No one.
Maybe that was the point.
He wasn’t sure he deserved anyone, anyway.
With a deep breath, he stepped into the main hall of Worthbridge Academy. The place he’d called home for the past two years. That had offered him structure, purpose and, against all odds, a life untethered to the mess he’d come from or the past he’d spent years trying to outrun. Here, he wasn’t someone’s trauma or someone else’s mistake. He was Mr Ellison. A teacher. A colleague. A man rebuilding.
It hadn’t given him everything, but it had given him enough. A handful of friends. A rhythm to his days. Something solid to hold when everything else felt like driftwood. This was his second chance. And he didn’t want to be afraid of it.
Not when, for the first time, he had something worth staying for.
So he stepped forward.
The usual rows of exam desks were replaced by clusters of chairs angled towards the projector screen and the stafftable stacked with filter coffee, biscuits, and a tray of rapidly disappearing croissants bought in bulk from Costco. Courtesy of Radley Enterprises. A little note of gratitude.
At least sixty teachers crowded the hall for staff training. Some sat sifting through safeguarding handbooks, others clustered in groups, trading timetables and summer gossip. A softer hum had replaced the usual drone of excitable teenagers. Low voices, the hiss of the coffee urn, the scrape of chairs, the clatter of a dropped pen. No barked orders about shirts tucked in, no corridor chaos. Adults filling the space, restless in their own quieter way.
“Morning, Jude!” And Miss Patterson, Angie, from Geography waving at him from her seat, half a croissant in hand. “You made it through the summer, then?”
Jude offered a faint smile as he threaded his way between chairs and found a seat near the edge. “Just about. You?”
“Was lovely. Went to Lanzarote. Sat on a beach. Read a book!”
“Sounds perfect.”
“You get away?” Angie peered at him over her glasses.
“Not this year.” Nor any year, but it was never an idea to divulge how he’d never been able to leave the country.
So he sipped his cooling coffee, letting the background noise settle around him. At the front, Headteacher Mrs Temple stepped up to the lectern.
“Welcome back, everyone. I hope you’ve had a restful summer and are ready for the new year.” She shook her head, a frown forming. “And what a year it’s been.”
A hush settled over the room.
“We all know the events of last term won’t leave us entirely. But today, seeing this building restored, seeing all of you here, it means more than I can say.” She swept her gaze across the hall, over the rows of tables filled with teachers, support staff, admin,and caretakers alike. Then landed on Jude. “And I want to take a moment to acknowledge the bravery shown during the fire. In particular, Mr Ellison, who stayed behind with one of our pupils. Shielding him from smoke and heat until emergency services could reach him.”
A different kind of heat crawled up Jude’s neck then, and worsened when the applause began. Tentative at first, then rolling across the room in a tide he couldn’t duck beneath. It was unnecessary at best. He didn’t feel like a hero. He’d done what any decent man would have. Teacher or not, leaving Alfie Carter behind hadn’t been an option. But applause? A plaque? Whispers aboutTeacher of the Year? None of it belonged to him. What he wanted, and what Worthbridge needed, wasn’t another ceremony or empty sentiment. It was to ensure that a fire like that wouldn’t happen again. For the people behind it to be found, stopped, locked away. For the town to breathe without fear.
Worthbridge needed anactualhero.
That wasn’t him.
But he did what was required at that moment. Smiled. Nodded. Accepted thewell doneswhile silently begging Mrs Temple to move the hell on. And as he did, he drifted his gaze over the rows of colleagues clapping dutifully, until it snagged on someone he didn’t know. A man. In the far corner. Clapping along with the rest, eyes fixed on him, but his smile wasn’t perfunctory. It was wide. Unrestrained. So genuine it punched the air from Jude’s lungs harder than the fire ever had.
The man was new. Had to be. And PE, too. That was written all over him. The shorts, the polo, the way he stood as if the hall belonged to him. That loose, easy stance all Physical Education teachers had. And he was tall. Black. Collar-length locs tied back. Power wrapped in casual ease. Confidence radiated from him, not loud or forced. But… undeniable. Present. And a suddenrush of fresh air filled the hall Jude had been choking in for months.
Christ. Jude didn’t usually think like his year elevens, butbloody hell.
Thankfully Mrs Turner’s voice cut through his unprofessionalism, “And whilst we are on applause, please welcome Mr Bailey. Substitute PE teacher to support Mr Stanmore while Mr Levy is on extended paternity leave.”
The new bloke lifted a hand, easy as anything, and offered a few hellos.
Jude couldn’t look away.
And when the man’s gaze swung back and caught his, that smile stayed. Easy, unguarded, as if it belonged there. Jude dropped his eyes to his notebook, shifted in his chair, cleared his throat. Because one—there wasn’t a chance in hell that bloke was gay. Two—Jude had long since abandoned the fantasy that Cupid would deliver someone perfect, ready-made and waiting, to his place of work. And three—he still wasn’t ready.
That was the main reason, if he was honest.
