Their eyes widen and I can see the pieces falling into place. Will I get fired? Not likely. Even though I omitted a few things in my interview. And our subsequent meetings.
“Your father is Charles Smith. Principal of James Buchanan High School.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and they don’t wait for a response. “Husband to Minerva Anne Smith, the mayor of Dixon Hills.”
“Assistant principal.” The words are said under my breath. Then louder, I say, “Raja, I?—”
They motion with their hand, stopping my words. “Let me finish. I understand why, I think. But this puts me in an awkward position. And you had to have known it would.”
Known? No. Suspected? Yes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying very hard to mean it.
“There are issues right now in front of the Dixon Hills city council that— But it’s done. Chas?” Their eyes drill into mine. “No more lies. Or omissions. We need to be able to trust each other. You came highly recommended, so I took a chance on an outsider.” Who isn’t an outsider isn’t said, but it’s implied. “Don’t make me regret this.”
When I reach my small apartment, I’m exhausted. Ignoring the boxes everywhere, I sink into my bed, which is the only thing I managed to put together so far. It’s early afternoon, but I’m already done with this day.
I worked so hard to be seen as an adult. And undid all of that in a matter of hours.
Now I’m the mayor’s son.
Chuck and Minni’s kid.
I scroll through my texts with Brad. Intentionally bypassing the picture.
Long blond hair.Blond, not blonde. That should have been my first clue.
Tight jeans.
Ass I’d like to tap.
I’dget on my knees for this guy.
I give in and stare at the picture of Brad’s monster dick straining the confines of his pants, my mind struggling with the implications. I thought maybe I’d gotten it wrong, but I was the only guy there with long hair.
This is not me and my overactive imagination.
Brad Rathborn got hard while fantasizing about a guy.
While fantasizing about me.
Later that evening,being the adult I am, or at least trying to play the part, I drop in on my parents. I want to be the first to break the news. I hope I’m not too late.
The scent of oregano and tomatoes greets me when I arrive, along with hugs worthy of a WWE Bearhug. My mom smiles through her tears as she squeezes my face between her hands until I announce I’m not visiting but home for good. Mom stares at me.
“Surprise,” I say, my voice too wobbly for my liking.
Mom opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Is that a first? Her gaze darts to my dad and back to me. “I need to check on dinner.” Then she rushes off.
None of this makes sense. My parents have been begging me to return home since I left five years ago. I follow her into the kitchen, my dad right behind me.
The house is cozy with a quaint farmhouse décor. Wood-grain furniture with stone-and-brick accents extend through the house. The sense of relief at being home, some place familiar and safe, battles with the knot of failure in my stomach.
Mom slams pans around as if she’s planning on using them as weapons. Then she turns, nothing in her hands thankfully, and studies me. The way her lips are pinched tight sparks off memories of the talk we had after I received a D sophomore year of high school. My only D. No surprise it was in Speech I. Or that she made me take Speech II the next year.
“Mom,” I say cautiously. “I thought you’d be happy.”
She leans back against the butcher-block counter and raises a brow at my dad. He ducks his head. Either he’s trying to hide his smile or trying to stay out of the trajectory of my mother’s ire. “Chuck?”
He sighs, scratching the side of his face. But the smile he gives me is genuine. “Welcome home, Charlie.”
