Chapter Ten

WONDER OF WONDERS, Isaac felt fully engaged in class Monday morning, possibly because—for once—one of his young composition students showed promise as she read her short essay about creative process. For but a moment, he remembered what it was like to teach and to love it. He’d had a taste of it at the Being Frank meetings, but to find it in class was a much-needed, pleasant surprise, especially with the looming promise of a dinner with John that could go badly. Very badly. John wasn’t going to like learning about Simon, but Tommy was right: secrets weren’t good. Secrets had ruined Isaac’s marriage. They wouldn’t ruin what he had with John.

At the hour’s close, kids scrambled to their next classes, maybe lunch. As usual, no one ever stuck around to chat. Once they’d gone, Isaac collected his own bag and planned a brief respite at Donkey where he wanted to think things through. He had a lot to explain that night, and none of it painted Isaac in a positive light. He might as well be prepared.

Preoccupied, he almost ran straight into someone on his way through the door. He stopped, backed up. “Sorry.”

“Isaac.”

In the half-second it took for Isaac to lift his head, Simon had already shoved him back into the classroom. The big desk up front jerked as their bodies made contact, as would be expected with the sudden, violent arrival of four hundred pounds of combined male. Simon threw the first punch, but Isaac didn’t retaliate. He played defense, even when they knocked over desks in the front row and Isaac tasted blood.

A flurry of familiar movement—Simon included—interrupted the impromptu beat down. John and Tommy were there, yelling and pulling. Isaac tried to sit up and make some announcement, but what the hell was he supposed to say?

With the addition of John and Tommy’s weight on his back, Simon tumbled backward, still kicking. What caught all their attention was the hollow bang of John’s head against the big metal desk up front.

The scuffling stopped, replaced by glances of concern, even from Simon, who held out a hand to help John to his feet.

Ignoring the offer, John said, “Damn it,” with his hand on the back of his head. Most of his hair was in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Tommy asked.

“No.” The snappy delivery was less of pain, more of irritation. John shoved his hair out of his face, gaze moving to the open door, where students congregated, mouths wide. He dragged himself to his feet and closed the door but not before nodding to Janelle, who glared at Simon as if he’d insulted Nine Inch Nails.

Isaac remained on his ass, tasting blood. The skin beneath his eye ached and felt wet. He endured the pain, wanted it, because physical pain was preferable to the emotional upheaval that had just walked through his classroom door.

John took steps toward him, but Tommy thwarted his approach by placing his own body between them, glaring at both Isaac and Simon in turn. Still, John looked over his friend’s shoulder to ask, “Isaac, are you all right?”

He had no idea how to answer that question.

Simon stood, brushing off khakis and a blue sweater. “Apologies for your head.”

John cussed under his breath. “Jesus, man, who the hell are you?”

“I’m Simon. Isaac’s boyfriend.”

Isaac pushed to stand and stuttered a few nonsensical syllables as John’s shoulders curled forward. He lost three inches of height.

Meanwhile, Tommy growled, “What?”

“Simon—”

Ignoring Isaac’s plea, Simon turned to John and Tommy. “Would you gentlemen excuse us?”

John said, “I’m not going fucking anywhere.”

Isaac didn’t know who was more terrifying in that moment: Simon with his outward, physical rage or John with the simmering storm that reflected like lightning in his eyes.

“Mr. Simon person.” Tommy held his hands out as if they held invisible plates. “Go on.”

Facing Isaac, Simon wielded his slow, Southern drawl like a weapon. “Did you think I would give up? Think I wouldn’t find you? I admit, damn sneaky of you to keep your name off the Hambden University website, but then, there you were, standing behind Mr. John Conlon at some literary festival. The hero professor.” The light from outside made his blue eyes burn. “Easy to find you then.”

Isaac held his hands up. “I’m sorry for—”

“For what? Disappearing off the face of the earth? You could have been dead, Isaac. Nobody knew what happened to you, not even Elizabeth.”

His stomach twisted at the mention of her name. “You talked to Elizabeth?”

“Of course, I talked to Elizabeth, and she was not very happy to see me.” He clasped his hands into fists. “Why the hell would she wanna see the man who helped destroy her marriage?”

Isaac took a single step away. “Why don’t you just calm down?”

“Calm down?” Simon lifted a chair and hurled it against the wall.

The ricochet sounded like a gun. Tommy only tensed, but John covered his ears and closed his eyes. He curled forward farther, so Isaac rushed to him.

“John.” He put his hands on his shoulders. “John, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Tommy forcefully elbowed Isaac away. “Bullshit, he is.”

Tommy stared him down, but soon, Isaac felt another pair of eyes on him—or, more accurately, on John, who’d calmed enough to realize they weren’t on College Green in June waiting to die. Simon stared at John, and John stared back. His eyes were wide, and most of his weight looked to be on the heels of his Converse shoes, ready to run.

“Oh, my God, he’s fucking you,” Simon said.

“Simon, let’s go outside.” Isaac reached for his ex-lover’s shoulder, only to be batted away.

