In the Distance (12 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Tyler
One Week Later

With my stomach in knots, I leaned against the brick wall of the school, watching the car pool line in the circle drive get shorter and shorter. My mind had been a jumble of doubt, excitement and anxiety over the past week as I tried to juggle work, school, volunteering and texts from Trevor. We hadn’t slapped a label on what we were doing, instead just sort of going with the flow and behaving the way any two friends would. Friends who stroked each other off and sexted incredibly dirty things to each other. My body could still feel Trevor’s back arched against mine, spasming in my hand when he’d orgasmed. I still didn’t have a clue where we were going with all this, but I’d made the decision after Trevor had left that night that I wanted as much of him as I could get while it lasted.

Pushing all my doubts and thoughts of Trevor to the side, I focused on the newest source of nerves in my life. Noah Sealth Elementary School. I’d already checked in with the front office and had my driver’s license scanned by some new security system. My ID sticker indicated I was an approved volunteer, but I felt like an interloper in a place that should have felt like a second home.

It was more than a little surreal being back at my old elementary school, but I was the only one to blame. When Donna pulled me aside to talk about the school’s garden program, I was hesitant to put my name down for it. Why would any school want a gay ex-homeless kid volunteering with kids? But Donna wouldn’t let it go and asked me to at least put my name in. Two weeks and a background check later, I nearly passed out when the head of A Greener Youth called and gave me the instructions for registering as a volunteer in Seattle Public Schools. I’d already helped out at two other schools, but standing outside the building that held so many of my childhood memories, I wondered if I should have said no to the entire thing.

“Tyler! We’re in the back.” Nathan, the project leader for the Noah Sealth Elementary garden, was waving me to the far side of the school. I’d already read over all the rules and guidelines for the program, but Nathan was going over them one more time as I joined the team of five volunteers.

“I know you guys already know this, but no touching the kids. You can help them dig and plant the seeds, but that’s it. From what Principal Driscoll has told me, the kids participating are beyond excited. But that excitement can be both positive and negative. Any behavior or language problems go straight to the supervising teacher. We’re here to help them appreciate growing and preparing healthy food, not to be their parents or disciplinarians. If you find yourself in a situation that feels uncomfortable, come find me or Ms. Phelps. A Greener Youth really wants to make this work, so let’s use our heads, in addition to our trowels, out there.”

A few people laughed, but Nathan’s speech did little to ease my nerves. It had been over nine years since I’d been a student here, but I’d been back to visit as recently as three years ago when Ollie performed in the second-grade play.

A bell, immediately followed by excited screams, interrupted whatever Nathan was going to say next. “Looks like the first shift of kids are on their way. All the tools are over there—” He pointed over to the cart just outside the border of the garden, and continued, “—so each of you pick a section and let’s help make this garden something the kids can be proud of.”

Without much thought, I picked the farthest quadrant and got started.

“Whatcha digging?”

I jumped, almost falling on my ass, but recovered just in time to see a pair of wide brown eyes staring at me. The kid couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, but from the look on his face, whatever I was digging was definitely something he didn’t want to see on his dinner table.

“Hey there. Well, I’m digging up some rutabaga. Wanna help?”

The kid scrunched up his face and leaned closer to the vegetables. “Ruta what?”

I reached into the basket and held up the bulbous root vegetable for him. He looked like he wanted to touch it but was afraid it was going to bite him. “That looks nasty.”

I wanted to laugh, but A Greener Youth’s goal was to get kids to eat healthier foods. If I openly mocked the offending root in front of him, I’d have lost the battle before I even started it.

“Well, yeah. I admit it looks a little funny. But it’s actually good if you know how to cook it.”

He gave me a look that basically said I was smoking crack, but his curiosity got the better of him and he reached out to take it from me. As he turned it this way and that, pain lanced my heart at the thought of what Ollie would say about these offensive vegetables. Ollie had been a picky baby and even pickier kid. The thought of even trying anything with a rutabaga in it would have had him in tears.

The kid plopped down next to me and grabbed a spare trowel, digging not so silently next to me. With every few twists of the tool, he uttered, “nasty” and “gross” under his breath. After a few minutes, he got up and wandered off to the quadrant closest to us. I couldn’t blame him. At his age, I’d never even heard of a rutabaga. The exciting stuff was planting things you’d actually heard of like tomatoes and beans.

Another bell sounded, but I kept my focus on the soil in front of me. Kids rotated in and out of the garden. Each one was eager to help, but at least half of them got too distracted by the worms wriggling in the dirt to pay much attention to the plants. When an hour had passed and the last group had gone back inside the school, Nathan called all the volunteers together to share our thoughts on the garden and any suggestions for improving it.

I should have been paying attention, but I zoned out and looked back at the building behind me. My mom had never put us in an aftercare program, but that hadn’t stopped me from hoping to see Ollie today. It was selfish, but I hadn’t seen him or my sister since the day after graduation. There were countless times I’d wanted to visit them, but the memory of my dad’s insults hurled at my back as I grabbed my things and left was enough to keep me away.

I hated my parents for keeping us apart. I hated society for maintaining this farce of us-versus-them mentality when it came to sexuality. But more than anything, I hated myself for not having the balls to stand up to my parents and tell them the truth before they found out on their own and everything fell apart. There was so much I wanted to prove. One day, they’d see they hadn’t broken me. One day, I’d be able to support myself without help from anyone, and maybe one day, I could help other kids who felt broken.

* * *

“Next week we’ll put into practice what we covered today. I’ll expect you to arrive early enough to pick out your own selection of meat from the cooler and have it prepped before class begins.”

The class’s collective groan would have been much louder if not for Chef Allen’s “there’s the door if you don’t like it” expression. Just another day around badass chefs. A quick glance at the clock told me I had fifteen minutes to make it to the counselor’s office.

“Tyler? You working the gala this weekend?”

I slung my backpack over my shoulder just as Sam approached my prep station.

“Yeah. Kitterick made it pretty clear the financial aid students had to pull their weight during the event, but it was hell trying get two weekend nights off from work.”

I glanced at the clock one last time before leaving the room. Fourteen minutes and counting. Once we were outside, Sam leaned against the wall as the rest of our class filed out.

“That guy seriously scares the crap out of me. I had to beg my boss for the whole weekend off because I volunteered to work Friday and Saturday, as well as the faculty breakfast on Sunday. I know they’re paid gigs, but let’s just say my boss wasn’t too thrilled I wouldn’t be in until Sunday afternoon.”

“I hear ya. He’s got the total mind fuck going on, but he’s not so bad. Both of my bosses worked for him when they went here and they actually like him.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Dude. Your bosses’ balls must be made of titanium.”

The image struck me as so funny, I couldn’t help but laugh. After an entire morning of nerves jangling around under my skin, it felt good.

Sam tilted his head in the direction of the exit. “You heading out? Maybe we can grab a coffee, or something.”

The look in his eyes confirmed what I’d only suspected a few months ago. Before meeting Trevor, I might have said yes. Now, the thought of saying yes to anyone except for Trevor made me feel all weird inside.

“Not yet. I have to drop by the counselor’s office. Just some paperwork to check up on. But you’d better hurry if you want to catch the three-fifteen headed back in town.”

“Oh, okay. Well, see you on Friday for the massive prep-a-thon.”

I stood in the hallway, watching Sam walk away, until I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. When I’d made the appointment a month ago, I’d rationalized it as an opportunity to simply check out everything the Institute had to offer. Getting the scholarship and being accepted to a school I’d never even seen as an option for me had been overwhelming enough. With Ethan and Jamie as informal advisors, I hadn’t really given much thought to any program outside of the Associates Degree program, because that would secure me a position in most Seattle restaurant kitchens.

So why was I headed to the advising office to talk to a counselor about a degree plan that would add not just two, but four more years on to my already existing program? I wasn’t sure it started with my conversation with Chef Boulanger or Donna, but somewhere along the way, I began to wonder what if? What if I didn’t want to be a head chef whose life was dedicated to fourteen-hour days in his kitchen? What if I really didn’t want to be a head chef at all? What if I still wanted to be in the culinary world, but just on the other side of the desk as a teacher? It didn’t take a genius to see I didn’t exactly have the same kind of commanding presence like Ethan and Jamie did. Even though they had vastly different styles, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who was in charge when either of them was in the kitchen. I hadn’t even raised my voice when my parents kicked me out of the house. How in the hell did I expect to run a kitchen and keep my staff on their toes when I couldn’t even stand up for myself?

The answer had come slowly over the past few months of volunteering at the elementary schools and helping Nick learn a few simple cooking techniques during our breaks. There was something electrifying and gratifying about seeing the light bulb go off when something clicked in the other person’s mind. It was an addictive feeling to be able to work with someone who got excited about something as simple as where our food came from or how to make a simple wine reduction without scalding it.

