A Little Lesson Read online

  “What if he says no?” It was Bronson’s biggest fear. If Nash said no to his date, it was going to be a long school year with him having to see Tucker’s teacher nearly every day.

  “If that man says no, he’s a fool and has no place educating the minds of America’s youth.” Maggie’s tone brooked no argument.

  Bronson snorted, finding his happy place again. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Just do it, Bronson. You’ve got everything to gain and nothing to lose.”

  “Fine, you win.” Bronson reached into his back pocket for his phone. He was slipping it out when it buzzed in his hand.

  “Great minds think alike!” Maggie was grinning from ear to ear.

  Turning the phone over, Bronson’s heart sank. The text message wasn’t from Nash. It was from Alicia. [We need to talk. My house, 6pm.]

  Bronson shivered, his excitement over asking Nash out buried under an avalanche of anxiety and raw fear. When Alicia said they needed to talk, Bronson knew only pain would follow.

  5

  Bronson’s hands were sweating as he climbed out of his SUV at Alicia’s house. During the ten minute ride over, he’d gone over all the possible things she could want to discuss. None of them were good.

  It crossed his mind that Alicia could want to move on with her life and give him full custody of Tucker. Having his son full-time was his heart’s greatest wish. Nothing would make him happier. If Alicia gave him full custody, it meant he’d be free to make all decisions concerning Tucker without having to get Alicia’s say so, permission, more like. Over the years, she’d done nothing but make his life and Tucker’s, by extension, miserable.

  Last year, Tucker showed an interest in playing soccer in the Greater Newburyport Youth League. It was for four and five year olds to teach them the very basics of the game as well as team building and sportsmanship. Bronson had eagerly filled out the permission slip and had taken Tucker shopping for knee pads and new sneakers. He’d never seen his son so excited about anything non-dinosaur related before, until Alicia dropped the hammer and refused to sign on the dotted line. She claimed soccer was too dangerous for Tucker to play. Bronson was crushed when Tucker’s enthusiasm turned to tears.

  He shook his head, offering a silent prayer that whatever Alicia had to tell him would make his life with Tucker better rather than worse.

  Wiping his sweat-soaked hands on the ass of his pants, he rang the doorbell. Moments later, his prune-faced ex-wife opened the door.

  “Bronson, come in.” Alicia greeted coldly, not bothering to hold the door open for him.

  Rolling his eyes, Bronson followed dutifully behind her, like a Labrador retriever, through what used to be their house. They’d bought the cute two-bedroom ranch-style house with help from Alicia’s parents right before Tucker was born which was the reason Alicia kept the house in the divorce. Money definitely talks.

  “Where’s Tucker?”

  “Not here.” Alicia didn’t bother to turn around, instead stalking toward the fridge where she grabbed a bottle of wine. Without offering Bronson any, she poured out what looked like half the bottle into a deep glass.

  “Why am I here, Alicia? It sure as hell isn’t to watch you drink. Lord knows I did enough of that while we were married.”

  She glared at him, her blue eyes icy. “I wouldn’t have had to drink so much if my husband didn’t like choking on dick.”

  “Jesus Christ, Alicia! You’re nothing but class.” Bronson raked his hands through his hair, sick of her well-rehearsed theatrics after only five minutes of being here. “What do you want?”

  “Tucker,” she said simply, before taking a large gulp from her glass.

  “Tucker? You already won joint-custody which you don’t take advantage of now. I’m sure as hell not giving you extra time with him just so you can disappoint him more.” Bronson had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach thanks to the purely evil look on his ex-wife’s face.

  “Ashton asked me to marry him. We’re moving to his house in Greenwich, Connecticut. He’s a stockbroker on Wall Street, you know.” A sharp smile spilt Alicia’s face in two. It reminded Bronson of the devilish clown in the television movie version of Stephen King’s It, only Alicia didn’t have blood dripping from her perfectly white teeth. Yet…

  “Congrats. I’m sure you and Albert will be completely miserable together.” Bronson knew he should just keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t resist getting one dig in at Alicia.

  “Ashton.” Alicia glared at him.

  “Ashton, Albert, I don’t give a fuck. I wish you all the happiness in the world, but,” Bronson took a deep breath to steady his nerves, “you’re not taking my son two hundred miles away from me.”

  “Our son, don’t you mean?” Alicia took another deep drink from her glass before pouring the rest of the bottle into her now empty glass.

  “Give me a break, Alicia.” Bronson was trying to hold on to his patience. “You haven’t given a damn about Tucker since the moment you found out you were pregnant.”

  “You ruined my life!” Alicia exploded, her icy eyes nearly black with rage.

  Bronson barked out a rough laugh. “I ruined your life? If memory serves, you’re the one who begged to have sex with me at that frat party back at Simmons.”

  Alicia snorted. “I guess even a limp-dicked faggot like you can get it up once, huh?”

  Bronson felt his blood start to boil. Language like this was nothing new from Alicia. He should be used to her venom by now, but those words still hurt. “Call me whatever you want, but you’re not taking Tucker away from me.” The anger in his belly turned to stone-cold fear. Alicia’s parents had a lot of money and they’d be able to afford the best team of lawyers to help her win the custody case.

  “Watch me. No judge in this country is going to give custody of a little boy to a flaming homo.”

  “When did you become such a hateful bitch?” Bronson couldn’t resist asking. He should have just left the house, quit while he was ahead, but Alicia had put the fear of God into him and now the fight was on.

  “The day one of your swimmers had a sense of direction.”

  “If the day you got pregnant with our son turned you so fucking bitter, why do you want full custody of Tucker so badly?”

  Alicia gulped down another long sip of wine before leveling her fuzzy gaze at her ex-husband. “I want to raise Tucker in a normal family with a mom and a dad. I want Tucker to be raised Catholic. There are better schools in Connecticut than there are here in Massachusetts. Ashton will be a better father to Tucker than you could ever be, but the biggest reason I want Tucker away from you is so that he doesn’t turn out to be a worthless butt-pirate like you.”

  XX

  Nash was relaxing in front of the television with an episode of Hawaii Five-0. He’d started marathoning the revamped version of the show a week ago and now was hopelessly hooked.

  The new Steve McGarrett was sex on legs with his cocky swagger and endless confidence. Nash wouldn’t have minded being roughly frisked and submitting to a body cavity search if McGarrett were conducting it. Nash snorted when his cock started perking up at that idea. Down boy…

  His cock continued to rise in his black flannel sleep pants. McGarrett was interrogating a dirt-bag suspect hard. Nash relaxed back into his four year old sectional, palming his growing erection while the television suspect got his.

  Nash’s fingers twitched as he slid them up his pants and beneath the waistband. They had just grazed his cock head when the text chime on his phone dinged.

  “Damn it,” Nash muttered, pulling his hand out of his pants and reaching forward for his phone which sat on the coffee table.

  [Need a friend] Nash’s heart started hammering in his chest when he noticed the message was from Bronson. What he couldn’t figure out was if Bronson’s text was a statement or a question.

  [Hey, man!] Nash typed back. He was so excited to finally hear back from Bronson after he’d given the other man his phone
number yesterday.

  [Come over?]

  Nash’s cock jumped in his pants and it had nothing to do with the now shirtless McGarrett on his television screen. [10 mins.] Nash hastily typed back before bolting from the couch, peeling off his ratty tee shirt as he moved toward his bedroom.

  Tossing his shirt toward the hamper, he shucked out of his sleep pants and reached for a clean pair of jeans and a Red Sox tee.

  Two minutes later, Nash was buckling his seatbelt and pulling out of his driveway. Having grown up in Newburyport, he knew exactly where Bronson’s apartment was and where to find free resident parking.

  The rioting butterflies in his stomach were tempered by Nash not really being sure why Bronson invited him over at 8:00pm on a Monday night. He was definitely leaning toward Bronson needing a friend himself rather than asking if Nash needed company.

  Easing his truck into a free parking spot, he hopped out of the cab and hurried toward Bronson’s brick apartment building. His hands were shaking when he reached out to press the buzzer.

