Teaching Tenderness Page 5

  “I mean, if someone were to ask you what you just read, write down what you’d say to them,” I explained.

  Jackson seemed lost in thought for a second, his dark eyes clouding over as he tried to recall what he read and what I said during my time. “I-I’m not sure.”

  “That’s okay. We can talk it out if that helps.”

  Jackson’s eyes lit up, and by the time his dad arrived to pick him up, we had half of a page written down. I had told the students that they had two weeks to do the report, giving them ample time to get it done, but I had a feeling I’d have to extend Jackson’s.

  “Hey guys, you look hard at work,” Marcus said from the doorway.

  “Just working on this book report and lost track of time. I’m sure you know how that is,” I couldn’t help but add. But the sour look on his face made me instantly regret it.

  “All too well,” he replied softly, and I saw the guilt in his dark brown eyes; eyes that pretty much had me melting into a puddle on the floor.

  Down, boy! I had to remind a certain appendage that had a mind of its own. I concentrated on thinking about the librarian trying to fuck me and the one time I saw my grandmother in her underwear. Anything gross to send my blood flow north again.

  “Well,” I croaked and stopped to clear my throat. “That’s all for today, Jackson. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Come on, squirt. I’m making your favorite barbeque chicken tonight,” Marcus told Jackson when he stood to gather his things.

  “Can Mr. A come eat with us?” Jackson asked suddenly.

  Had I not already been sitting, that question would have knocked me on my ass. I was not expecting that question to come out of little dude’s mouth, not at all. Sure, kids have invited me to numerous occasions: birthday parties, Halloween parties, hell, even a bar mitzvah. But never had a student invited me over to dinner, and never to a dinner that was cooked by their sexy as hell father. How the hell did I say no?

  “Uh,” I choked out. “Well, uh…,” I looked at Marcus, hopefully the SOS I signaled with my eyes was getting through to him loud and clear.

  “Sweetie,” Marcus said with a wry smile and a laugh, “I’m sure that Mr. A has his own plans tonight.”

  Thank you, sweet baby Jesus for that excuse. I needed to remind myself to take it easy on him the next time I wanted to throw a jab his way about being late to pick up his kid from school.

  “Do you Mr. A?” Jackson asked softly, and I saw unhappiness written all over his face.

  Shit. That made me feel bad. I hated that I caused little dude unhappiness. I felt as if people had let him down all of his life. From teachers not noticing his struggles, and letting him slip through the cracks. His dad—even though he couldn’t help it—worked all of the time and was absent a lot. His own mother had abandoned him, as I had found out through gossip and comments Jackson had made. And now me, by turning down a simple dinner invitation. Besides, it was just one dinner. It wouldn’t be so bad right? Yeah, right.

  “You know what, buddy,” I said and shrugged helplessly at Marcus, who stared at me in surprise because he knew exactly where I was going with this. “What I have going on tonight can easily be done another night. I’d be happy to join you guys for dinner.”

  “Awesome!” Jackson’s face morphed into excitement. And then he did another unexpected thing, he threw his arms around me.

  I stood there in shock before I wrapped my arms around him. It was during that hug that I knew I made the right decision to accept his invitation. Sometimes even the smallest of things can make the biggest impact, and I didn’t want to let the little boy down.

  “Okay, well, we usually eat around six thirty. So I guess we’ll see you then,” Marcus said when Jackson unwound himself from around me and walked over to his father.

  “Sounds great,” I said with a false sense of bravado as Marcus jotted down their address.

  When they left the room, I let out the breath I’d been holding. Jesus, did that just happen? Did I need to bring anything? What was I supposed to wear? And why was I even stressing over these questions? It was just dinner. What was the worst that could happen?

  Chapter 9

  Marcus

  Did that really just happen? Did Jackson seriously invite his teacher to dinner at our house? Without asking me if it was okay first? What the hell was he thinking? Our house was a wreck! I’d been so busy with work that I hadn’t had time to give it a proper cleaning in, well ever! Damn this kid!

  “Jackson, why did you invite Mr. A to dinner?” I finally asked when we pulled into our driveway.

  Jackson shrugged. “He helped me out a lot today, and he lives by himself. So I figured the least we could do was feed him.”

  Okay the kid had a point. “I wish you would’ve asked me if it was okay, first. The house is a mess, and I don’t need your teacher walking in and seeing it look that way.”

  “No problem. I’ll straighten it up while you cook.” Jackson shrugged again before he climbed out of the car.

  What was happening? Surely I was hearing things. Jackson didn’t just volunteer to pick up the house, did he? I shook my head at that crazy notion and walked inside only to stop in my tracks at the doorway. Maybe I wasn’t hearing things. Because there was Jackson in the living room, tidying up the throw pillows and then carrying dirty coffee cups to the kitchen.

  My house really wasn’t that disgusting. It just looked…lived in. Cups didn’t make their way to the dishwasher like they should. Shoes were kicked off in front of the couch instead of in their spot in the hallway or bedroom closet. Magazines littered the coffee table instead of being stacked up nicely. And instead of clothes getting put inside the hamper like they should, they were in a jumbled heap on the bathroom floor.