“Look at him, Isaac.” He studied John inch by inch. “He’s not what you like. You like big guys. You like it rough. Jesus, does he cry when you fuck him?”

Tommy shoved Simon in the shoulder. “Watch your mouth.”

“I guess he does have a nice mouth, doesn’t he, Isaac? Wonder what he can do with it?”

“Probably a lot more than you,” John said, and Simon lurched forward. Both Tommy and Isaac got in his way.

Calmly, John walked right up to the flailing fighter—who had a good five inches on him—and said, “You want to fight me right now? You’re two times my size. What the fuck is that going to prove, asshole?”

And Simon wilted, misplaced anger gone. Tommy and Isaac let him go.

“Fuck you,” John said quietly. “And fuck you, too, Isaac.” He left the classroom, Tommy right behind.

“What he said,” Tommy muttered, and for the first time in over a month, Isaac remembered the cold emptiness of despair.

 

ISAAC CANCELED HIS afternoon classes and took Simon to a quiet booth in the back of Crocodile Lounge, close enough to his own apartment in case they started screaming at each other, but not literally inside Isaac’s place. He didn’t want Simon to know where he lived. The restaurant, hopping and filled with colored light and music at night, was pretty dead right then since they didn’t serve lunch—but they did serve booze.

They both ordered whiskey; no matter that it was only lunchtime.

“So what happened?” Simon asked. “You moved up here and shacked up?”

“No. I never intended to meet John.”

“Ain’t that sweet?” His breath shuddered, and the angry slam of his glass against the table distracted from the wet red of his eyes. “Wouldn’t one—or both—of you get fired if word got out that you were fucking?”

“Don’t hurt John because of something I’ve done.”

He shrugged and wiped at his eyes. “I don’t know, Isaac, it looks like hurting him is just the way to get to you.”

“You wouldn’t. You aren’t like that.”

Simon leaned forward in his seat. Isaac hadn’t noticed earlier, but he smelled like fast food and smoke. His hand shook, pointed in Isaac’s face. “How do you know how I am right now? Do you know what I’ve been through, how scared I’ve been?”

The waitress made eye contact, and for the second time in two days, Isaac had to shoot a glare that quite clearly said, “Do not come over here.” She already seemed hesitant considering the bloody, bruised state of his face.

Simon continued, “The man I love, the man I waited for, finally left his wife. We had a place all picked out. We were going to start our life together.” He choked out a single sob and hid his face behind his huge hands. “You broke my heart and abandoned me, Isaac. You disappeared!”

Isaac finished his first drink. Maybe he did need the waitress after all. “I had to leave. The apartment reminded me of all the things I’d done wrong.”

“Am I one of those things?” Usually blindingly handsome, the skin beneath Simon’s eyes sagged. His square jaw was painted black—probably hadn’t shaved in days—and his hair, typically close-cropped, tickled the tops of his ears.

“It was wrong,” Isaac said.

“It never felt wrong to me.”

“I was cheating on my wife.”

“Yeah, well, now you’re cheating on me with…” Simon laughed through tears. “Hell of a competition, Isaac. I mean to say, I’ve never stepped in front of a bullet before, and I sure don’t have that hair.”

“John has nothing to do with this.”

“Come back to Charleston, and I won’t make a fuss.”

Isaac tried to get as far away from Simon as the booth would allow. “What’s there to make a fuss about?”

“You and John. I’ll ruin him. Promise.”

He shook his head. “You have no evidence of anything. People don’t even know I’m gay.”

“I’m a lawyer, Isaac. You think I can’t find a way?”

How could one of the most eligible men in Charleston look so ugly?

They’d met at a drag night on one of Isaac’s rare bar visits. They hadn’t even exchanged names before hitting the back alley. Only later would Isaac realize he’d accidentally fucked one of the most infamous Southern boys in town: a divorce lawyer who struck fear into the hearts of cheating, rich men. The irony was thicker than swamp mud, especially when Isaac went through his own divorce a year later and refused Simon’s help.

“What’s it going to be?”

“I need time,” Isaac said.

“For what?”

He hissed, “I have a life here, Simon.”

Simon tilted his head. The side of his right eye crinkled as his closed-lipped mouth turned up in a semblance of smile. Isaac had seen him make that face before in court. “You mean him.”

“I have a job. I was a last minute emergency hire. The school needs me.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the school. What about me? Us?”

His fist tightened on his empty glass. “You are not endearing yourself to me right now.”

“Oh, this isn’t me, Isaac.” Simon pointed at himself. “This is what you did. Once we go home, everything can go back to the way it was, but right now, you’re dealing with Isaac Twain’s creature. Jesus, I’ve been so busy thinking about you, I’m about to lose my job. I haven’t been able to focus on anything, not knowing what happened to you, the man I…” He pushed his hands through his black hair and used a bar napkin to wipe his face. “I can’t do this right now. I’ve been driving a day and a night to find you, and I just need sleep before I lose my damn mind.”

“You’re not staying at my place.”

“No, I’m not. The last thing I need is to smell him on your sheets.”

John was everywhere in Isaac’s apartment, from a Wisconsin coffee mug to his preferred lube.

Simon slid from the booth, unsteady on his feet, surely from exhaustion, lack of food, and the addition of alcohol. “I’m getting a hotel, but don’t think I’m going away.” He didn’t bother throwing money on the table.

 

JOHN WASN’T ANSWERING his phone. Of course he wasn’t, but Cleo was. Despite being the administrative head of everything English—and the gossip guru—she hadn’t heard about the altercation in Ellis Hall. Yet. What a miracle. She answered his questions with her usual flighty innocence: Yes, John is in class. Why wouldn’t John be in class? Isaac, is everything okay?

Isaac gave him time, gave him space, to pass through his Monday without further interruption, but once dinnertime hit, he walked straight to John’s house and didn’t bother knocking.

John sat on his living room couch, TV black, no music for once. The house had never felt so menacing. An orange pill bottle held court with a half-empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table.

“How many pills did you take?”

“Just a half.” He didn’t make eye contact. “Helps with the buzz.”

“You shouldn’t mix anxiety meds and alcohol.”

John smiled with zero amusement. “You’re going to give me advice right now?”

He sighed.

“Your face looks like shit.”

Isaac knew and didn’t care.

“So when are you moving back to Charleston?”

“What?”

“Well, that’s why he’s here, right? To get you back.” Apparently annoyed with the empty glass in his hand, John grabbed the scotch bottle and took a loud gulp. “It’s no big deal, so go to him. We were just fucking.”

Isaac felt his pulse in his head. “Is that what you think this is? We’re just fucking?”

“You have no right to get angry at me right now.”

“This is not just fucking,” Isaac yelled.

“But it is a lie!” John stood and shoved him in the chest.

“I never lied to you.”

“You’ve been lying by omission since the day we met! ‘Yeah, I was married to a woman, but I’d love to suck your dick. I didn’t just leave Charleston; I fucking disappeared, and oh, yeah, I have a boyfriend!’”

Isaac reached out to touch, and John reared back.

“Don’t you dare. I have had a headache all fucking day because some jackass rammed my skull against a desk. Being touched by another jackass is the last thing I want right now.”

“I didn’t lie. I didn’t…want to lie.” Isaac folded his arms to keep from reaching out and fixing the beautiful mess of John’s hair. “What happened to me at Broad destroyed me. It made me so scared to be open about my sexuality, scared to let myself be happy, so when I met you, I did not plan…this. That’s why I never told you about Simon. I didn’t realize we…that I…”

“Use your fucking words.”

“I didn’t realize I was going to fall in love with you.”

John’s gasp turned into a quiet bawl, so Isaac reached for him, but John slapped his hand away. “Don’t.”

Isaac reached again, took hold of his wrists, and John fought hard to get away, curving his arms this way and that to escape Isaac’s hold.

“Let go,” John said.

“I can’t.”

John gave one more valiant effort to disentangle their bodies, out of breath with the futility of escaping someone much stronger—and someone terrified of letting go.

“John.” Isaac’s voice shook. “Please.”

John expunged a heaving breath before folding the top of his head against Isaac’s chest, and Isaac finally let go of his wrists. John’s shoulders shook as he clawed at Isaac’s shirt. “Today hurt so much.” He sobbed.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Isaac lifted John’s face and kissed his forehead, his tear-streaked cheeks.

“Don’t ever hurt me like that again.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry.” He wrapped John in his arms and held him until the crying stopped.

Back on the couch, John tended to Isaac’s wounds. Well, wound. His bottom lip was split, but there was nothing to be done for it. The cut under his eye, though, needed looking after. John used an alcohol swab to poke and prod.

“I’m sorry about the things Simon said today.”

John shrugged. So close, his breath smelled like vanilla and peat. “I know I’m not your type, Isaac. It’s no big deal.”

“You are literally my only type right now.”

John smiled—maybe a little. “That’s just because you love me.”

“I do. But there is some bad news.”

“Oh, goody.” John reached for a butterfly bandage. “I love bad news.”

“Simon is threatening our jobs.”

“Original.” He peeled back the sticky sides and gently pressed the bandage to Isaac’s face.

“We need to lie low for a little while. Not see each other. Simon is going to try to get evidence that we’re…us, so only official stuff. School stuff. We can’t go to each other’s houses.”

“You’re at my house right now.”

“And Simon is asleep at a hotel.”

John trailed his fingers down the edge of Isaac’s jaw. “Should I be scared of him?”

“No. He’s a good guy. I just fucked up.”

“Yeah. You did.” He kissed Isaac’s cheek. “Go home.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep without you.”

John shook his head. “You don’t deserve to sleep with me right now.”

John walked Isaac out, but the door closed behind him with an echoing finality—especially when the lock clicked. It was the first time Isaac had ever known John to lock his front door.