Are you trying to get me in detention?
The three dots appear again before I respond. I wait, breathing hard, to see what he’ll say next.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
I wouldn’t mind too much if you were the supervising teacher
I nearly drop the phone. That’s not so subtle anymore. It’s a direct hit to the chest. My skin feels too tight, too hot, like I might combust right on this couch.
I should stop this. Shut it down. Remind him—remind myself—that I’m Rhys’s teacher and this can’t happen.
But I’ve been on edge all night. The book club ladies invited me out again, and I said no to prove to myself that I wasn’t going to the Moonshine hoping to see Ryder. Which begs the question.
Faye
Are you out?
A beat passes before his response comes through.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
Are conversation pivots your specialty?
I huff a laugh, typing back.
Faye
Are you out or not?
Another pause, even longer…
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
No. I’m sprawled on the couch with Rhys on top of me
He passed out mid-movie
The image slams into me with the force of a battering ram. Ryder on his couch. Rhys curled up on his chest, small body rising and falling with sleep. Ryder’s large hand resting on his son’s back, protective and gentle. The movie playing to an audience of one while the other dreams.
This is worse than if he’d said he was at the Moonshine surrounded by women. It’s a different side of him. The devoted father who stays in on Friday nights. Who lets his son use him as a pillow. Who’s probably been watching some animated movie on repeat because that’s what parents do.
Another text arrives.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
You?
Faye
At home, blowing off steam on the Switch
“Blowing off steam” is a polite way of saying “trying to sweat out inappropriate feelings for you through vigorous virtual dancing.”
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
What game?
Faye