The one hitch in the plan was that I hadn’t talked about any of this with Ethan and Jamie. They’d been over the moon when I brought in my fall schedule, telling me which chef was a hard-ass and which one was a pushover. It was still embarrassing whenever they brought up how proud of me they were for attending culinary school at all. All the hours they’d put into helping me master techniques and the increasing responsibilities at Bistro 30—all of it to prepare me for having a kitchen of my own one day. It had been bad enough to face my parents’ rejection when they found out I was gay, I didn’t think I could handle Ethan’s and Jamie’s disappointment in me for not following in their footsteps after all they’d done for me.

Still, here I was, taking a step in that direction.

“Tyler? I’m ready for you now.”

I hesitated outside the open door as the counselor returned to her desk. I wondered what I’d be willing to do to make this crazy plan work. Work extra hours on top of my already insane schedule by adding a second job, maybe through the school’s restaurant, to cover the cost of the extra tuition hours? Hurt those who genuinely cared about me for something I may not even be good at? Ultimately fail, and prove to everyone my parents were right and I’d always be a failure? The simple truth was, no matter what I decided, I was going to be letting someone down.

Chapter Sixteen

Trevor

I glanced at the clock on my bedside table as I slipped into bed. 12:47. Between Alex’s promo op at a local TV station and a dinner meeting with a potential client, I was beat. As tired as I was, though, I couldn’t resist checking my text messages. Nothing from Tyler. He wasn’t the small talk type, but still, I was oddly disappointed. Unable to stop myself, I typed out a short message. I checked it over three times before I hit Send. It was a casual text. A text one friend would send to another. Trying not to overthink what had happened over the weekend, I pressed Send.

You still awake?

A few, very long minutes later, my phone buzzed.

Yeah. Just getting ready for bed.

How was your first day of class?

Good. Long.

Unable to stop myself, I texted back.

That’s what he said.

When nothing came back, I began to worry. Had I crossed the line? Were we just going to ignore what happened on Saturday night? I’d begun typing out a new text, one without any innuendo in it, when Tyler’s reply came through.

You might want to think long and hard before taking your comedy routine on the road.

I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Smiling, I quickly typed back.

Killing me, Smalls.

His reply was faster this time.

Thought you discovered last weekend there’s nothing small here.

My cock twitched as I reread his text.

I think I might need a closer inspection.

It was a dangerous game, especially since I’d officially been warned to keep my distance from Tyler. But seeing as how there hadn’t exactly been much distance between us this past weekend, I figured all bets were off on that front. I’d almost given up hope of him replying when my phone pinged again.

I’m looking at it right now. Yep. Nothing small about it.

You still in bed?

Yep.

I shifted back against my pillows and fought the urge to slip my hand under the covers to give my cock a stroke.

This inspection needs to be thorough. Very hands-on.

There was a pause, then the next message pinged on my phone.

Not sure if you noticed, but I don’t have a third hand hidden somewhere on my body.

I stared at the phone, debating. “Fuck it.”

Tyler picked up on the fourth ring. “Trevor, I’m not sure—”

“You wanna know what I can’t get out of my mind?”

A strangled whimper came through the phone.

Sliding my free hand inside my boxers, I ran my fingers down my hardening length. “All day, and throughout a boring-ass dinner, all I could think about was the way your back arched off that damn futon of yours when you came in my hand.”

“Oh, God.” Tyler’s breathing hitched, accompanied by the sound of his phone shifting.

“I was supposed to be concentrating on winning over a new client, but instead all I heard was the soft gasp you made right before you came.”

“Trevor.”

I cupped my balls, rolling them in my hand.

“And the feel of your chest against my back when you wrapped your arms around me and started stroked me off.”

There were no words this time, just Tyler’s rapid breathing giving me the green light to continue.

“I thought I was going to lose it the moment you wrapped your hand around my cock, but I wanted it to last so I held off as long as I could.”

“Fuck.”

“But when you twisted your wrist over the tip? I knew I wouldn’t last.”

There was rustling through the earpiece just before Tyler’s strained voice met my ears. “
Trevor
.”

I closed my eyes and worked my hand back up my cock, my dry palm creating just enough friction to make it painfully pleasurable. An image of Tyler on his bed with his palm on his cock had me increasing my speed.

“Then you grazed my ear with your teeth, and that was all she wrote. I swear I felt a jolt of electricity down my spine before losing it all over your hand.”

Tyler’s labored breathing came faster, and I knew he was close. At that moment, I would have given anything to watch him work himself. Were his eyes closed? Was he using both hands? Maybe one tugging on his balls while his palm tightened over his leaking tip?

“It was painful to leave your apartment after that, because all I could imagine was doing it all over again. Except this time, I’d take you deep in my mouth just so I could see how fucking good you taste.”

For a few heartbeats, there was no response, then I heard a strangled gasp. A dozen images of Tyler coming undone assaulted me, each one more erotic than the last. Letting my phone slip off my shoulder, I thrust my hips up to pump my cock against my palm. I focused on the last image—Tyler with his head thrown back while he shot his load in my mouth—as I fell over the edge and pulsed into my hand.

With my clean hand, I grabbed my phone as I fumbled around for something to clean off with. The line hadn’t disconnected, giving me hope Tyler hadn’t freaked out and hung up. “You still there?”

I groaned when I heard Tyler’s raw, ragged breathing. “I’m here. Sticky, but I’m still here.”

A slow smile spread across my face. “Me, too. I’ll let you go get cleaned up.”

“Night, Trevor.”

I didn’t want the call to end, but I’d already pushed my luck enough for one night. “Night, Smalls.”

Tyler laughed one last time before the call disconnected. I tucked my phone away, replaying every gasp and moan I’d just heard Tyler make as I turned out my light. A month ago, hell even a week ago, I never would have imagined Tyler being up for that kind of call. Maybe I’d caught him with his guard down, but a selfish part of me wanted to crow out loud he was exploring all of this with me. Not one of his classmates or that guy Nick at the restaurant. Me. My last thought before finally succumbing to sleep was I really needed to find out who invented the cell phone and send that person a fruit basket.

* * *

It was embarrassing how fast I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket when I heard it ping. It had been almost a week since Tyler’s last text and I was getting antsy to hear from him.

About to clock in for my shift. How’s NY?

I leaned against the windowed facade of the restaurant, my fingers freezing as I typed out a reply.

Good. About to meet Mom for lunch. How R U?

Tired. We’re working on new items for the spring menu so I’m pulling a double.

As if you don’t spend enough time there as it is?

Gotta put in the hours now if I’m getting a night off next time you’re in town. I might even ask for the a.m. shift off, too ;)

“Trevor? Why are you waiting outside? It’s freezing out here.”

It was sheer luck I was able to catch my phone before it shattered on the concrete. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I tucked my phone back into my pocket and hugged my mom.

“Hey, Mom. Sorry. Got a text that I needed to answer and the restaurant is packed. I already put my name on the list. Why don’t you go inside and warm up. I’m sure our table will be ready soon.”

Her look told me she hadn’t believed a word of what I’d said, but instead of calling me on it, she leaned in and patted me on the cheek before leaving me out on the cold street. I took my phone back out of my pocket, reread his last text and hurriedly typed out one of my own.

Speaking of, how about dinner on Friday?

I squeezed my eyes shut.
Please say Friday works.
Please say Friday
.

Have to work afternoon shift at B30 & school stuff on Saturday. Sunday for breakfast?

I couldn’t expect him to drop everything to accommodate my crazy agenda while I was there, and yet I had hoped after everything that had happened since the last time I was in town he would want more time together than a few stolen hours here and there.

Am flying out on a red-eye on Monday morning. Maybe a late dinner on Friday and something earlier than dinner on Sunday?

His response was immediate.

I won’t get home til about 9 on Fri. Is pizza okay for a late dinner? We can even grab a quick breakfast before I have to clock in on Sat.

Not helping my situation here. About to walk into restaurant, with my MOM, and all I have to say is thank God I’m wearing a long jacket.

I looked through the window and thankfully still saw my mom waiting near the hostess stand. Right when I was about to give up, my phone pinged.

I’d say I’m sorry but I’m not sorry. Have fun with your MOM.

Unable to wipe the shit-eating grin off my face, I entered the restaurant. Even though I was happy to spend the afternoon with my mother in the heart of Manhattan, a part of me was already planning my next trip to Seattle.

“I was beginning to think I’d lost you to some new deal you’ve got in the works. You were pretty engrossed in whatever conversation you were having when I walked up.”

While most of my friends had spent the majority of their adult lives trying to get out from under their parents’ thumbs, I was one of those rare guys who actually liked having my parents around. I’d seen what money could do to people—hell, Jamie’s parents were a good example of that—but my parents had tried to keep our lives normal. Or as normal as they could, considering my dad, Warren Anderson Pratt, had come from modest beginnings only to build a respected name and fortune at one of the most successful advertising agencies in New York. My mom, Margaret Windsor Pratt, was the daughter of a prominent investment broker. She had grown up in New York’s elite society, but had always worked hard not to let her family’s money and status make her one of the obnoxious socialites she’d grown up with. They’d met at a social gala, talked all night and into the morning, both freely admitting to this day it had been love at first sight. It was a disgustingly romantic story I’d heard hundreds of times over the years, and I secretly envied them. I’d never wanted for love, not when I went through my obnoxious teenage years or when I’d officially come out of the closet for them, but more than love, they’d always given me their acceptance to be who I was. That didn’t mean we hadn’t had our growing pains as a family who was immersed in New York’s elite social circle, but just one look Jamie’s and Tyler’s parents reminded me how lucky I was to have the parents I did.

“Just finalizing my plans for this weekend’s trip to Seattle.”

“Seattle? I thought your new client was in Portland.”

A part of me wanted to tell her about Tyler, but what could I say?
Hey Mom.
So
,
I
met this guy.
He’s funny and handsome and sexy and almost ten years younger than I am.
He got kicked out of his house because his parents are total religious fuckwads
,
so he’s got some baggage to deal with.
I’m not sure what exactly we’re doing
,
but I like him.
Even though Jamie and Ethan are overprotective wannabe dads who’ve threatened to kick my ass if I hurt him.

Yeah, not the best way to introduce the topic of a new romantic interest to the ‘rents.

“She is, but I thought I’d fly in and out of Seattle to catch up with Jamie.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. How is he doing in Seattle?”

“He’s good, Mom. I was in Seattle last month to try out their new fall menu. The place looks great and is thriving. You and Dad should stop in next time you’re out that way. Ethan might have the social grace of a flea, but I know Jamie would love to see you both. Married life agrees with him.”

Her voice softened a bit. “I’m glad Jamie is doing so well. Your dad and I have always been fond of him. I guess my real question should have been, ‘When are you going to finally going to find someone of your own so I won’t have to worry about you being alone every time our family gets together?’”

“We’ve been over this, Mom. My crowd isn’t exactly cashmere twinsets and pearls.”

“Sweetheart, your father and I have never had any illusion about you being with a debutante in a cashmere twinset and pearls. We just want you to be happy. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you smile. A real smile. Kind of like the one I saw you wearing outside the restaurant when I walked up.”

I knew my parents accepted me for who I was. But I wasn’t ready to tell them about Tyler. I’d spent so many years pining over the same guy, only to have it blow up in my face. It might have been selfish of me, but I wanted to take it slower with Tyler.

“I’m fine, Mom. I promise. And I’ll bring someone around when I find someone who looks at me like Dad looks at you. Sans the female equipment.”

She wrinkled her nose in mock disgust as she patted my hand. “I certainly hope so. Unless, that is, things have changed drastically since we saw you last.”

Her voice softened as she tightened her hold on me. “I always had high hopes for you and Jamie, you know. I still remember the first time you dragged him home for Thanksgiving. He was so lost, but you helped him find his way.”

“Mom—”

“Hear me out. I won’t lie and say your father and I didn’t want it to work out. You were never happier than you were when you returned from Paris with Jamie by your side. But the fact of the matter is, you weren’t right for each other. You need someone who challenges you, Trevor. Jamie was the perfect friend for you. All you had to do was give him one of those radiant smiles of yours and he happily went along with any plan you hatched.”

When I didn’t say anything, my mom continued. “He was a good friend, but he wasn’t someone to spend the rest of your life with. You need someone who won’t let you get away with murder simply because of your smile and stunning personality.”

I laughed. “My stunning personality?”

“It’s one of the finer Windsor traits you inherited. How do you think I won your dad over in just one evening? Trust me, there were plenty of other women in that room who had their eyes on him.”

Thank God my mom couldn’t see my jaw dropping wide open. “You never cease to amaze me, Mom.”

Her laughter erased any of the tension I’d felt when we’d first started this conversation. “And that’s all I want for you, baby. Someone who will never cease to amaze you and loves you for who you are. Sans the female equipment.”