Teaching Tenderness Page 2

  “Mr. Anderson, as you’re aware from the letters that I’ve sent home, there has been a significant drop in Jackson’s grade since the start of the semester,” I told him.

  “Letters? What letters? I wasn’t aware of any letters.” Jackson’s dad turned to stare at his son. “Jackson, what is he talking about? And what do you mean there is a decline in his grade?” He faced me again, obviously confused.

  “Jackson’s failing my class,” I said bluntly. “He has only turned in two writing assignments, and his homework has been less than subpar. I’m afraid if he continues on this path, he’ll have to repeat this class in summer school.”

  “H-how is this possible? School has only been in semester for six weeks,” Mr. Anderson argued His husky voice seemed to raise an octave; he sounded a bit distressed, and very confused.

  “Mr. Anderson,” I began to say.

  “Marcus, please,” he cut me off.

  I sighed. Of course he’d have a sexy name. A sexy name to go with such a sexy body. Focus on Jackson, Anthony!

  “Fine, Marcus, I’ve sent home a few letters alerting you of Jackson’s issues in my class. And I tried to set up a parent-teacher conference more than once. Maybe if you had responded to one of those, we would’ve been able to deal with this much sooner.”

  Marcus glared at Jackson, who was at that point slouched down really low in his seat. I noticed he had taken quite an interest in his cuticles and was currently picking at one of them.

  “Care to explain, Jackson?” Marcus asked his son.

  His cheeks were flushed with either anger or embarrassment; I wasn’t sure which. Or maybe it was a combination of both. Either way, the reddish tinge made his sharp cheekbones stand out even more. Yup, I was definitely going to need a stiff one after this. And I wasn’t just talking about a drink either.

  “No, not really.” Jackson mumbled with a shrug.

  “Jackson look at me,” Marcus ordered his son, and Jackson’s head snapped up. With that authoritative tone, I found myself looking at him as well. Fuck, with that voice, I’d do just about anything he said. “What is going on with you? And where are the letters that Mr. A sent home?”

  Jackson shrugged again and averted his gaze. “I really don’t know what you want me to say. The letters are in the trash. And it’s not like you’d be able to come to a meeting, anyway. You’re at work all the time. I’m surprised you’re here now.”

  I winced as the impact of Jackson’s words hit his father. That had to have hurt. But, from what I understood, Jackson’s frank words weren’t far from the truth. His father had to work f long hours to support them, and while that was commendable being a single father and all, it was clear that Jackson missed having him around. But, family issues weren’t my forte and I wasn’t about to touch that topic. My main focus, aside from wanting to lick Marcus’ lips, was trying to figure out, not only the root of Jackson’s problems, but to try and find a way to help him.

  “Why don’t you two save that discussion for later and let’s get back to the topic at hand, which is you Jackson. And why you’re failing this class,” I said.

  “Do you know if he is failing any more classes?” Marcus asked.

  I hated being in this position. It took me a few years to build up a steady rapport with my students and keep it. I didn’t like breaking a student’s trust whatsoever. But in certain cases, like this one for instance, I had to. Even if it sucked ginormous balls, and the student hated me for it.

  “He might be having some difficulty in history as well, and has spent more than one occasion at in-school suspension for skipping,” I told Marcus, and looked directly over his shoulder.

  I couldn’t make eye contact with him. The minute the words were out of my mouth, I knew what was going to happen. The guilt would eat at him as soon as what I said sunk in. The question would play on a loop in his mind—how could I not have known? I saw it time and again. The guilt in turn, would morph into embarrassment over the fact that he didn’t know about his son’s issues with school.

  “I-I don’t know what to say. Surely there is something that can be done so Jackson doesn’t fail your class. Extra credit, maybe?” Jackson’s dad begged. Yup, he sounded guilty.

  I sat quietly for a moment, and finally grew a pair of balls and looked directly at Marcus. He looked crestfallen. His beautiful mouth was turned down on the sides, and his brown eyes were so fucking… miserable. They were pleading with me to do something. Anything. I felt bad for the dude. I couldn’t imagine how hard it was to be a single parent. And that’s when I decided I had to help Jackson.

  “Here’s what I’m going to do. And Jackson, I need you to listen up because I’ll only offer this one time,” I said, and leaned forward a bit on my desk so I could have Jackson’s full attention.

  “Jackson, sit up,” Marcus said in that warning tone. “Listen to your teacher and pay very close attention.”

  Jackson sat up and looked at me. I sighed and felt my heart break a little when I saw the hurt shining in his eyes. I hated that I hurt this kid.

  “I’m willing to tutor you,” I told him.

  “What?” Jackson asked.

  “I’ll tutor you. It’ll be twice a week, for two hours each day. My available days are Mondays and Wednesdays, and we can have the sessions wherever you like as long as there are no distractions.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Marcus asked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Actually I wasn’t sure at all, so I was a bit taken aback by his question. I had a life outside of school, albeit a pretty dull one, and I didn’t like to be there any more than I had to. But he didn’t need to know that.

  The red tint on Marcus’ cheeks suddenly deepened. Obviously I embarrassed him with my question, but I didn’t really care. His question was pretty rude in my opinion. “I just assumed you were a busy man.”

  I shrugged. “Not busy enough to keep me from helping my students when they need it. When it comes to them and their education, I make time,” I told him before turning back to his son. “So what do you say, Jackson? Are you going to take me up on my offer?”

  “Wait, what about his paper and detention?” Marcus asked before Jackson could answer me.

  I squelched the urge to roll my eyes, or run my hand through my hair. It had been a long freaking day, and I was over it. “Turn it in tomorrow, and we’ll forget about the detention. But if this happens again, you will get two days instead of one.”

  “I understand,” Jackson mumbled, and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief.

  “So, what is your answer about tutoring? Do we have a deal?” I asked Jackson again.

  “I guess.” Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “I really don’t want to go to summer school.”

  “Great. I’ll see you Monday, and you can tell me where you’d like the sessions to be, okay?” I hopped off my desk signaling that the meeting was over.

  “Thank you,” Marcus said and held out his hand for me to shake it.

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  I grasped his hand in mine; I gave it a quick, firm shake and tried to ignore the zap of electricity that shot through my palm and up my arm the minute we touched. Jackson gave me a weak smile and was quickly ushered out the door by his father. I had a feeling that poor kid was going to get quite an earful on the way home. I just hoped his father wasn’t too hard on him. I had a suspicion what was going on with Jackson; I just wouldn’t know for sure until our tutoring sessions began. I only hoped that Jackson decided to have them here at the school. It was hard enough controlling my urges sitting in the same classroom with Marcus. I couldn’t imagine how hard it would be if I was at their house, and I wasn’t talking about my urges. Especially since the man in question was the straight father of one of my students.

  Speaking of hard… I quickly gathered up my belongings and rushed out the door to go to one of my favorite haunts. It was time to go dick hunting.

  Chapter 3

  Marcus

  To say that the t
ension in the car was thick was an understatement. Jackson’s shoulders were set rigidly as he sat in the passenger seat beside me. I knew he was bracing himself for what he thought was about to come, but I said nothing.

  Words failed me as I struggled to think of something to say to my son. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to scream, shout, and demand to know what was going on with him. I needed to know why he was skipping classes and failing assignments. I wanted to understand why he was throwing away letters that were sent to me by his teachers. But I couldn’t formulate a single sentence. The only reason I could come up with was that guilt had taken root deep within me and taken over my thoughts instead.

  How was it possible that I was completely clueless about my own child? He was obviously hurting for reasons that were unknown to me, and I didn’t know what to say or how to talk to him. It was as if my brain had short-circuited and my tongue had forgotten how to cooperate.

  Now that I had thought about it, I couldn’t remember the last time that I had actually sat down with Jackson and had a heartfelt conversation with him. When did I last ask him how school was going? Or how his day went? I couldn’t recall the last time he had friends over or went to their house. The realization was not only inexcusable, but completely heartbreaking. When did work become more important than my own child? At what point in time did I stop knowing my son?

  With a heavy heart, I pulled my car into the driveway and shut off the engine. Jackson was already out of the vehicle and halfway to the front door. I watched him fish out his spare house key from his pocket and let himself inside. With a deep sigh of resignation, I walked the same path to the door that Jackson took, only my feet felt like they were encased with cement. I took a deep breath to brace myself for the conversation I knew I had to have with him and let myself inside.

  Our house was a modest three bedroom, ranch style abode in the middle of the suburbs. I had purchased it a few years after my divorce from Rebecca was final. I didn’t want to keep our previous home since it was full of nothing but bad memories. Every square inch of that old house was a constant reminder of the night that Rebecca had left us. The memory of that particular evening over powered even the tiniest bit of happiness that we had shared.

  Anyone who visited us for the first time now, would easily be able to tell that two men lived here. The living room included black leather furniture, and a couple of black end tables book ended the couch. A glass and wrought iron coffee table filled up the empty space in the middle of the living room, and a giant flat screen television hung on the wall. There were no decorations or family pictures, with the exception of a painting of a beach. My mother brought it when she and my father visited, and I hung it over the fireplace. Her reasoning was that the place needed a pop of color. Honestly, I knew absolutely zilch about decorating and didn’t put any effort into attempting to try. So I hung it up to appease her.

  “Jackson,” I called out as I walked down the short hallway to his room. I stopped outside his closed bedroom door and knocked.

  “What?” Jackson called. I could hear the annoyance in his voice.

  “We need to talk about what happened today,” I said as I opened his bedroom door.

  “Talk about what happened, or talk about my punishment?” Jackson asked sulkily. He was sprawled out on his bed, flipping through a comic book.

  “Both I walked into his room and sat down by his feet on his bed.

  “You heard what Mr. A. said,” Jackson replied. His eyes were downcast as he continued to thumb through the comic.

  I reached out, grabbed the book from his grasp, and laid it on the blue and green plaid comforter covering his bed. “I want to hear it from you.”

  “Hear what exactly? That I didn’t do my homework? That I skip class sometimes? Is that what you want to hear?” Jackson asked. His voice rising with every word.

  “But why? Do you not understand your assignments? Are you being bullied? Jackson, what is going on? I need to know.”

  Jackson shrugged and stared over my shoulder at the wall. It was during times like these that I cursed Rebecca. As much as I loved being a father, there were days that being a single parent was extremely difficult. Handling this type of situation would’ve been so much easier with another parent, to go in as a team and try to figure out the problem together. Instead, I sat there completely clueless as I tried to understand my own child.

  I stared at him as I grappled for the correct words to speak. Although he and I shared the same brown eyes and dark light brown hair, he made facial expressions and gestures that reminded me of his mother. Even after three years, just the mere thought of her caused my blood to boil.

  “Jackson, talk to me,” I begged him. I hated this. I hated that I had to plead with my son to talk to me.

  “What do you want to talk about?” Jackson asked. His voice was devoid of any emotion and his eyes were still staring at the wall behind me.

  “Really? Come on, Jackson. Stop playing stupid. You know exactly what we need to discuss.”

  “Oh, so you think I’m stupid now?” Jackson’s eyes snapped to mine, and I winced at the fury I saw in them. Fury that I had caused.

  “No, of course I don’t think you’re stupid!” I said, trying to soothe him.

  “That’s what you just freaking said!”

  “Calm down and watch your mouth. I said to stop playing stupid,” I said. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all.”

  “Why do you even care about what happens at school? It’s not like you’re ever around, anyway.”

  Jackson hurled the words at me, and even though I knew he was saying them in anger, I couldn’t stop myself from flinching. He was right. I wasn’t around enough and I already felt guilty about every accusation he had just flung at me. I blinked my eyes furiously to stop the flow of tears that threatened to spill over as I scrubbed my hand over my face.

  “Why wouldn’t I care? You’re my son, and I love you very much. You’re my world.” I tried to reassure him that he was the only thing that mattered to me.

  “Then why aren’t you ever home?” he asked. I watched him bite his bottom lip as his jaw quivered.

  His words cut me down to the core. I exhaled slowly and closed my eyes. I sent up a silent prayer that I would find the correct words to say to him. Because at the end of the day, even though right at this moment I felt like a complete pile of shit for not being around, he was only twelve years old, and I was still his father.

  “I have to work, Jackson. I have a lot of responsibility at my job and a lot of people who depend on me for theirs. Sometimes that requires me to work really long hours or on my days off—even though I hate being away from you so much. I have to pay the bills and make sure you have food in your stomach, and to do that I have to work a lot. I wish things could be different, but right now they can’t.”

  “Meaning, that you wish I had a mom around to help?” he asked softly.

  “It would make things a bit easier. But we’re doing just fine, right?” I asked him. He nodded his head, and I smiled. “But, you’re deflecting. It’s time to discuss your punishment.”

  Jackson rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Isn’t it punishment enough that I have to spend two days a week after school with Mr. A.?”

  I chuckled. “Not even close. You’re grounded for a month.”

  Jackson’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “What? A month? That’s not fair! I think I should only get a week, tops.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re failing multiple classes, skipped school, threw away my mail from your teachers, and almost got detention. How is a week punishment enough?” I asked as I ticked the list off on my fingers.

  “But, come on, Dad. I hardly ever get in trouble.” Jackson face was ashen, and he had tears in his eyes.

  I shrugged. I hated seeing him so upset. It really sucked having to discipline him. “Guess you should have thought about that before you skipped school.”

  Jackson didn’t say a word as he stared down
at the blanket on his bed. I reached out to pat his knee and winced when he moved it away from my touch. I sighed and stood up to walk out of his room. I paused in the doorway and looked back at him.

  “Where did you go?” I asked.

  “What?” Jackson asked, clearly confused.

  “When you skipped school. Where did you go?” I hated that I even had to ask the question. How pathetic and sad that I didn’t even know where my son liked to hang out.

  “The park,” he said quietly.

  I nodded and walked out of his room, closing the door gently behind me. I was suddenly exhausted as I walked down the hall to my home office, but I had a lot of work to do since I left earlier than usual. I sat down in my office chair and sighed. It was going to be a very long weekend.

  Chapter 4

  Anthony

  Grunting, I rolled over in bed and jumped when my body connected to something warm and firm. I pried an eye open and squinted against the harsh sunlight peeking through the curtains. I looked over next to me and nearly groaned when I saw the very naked person lying beside me. It took my brain only two seconds to process who exactly it was, and I was thoroughly pissed off.

  “God damn it,” I yelled hoarsely and sat up quickly. I wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

  “What’s wrong?” the gruff voice asked from beside me. My yelling obviously woke him up.

  “What’s wrong?” I parroted. “I thought we decided not to do this anymore.” I reminded him as I flung back the covers and got out of the bed to search for my clothes.

  I heard a laugh behind me as I bent over to grab my boxer briefs. “We always say that and then we wind up back here.”

  “It wasn’t planned. You know how I feel about you. We’re exes for a reason,” I snapped as I walked out of the room in search of my pants.

  “Anthony, don’t be like this,” my ex, Sebastian, said as he followed me down the hall. “You know I still love you.”