  “Nash?” Bronson’s voice sounded slurred.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” Was Bronson drunk? When the door buzzed, Nash pulled it open and headed up the stairs. Nash’s heart squeezed in his chest. What could have gone so wrong since they’d said goodbye together yesterday afternoon? Alicia…Nash shivered. She was the only thing that he could think of that would send Bronson into this kind of distress.

  Rapping on the door marked “5,” Nash held his breath waiting for Bronson to answer.

  The door yanked open and Nash’s heart broke at what he saw. Bronson’s hair was a mess, his eyes ringed red. He was still dressed for work in dark dress pants and a wrinkled white button down, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Nash’s crush looked like he’d just lost his best friend.

  “Nash!” Bronson squeaked, pulling the startled man into his arms while kicking the door shut behind them.

  Nash held on tight, wrapping his arms around Bronson’s broad shoulders. He caught a whiff of Bronson’s clean scent, Ivory soap, Nash thought it was, and held on tighter.

  Bronson’s grip was strong around Nash’s waist and Nash could feel his friend’s hot breath against the side of his neck. “I’m here, Bronson. I’m here.” He didn’t know what else to say. All he could think to do was keep holding Bronson. The details would come out later.

  “Lost him, Nash,” Bronson muttered into the hollow of Nash’s throat.

  “Lost who? Tucker?” Nash fought against the rising panic roiling in his gut.

  Bronson nodded, sniffing loudly against Nash’s shoulder. “Gonna take him away from me. Raise him in a normal family.”

  Normal family? Nash’s panic turned instantly to anger. Was Alicia intimating that a gay father or a gay couple wasn’t a normal family? He took a steadying deep breath, not wanting to make any assumptions.

  Nash pulled back from the twin bands of iron that were Bronson’s arms. His green eyes, usually dancing in delight were filled with pain and new tears were threatening to spill. Bronson was a mess. “Why don’t we sit down and you’ll tell me what happened? Then we can figure out what to do next, hmm?” Nash offered Bronson a steady smile.

  Bronson nodded and seemed to pull away reluctantly from Nash. It gave him his first chance to look around Bronson and Tucker’s apartment. It was small, but neat with an eat-in kitchen and gorgeous bare brick walls. There was a red plaid sofa with a coffee table dividing the kitchen from the living room. On the table, Nash could see a bottle of what looked like coconut rum. Against the far wall was a small television stand and a large basket filled with Tucker’s toys. Nash could see colorful plastic dinosaurs spilling out onto the floor.

  Nash watched as Bronson arranged himself on the sofa, resting his head back against it and fisting his hands against his eyes. Following Bronson’s lead, Nash sat to his friend’s right side, turning his body to face his friend. With a shaking hand, Nash reached out to take one of Bronson’s.

  Grabbing on like a lifeline, Bronson threaded their fingers together. “Got a text from the rotten bitch commanding me to her house.” Bronson paused, reaching his left hand toward the bottle of Malibu rum before seeming to think better of it.

  Nash stayed silent, waiting for Bronson to continue with the story.

  “She’s gettin’ married.” Bronson barked out a rough laugh. “Never thought I’d see the day when someone would want to marry that sour-faced witch in high heels.”

  Nash nodded, reaching up to brush a stray lock of golden-blond hair off of Bronson’s forehead.

  Bronson turned, the harsh, angry look on his face softening. “God, you have the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Like the warm waters of the Caribbean.” Bronson reached his free hand out to Nash’s face.

  Nash shuddered under his touch. He knew the dreamy look and poetic bent of Bronson’s words were the rum talking. Even still, the words were magical.

  “Saw a documentary on Barbados once. All of the filler shots were of the ocean. Your eyes are that color, Barbados blue. A man could drown in eyes like that, Nash.”

  Nash mentally swooned. If he had been standing when Bronson spoke about his eyes, he would have landed in a heap on the floor and needed smelling salts, for sure. As it was now, his heart was hammering in his chest while his cock thickened in his jeans.

  As flattered as Nash was at Bronson’s flowery words, words he’d never forget if he lived to be one hundred, he needed to steer the conversation back to what happened with the Wicked Witch of the North. Before Nash could open his mouth to speak, his host moved closer.

  Bronson scraped his thumb along Nash’s jaw line, licking his lips in concert with his feather-light touch. Leaning forward, Bronson closed his eyes while pulling Nash’s lips closer to his own.

  Nash knew Bronson was about to kiss him. He wanted to feel Bronson’s lips on his more than he wanted his next breath, but not like this, with Bronson reeking of Malibu and desperation. “Bronson, no.”

  Bronson jerked away, stumbling to his feet before spinning back around to face Nash. The look on his face was calm. His green eyes no longer burned with need and lust. “You’re a good man, Nash. A good friend. Any other man would have taken me up on my distraction and tumbled into bed with me.”

  Nash’s cock jerked hard in his pants. His cock wanted to do just that and get lost in the sweet velvet heat that was Bronson’s mouth, but thankfully, at the moment, Nash’s head with the brain was the one in charge. “You’re a good man too, Bronson.” It was the reason Nash had raced over here with no notice at all on a school night. “Finish the story, then we can figure out what comes next.”

  Seemingly calmed by Nash, Bronson turned to face his friend. “Her new man, Ashton.” Bronson snorted. “Who the fuck names their kid Ashton?” Not bothering to wait for an answer, Bronson plowed on. “He’s some kind of hot shot stock market guy in New York City. Has a huge fucking house in Greenwich, Connecticut.” Bronson paused long enough to mimic taking a sip of tea, his pinkie finger up high in the air.

  Nash snorted. He knew the type.

  “She wants to take my boy away from me, because…” Bronson took a shuddering breath, seeming to be fighting for control of his emotions. “Because I’m gay.” Tears tumbled from Bronson’s sea green eyes. “Says Tucker deserves to be raised in a normal family with a mother and a father and not two butt pirates.”

  Nash burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. In his mind he could see a mental picture of him and Bronson dressed up like Captain Jack Sparrow and Bronson asking what happened to the rum.

  Much to Nash’s surprise, Bronson started to laugh too, bracing his hands on his knees.

  Nash scrambled to his feet, knowing the laughter would be short-lived. He set his hands on Bronson’s broad shoulders.

  Bronson took a hitching breath. “I can’t lose him, Nash. I’d die without my son.”

  Nash pulled his friend into his arms knowing in his heart Bronson meant every word he’d just sa
id.

  6

  Nash was sitting at the head of the circle on the reading rug. In his hand was his favorite new children’s book, Dragons Love Tacos. The brightly colored illustrations and all the reasons why dragons love tacos were not enough to soothe his aching heart.

  Not being able to comfort someone, a friend, was his biggest fear and he had the sinking feeling he hadn’t done much to help Bronson last night. Once he’d managed to get his friend calmed down, he’d made a pot of coffee, French Vanilla, and got the full story about Tucker out of Bronson.

  Hating people wasn’t his style, but after hearing about the way Alicia McKinnon had treated her son over the last five years, he could honestly say he hated that woman with every fiber of his being.

  Keeping a smile plastered on his face, Nash turned the next page of the book which went on to explain that even though dragons loved tacos, they weren’t fans of spicy salsa. The kids giggled, Tucker McKinnon especially, which was a relief to Nash.

  He’d spent most of the night worrying about how Tucker would take the news about his mother moving to Connecticut, but it seemed like the little boy didn’t know yet.

  After Bronson finished telling the story about Alicia’s plan to move, they’d started talking about what came next. The only thing Nash could think of was to fight fire with fire. It brought a smile to his face over the fact that was exactly how dragons sorted out their problems.

  His only suggestion had been to get in touch with a lawyer specializing in custody and family law. It was a paltry suggestion at best, but he figured it was better than suggesting kidnapping the boy or hiring someone to break Alicia’s kneecaps.

  It amazed him that in this day and age that Alicia could be that hateful over someone’s sexual orientation. Granted, Bronson wasn’t coming out smelling like a rose either, what with him having dated her for years to hide his true self.

  “Mr. Spencer?” Zoe was looking at him curiously.