  I hung my suit jacket up on the rack and laid my briefcase on the table beside it. While I left Jackson to his own devices, I went into the kitchen to start dinner. Thank heavens I had the idea to cook the chicken that morning, and had put it in the crock pot. The delicious smells of honey barbeque permeated the air and my stomach growled. This wasn’t just Jackson’s favorite meal, it was mine as well.

  I grabbed the box of instant mashed potatoes from the pantry—no judgment please—and bag of frozen peas from the freezer. I pulled out milk, butter, and sour cream from the refrigerator and a few pots from the cabinet. I had made this meal so many times I could do it in my sleep, and while I worked. And while I started the potatoes, my mind drifted back to what I had witnessed earlier today.

  Honestly, I’d arrived a few minutes before I spoke to alert them that I was there. They were just so engrossed in their work that I had to stop and just simply… watch. I had never seen Jackson work at something so hard before and actually appear to be enjoying it. In all of the years I’d helped him with homework, he’d usually gotten frustrated or demand that I just leave him alone to figure it out by himself. So to walk to the room and see my son working and seeming to enjoy himself, I had to take it all in. And I knew it all had to do with the man who was helping him. A man with bright blue eyes and a rich laugh.

  Whoa! Where did that thought come from? That was definitely not something I should have been thinking about. He was my son’s teacher for goodness sake and a man! I liked women. I spent sixteen years with the same woman and not only married her but had a child with her. What the hell was I doing thinking about another man’s eyes or laugh?

  I shook my head at my weird ass thoughts and focused on finishing dinner. Jackson was still doing god only knew what in the house, and I was adding the finishing touches to my potatoes. They might have been flakes from a box, but I certainly jazzed them up. And it was when I was busy doing that, that the doorbell rang. Guess Mr. A was here, at my house.

  “I’ll get it!” Jackson yelled and raced to answer the door.

  I heard the door open and mumbles as Anthony and Jackson greeted each other, followed by sounds of footsteps.

  “Dad, Mr. A brought us cookies! Can I have one?”
Jackson asked enthusiastically, even though he already knew the answer.

  “Not until after dinner. It’s ready, so go ahead and wash up,” I told him as I started to pull plates and glasses from the cabinet.

  “Smells great in here. Do you need help with anything?” Anthony asked after a few awkward moments of silence.

  I shook my head and tried to keep my gaze away from him and those blue eyes. What in the hell was my problem? “No thanks. I’m actually just finishing up. Would you like juice, soda, water, or milk to drink?” I asked after I set the china on the counter.

  “Water’s fine. I’m trying to watch my figure.” Anthony laughed and rubbed his flat stomach. Why the hell was I noticing it was flat?

  I laughed at his comment and started to grab silverware out of the drawer and a small handful of napkins. Jackson usually went through about four all on his own. The kid was messy.

  “Go ahead and grab a seat at the table. Jackson, help me carry the food,” I said.

  Finally, we were all situated at the table, the plates were loaded down, and we dug into our food. There was no conversation, just a few moans and groans from Jackson and Anthony as they took a bite of the chicken. Those were sounds I wouldn’t ever get tired of hearing. I was in no way a master chef, but I loved when something I made was appreciated.

  “So, Jackson tells me you work in advertising?” Anthony asked after half of his food was gone.

  I nodded and wiped my mouth as I swallowed the bite I had been chewing. “I do. I work for Frazier Advertising.”

  Jackson snorted. “Sure, Dad. You just work there.”

  Anthony laughed at Jackson’s comment. “What do you mean?

  Jackson took another bite of his potatoes. “He runs the thing.”

  Anthony turned his startling blue gaze on me. “Oh, really?”

  I shrugged and blushed. “So how long have you been a teacher?”

  “Five years. It took me a while to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. And once I realized I love working with kids, well, I decided why not teach them a thing or two,” he responded with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “And how’s that working out for you?”

  “So far, so good I think,” he said with a wink and took a drink of his water.

  A wink? Did he really just wink at me?

  “Can I have a cookie now?” Jackson asked after he took his final bite of food.

  “One,” I told him and watched him run to the kitchen.

  He sat back down at the table and took a huge bite out of his chocolate chip cookie.

  “Dad, can I show Mr. A my room?” Jackson asked after he finished up his cookie, and I was relieved because it was getting uncomfortable sitting in silence.

  “Sure thing, squirt, but then you need to get a shower.”

  “But, Dad,” Jackson whined.

  “No buts.”

  “Don’t worry, dude. I’ll be here when you’re done so I can tell you goodbye,” Anthony reassured him.

  Jackson grumbled in protest, but gathered up his plate and took it to the kitchen. Then I stood and grabbed mine and Anthony’s. I scraped the remains into the trash and quickly rinsed them to load them in the dishwasher.

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I said when I saw him carrying the pots that had the peas and mashed potatoes.

  “It’s no biggie. I needed to talk to you anyway, now that Jackson isn’t around. It’s pretty important,” Anthony said and all humor was gone from his voice.

  “Okay,” I said slowly and took the pots from him. “What’s going on? Does it have to do with Jackson’s school work?”

  Anthony nodded. “I’ve had an inkling for a while now, but finally noticed it more when we started working together on his report. Of course, I can’t personally diagnose it and he’ll need evaluated by his doctor. But, