MIKE woke up to a phone ringing. He felt movement beside him in bed. Mike stretched and looked over in time to see Gio grab his cell phone off the night stand. He greeted the caller groggily and then said, “Yes, that’s all right. Of course, sir. I will see you then.”
Gio hung up and grunted as he put his phone back on the table.
“What is it?” Mike asked.
“That was the president of the Olcott School. He’d like to see me later this morning.”
“What time is it now?”
“Almost eight.”
Mike groaned. It was later than he would have liked. He had given himself the day off to spend with Gio, but now it looked like that time would be cut short. He reached over and pulled Gio into his arms, determined to savor things while they lasted.
“When is Emma getting back?” Gio asked.
She was at Becky’s place. Mike felt bad for continuing to ship her off so he could spend more time with Gio, but Emma didn’t seem to mind much. Becky certainly liked having Emma around. She had two boys under the age of seven who absolutely worshipped Emma, and Becky appreciated having some help with them.
“Late morning, probably. We were talking about going to the Met today. The one with the art, not the opera.”
Gio chuckled, which Mike appreciated.
Mike explained, “There’s an exhibit about musical instruments or something that she wants to see.”
“Ah, yes, I heard they got a new Stradivarius.”
Mike had no idea what that meant, but he nodded. “She said she wanted to go with you, but if you can’t make it, maybe we’ll do something else.” It meant a lot to Mike that Emma was now deliberately including Gio in her plans. It gave Mike some hope that everything might work out, at least as far as this relationship went. He was overjoyed that Emma had come around, at any rate.
“Perhaps we can still go to the museum,” said Gio. “I suppose if I’m just going to get fired, it won’t take very long.”
Mike smoothed the hair away from Gio’s face. He supposed that was a possibility. “Do you really think that’s what will happen?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know what to expect.”
“At least come back here for dinner tonight?”
Gio smiled. “As if I could stay away.” He sighed. “O caro. I am worried about today.”
It was the first time Gio had ever explicitly admitted that. He’d been obviously agitated for a few days, but kept brushing it off whenever Mike asked him how he felt about what was happening. It wasn’t that Mike was glad Gio was worried, but he was reassured in a way to see that Gio was expressing more plainly some of what Mike had been feeling as well. Mike kissed Gio’s forehead. “I’d tell you it’s going to be all right, but I can’t really be sure of that myself. All I can say is that I’ll be here when it’s over.”
“Assuming Emma doesn’t hate me forever because she was thrown out of the program.”
Mike’s heart sank. “Do you really think that will happen?”
“No, but I can’t be certain.”
Mike was worried, but he felt oddly optimistic for a change. Maybe it was the high of waking up next to Gio after a good night spent together. He wanted there to be many more nights like that in their future. It seemed like that was in his grasp. If only he could hold on to it….
Gio lightly touched Mike’s face. “Whatever happens, we’re in it together, right? I’ll get the news and we will figure out what to do with it. It’s you and me now, and we’ll… figure it out.”
Mike liked the sound of that. Perhaps that was why things didn’t seem so dire. “Yes. Together.” He took Gio’s hand and squeezed it.
Gio smiled. “I love you, caro.”
“I love you too.” Their proximity to each other was intoxicating, and Mike reveled in it. “What time do you have to be there?”
“Eleven.”
“Oh, good. We have a couple of hours together, at least.”
“Indeed.” Gio slipped his hand under the covers and ran it over Mike’s ass.
“Perhaps I can take your mind off the meeting before you have to go to it.”
Gio smirked. “Perhaps.”
THE administrative section of the Olcott School building smelled like old paper and chalk, which was a safe thing to focus on as Gio walked down the hall to the president’s office. It felt like he was a dead man walking.
Maybe he was.
He knew he was being too dramatic—he was still an opera singer at heart, he supposed, and thus prone to be over-the-top—but he dreaded this meeting. He hadn’t been dealing well with the uncertainty about the outcome of this situation, so much so that he’d admitted to Mike that he was nervous. He hadn’t intended to do that; he hadn’t wanted to burden Mike with his own feelings on the matter when Mike had so much to deal with himself. Then again, telling Mike had been a relief in a way, and Mike had comforted him.
Mike continued to humble Gio with his big heart and the way he dealt with adversity. And now this amazing man loved Gio. Gio held that close to his heart as he walked into his appointment.
The president of the Olcott School, an austere man named Lou Vanderbrandt, sat at his desk. Howell was in one of the spare chairs. The other was vacant, waiting for Gio.
“We do have a situation,” Vanderbrandt mused as Gio sat down.
“I realize that,” said Gio. “And I appreciate the position you’ve been put in, but—”
“Let me speak first,” said Vanderbrandt. “First, regarding the accusations that you acted inappropriately with students. We take such accusations very seriously.”
Gio’s stomach dropped. He’d nearly forgotten about those charges. It seemed like he should be able to easily defend himself from the patently false accusations, so he’d spent most of his energy worrying about what he had done and how that could affect the outcome of the situation. “Yes, I—”
“No need to defend yourself. It became clear to us pretty quickly that the charges were spurious.” Vanderbrandt fingered his wedding band. “Look, Gio, I’ll be honest with you about this one. Mrs. Quinlan stood in this very office and rattled off a viciously homophobic diatribe about how the gay teacher was obviously molesting his students. My husband was just outside the office, waiting to take me to lunch, when this happened, and I can tell you that he was not appreciative.” He shook his head and leaned forward, toward Gio. “I was already predisposed not to believe that particular accusation, I admit. But I had to follow procedure. When no students offered anything to support the charge, and indeed most of them found it completely unbelievable, the administration considered the charges dismissed. I mean, even the boy you were accused of molesting had no idea charges had even been made. We had to follow up, though. You understand.”
“Yes. But—”
“I’m not a fool. I know how this game works. When a woman with a clear agenda makes charges against a teacher about whom there have been no complaints, you have to wonder. So you’ve been acquitted of those charges. Just to get that off the table.”
Gio decided to stop trying to get a word in edgewise. He nodded and mumbled, “Thank you.”
Vanderbrandt was not finished, however. “We’ve decided to let Amelia Quinlan into the Young Musicians Program.”
And there it was. Any relief he felt at the dismissal of the false charges vanished in an instant. It wasn’t just that this wasn’t an outcome he wanted; he hated that Tracy Quinlan had won after all she’d put him, Mike, and Emma through.
“Not the outcome you wanted?” Vanderbrandt asked.
Gio hated that his feelings must have been so apparent on his face. “It’s not relevant what I think,” he said. “She’s a fine singer. If the school has decided to accept her, I hope she takes every advantage of the amazing opportunity she’s been given.”
“But you don’t think she deserves the spot.”
“Again, it’s not relevant what I think.”
Vanderbrandt nodded. “Yes, it would appear that, in this situation, that is true. Look, Gio. I believe that there was no impropriety on your part, and if there was, you took the correct steps in taking yourself off the audition committee. I know of your friendship with Dacia Russini, but even without her on the committee, Emma McPhee would have been accepted and Amelia Quinlan probably not. But the problem here is that, if the Quinlans take their money away, the school will lose a large enough endowment that it will affect the fall semester in a profound way. We’d have to cut classes or let a few teachers go.”
Gio took a moment to process that, and then said, “So you’re accepting Amelia to keep the endowment?”
“Yes.”
It was astonishing that Vanderbrandt seemed to have no compunction about that. Then Gio realized what this could really mean. “Emma McPhee gets to stay?”
“Yes.”
It was an odd sensation to fret about the unfairness of Tracy Quinlan winning while also feeling relief that Emma got to stay. It was unfair, but probably the best outcome he could have hoped for.
There was a long silence, after which Vanderbrandt said, “I’m surprised you haven’t inquired after your own employment.”
That almost seemed beside the point. “I suppose you will tell me what your verdict was.”
Vanderbrandt nodded toward Howell, who said, “We considered asking you to take the fall semester off, but that wouldn’t be fair to the students you’ve already made commitments to. You will continue to work with those students, but your schedule is restricted otherwise. No new students, no additional classes.”
Gio recognized that this was kind of a token punishment—he hadn’t anticipated taking on new students in the fall semester except perhaps for Emma, whom he could easily work with outside of the school—but the stern look on Vanderbrandt’s face indicated that perhaps this was not a widely known fact.
“All right,” Gio said. “I can accept that.”
Howell walked him back down the hall a few minutes later, and Gio found that his feelings were more mixed than he would have anticipated. The Amelia thing aside, this was really the best possible outcome. Why was he not more elated?
“I’ll call the McPhees,” Howell said. “They might appreciate knowing nothing has changed regarding Emma’s place in the program. And I suppose we can finally post who was admitted to the YMP. Then maybe the parents will stop calling me, at least.”
“Yes,” Gio said, though he intended to call Mike soon as well.
“I apologize for putting you through this, but you know how these things go.”
Gio shrugged. “I will not be teaching any YMP classes next semester, and probably not for a while, I’m guessing. So it is immaterial to me.”
Howell stopped near the elevator and crossed his arms over his chest. “You care a great deal more than you’re letting on, but all right. I will take you at your word and carry on with my day.” He shook his head. “But I don’t like it much either.”
Gio closed his eyes for a long moment and tried to get his bearings. “I am grateful that you and the administration are letting me keep my job and also keeping Emma in the program. I am. And maybe I do care, but enough of my personal stuff has been aired because of this mess, so you’ll understand if I’m not eager to share my thoughts.”
Howell pressed the down button. “I understand, Gio. I was there when Vanderbrandt questioned Mike McPhee. My heart went out to him. To both of you. That can’t have been easy.” He took a step back from the elevator. “He seems like a nice man, for what it’s worth.”
“He is.”
“Maybe the two of you would like to come over for dinner sometime soon. Bring Emma. My wife is a great cook.”
“All right.”
Howell bid him farewell and went back to his office, leaving Gio standing near the elevator wondering what had just happened. He pulled out his phone and texted Mike: Emma’s in and I keep my job.
When he got back to the first floor, his phone buzzed. Mike had texted him a smiley face.
You spend too much time with teenagers, Gio texted back.
I know. Come over tonight and we’ll celebrate.
Gio smiled. Together—that was what they’d agreed to that morning. Maybe life wasn’t completely fair, but Gio had Mike, and that felt like a victory. He texted, I will see you soon. I love you.
Mike texted back, Love u 2.