well, of course I know. I did wonder if you did, though.”

  “Is this where I roll my eyes?”

  “If you like.”

  Mal tried hard not to roll his eyes. “Stop smiling like that.”

  “Is it too charming?”

  “Yes! We might have a policy regarding bullying, but we also have one regarding harassment.”

  Brian lifted his chin and laughed, the sound warm and rich. Then he tapped the card Mal still held in his hand. “Call me. We’ll have coffee and talk about this club of yours.”

  “We could talk about it over the phone.”

  “But talking in person is so much more fun.”

  “Brian, I don’t think—”

  “Don’t think. Just do.”

  God, was everyone going to tell him that? “The meetings are on Monday afternoons.”

  “Today? I—”

  “I know. They sprang it on me too. How about next week?”

  “Hmm. We should meet for coffee this week, then.”

  “We don’t have to—”

  “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  With a strange joy, Mal answered, “PT, probably, if I skip this afternoon.”

  Brian took in his crutches again, as though he’d forgotten. “What happened?”

  “Why don’t we save some conversation for our coffee d—” Do not call it a date. “For coffee.”

  Brian had heard the D. He grinned. “Let’s do that.” A wrinkle of concern crossed his brow. “Tell me, this GSA. Are straight kids actually involved?”

  “Yes. Not as many as I’d like, but enough to give the title credence.”

  “Times have changed, haven’t they?”

  “They really have.”

  Simon emailed on Thursday, wanting to come out and see the Colonial. He was interested in the job—as Brian had known he would be. What Brian hadn’t known was how much he didn’t want Simon to come back to Morristown . . . and that was new.

  If he were honest with himself, he’d been manufacturing excuses to stay in touch with Simon for over a year, starting shortly after Simon had moved to Bethlehem. And now Simon had been the first person he called when confronted with an old building that needed work.

  Was Vanessa right? If so, why didn’t he want to see Simon now?

  Brian averted his gaze from the picture wall before he could find the photo of them together. Damn it, he was over Simon. He had been the one to leave! After nearly twelve years of not understanding why he couldn’t make it work, despite knowing he loved Simon and wanted to be loved by him—exclusively—he’d packed a bag and moved into the house where he now lived. The one of four that had always remained vacant for reasons he’d never examined too closely, because admitting that he’d liked having somewhere to go when things didn’t work out was too much like sharing that he had once needed somewhere to go.

  “Not the same.”

  Sort of the same.

  Opening a reply message, Brian checked his calendar. His business always slowed in winter. Foundations couldn’t be dug and no one wanted to work outside when it was snowing, sleeting, or twenty-something below freezing with the wind chill—had it always been this cold in the northeast? This time of year, he did a lot of consulting and planning for when the ground thawed. In between, he dealt with emergencies and told Vanessa, over and again, why he was too busy to appear personally at any of the Smart Foundation board meetings.

  He smiled as he saw the bright-purple bar on his calendar denoting a social appointment that afternoon: coffee with Mal. Since when did he look forward to a coffee date—that wasn’t a date? Mal wasn’t going to sleep with him, he knew that. He’d known that on New Year’s Eve. Mal wasn’t the hookup type, his lack of attendance Thursday nights at the Colonial aside. But, God, the idea of getting under the professor’s skin. Or under one of his button collar shirts.

  Mal would have hair on his chest, Brian decided. Not a thick pelt. The hair on his head was a silky, flyaway texture that seemed to defy all styling aid. Brian could easily imagine it longer and supposed it was easier to tame with a little length. More weight would help. Longer hair would suit Mal’s face too. He had an interesting manner: not as intense as his job might demand, but not as relaxed as he could be. He was a thinker, but also a dreamer. The breadth of his shoulders and leanness of frame indicated he was athletic.

  He’d played football in high school, right? What position?

  They’d agreed to meet at Olive’s, a café two doors down from the Colonial, in the adjacent building. As Brian studied the façade, he wondered what the Billings Group would replace this row with if they tore everything down. He checked the next building along, and then looked across the street at the still-new hotel. Getting the large chain here had been a triumph for downtown, especially as they’d constructed one of their flagship, upmarket models. The conference space was sorely needed, and Brian was a member of the gym on the ground floor.

  Returning his attention to the older buildings on his side of the street, he tried to picture how the row of tired brick in several different colors and mismatched windows would appear to someone from out of town.

  They could seem charming, to use a word that had been applied to him. But was charming a term people used when they saw something that was supposed to be appealing, and yet . . . wasn’t?

  “You could have waited inside,” said Mal, appearing next to him. He was using only one crutch today and looked a lot less tired than on Monday, and all warm and cozy in his dark felted wool coat, gray hat, and matching gray scarf.

  “How’s the leg?” Brian asked, nodding toward the big black brace.

  “Numb, mostly. Hopefully they’ll have a chair I can prop it up on.”

  “We could try the Colonial instead.”

  “I love Leo like a brother, but I don’t like visiting his place during the afternoon. It’s usually full of old men and women watching talk shows and curling.”

  “Curling?”

  “It’s like hockey with broomsticks.”

 
; “You’re making that up.”

  Mal smiled. “So totally not. Google it.”

  Brian felt a laugh tickle his throat. “Jesus, you’re like the third person to tell me to google something this week.”

  Shrugging, Mal tipped his head toward the café door. “We heading in?”

  “Yeah, let me get that.” Brian pulled the door open and held it until Mal made his way through. The server took one look at Mal’s leg and crutch and ushered them to a table near the back that had plenty of space around it, and an extra chair he could use to prop up his foot.

  Brian draped his coat over the back of his chair and then fidgeted next to Mal, who was working the buttons at the front of his own coat.

  “Need a hand?” Brian asked.

  “I think I can undress myself.” Mal’s cheeks flushed a little over an easy laugh.

  Grinning, Brian took Mal’s coat anyway, and hung it over the back of his chair. Then he angled the extra one so Mal could get his leg up there.

  “How long have you been dealing with the brace?”

  “Since the surgery, which was about seven weeks ago. I’ve just had it unlocked, meaning I’m allowed to bend my knee a few degrees when I walk. And I don’t have to sleep with the damn thing anymore.”

  “You had to sleep with that on your leg?”

  “And shower.”

  “Damn.”

  “It’s been easier to deal with than the cast.”

  “Cast?”

  Mal tapped his other leg. “This one was broken. In three places. I have enough metal in there to set off an alert at Newark Airport from about a mile away. I’ve had three surgeries on that leg and a combination of casts and braces. I’d just gotten them off when we decided to do the surgery on this one.” He tapped his right knee.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “What can I get you guys?” The server was back, pencil poised over her pad.

  Brian picked up one of the menus she’d left on the table, then glanced over his shoulder at the glass cases facing the front and side of the shop. “Coffee, black, and one of those fruit tart things. Have they got custard under the fruit?”

  “Uh-huh.”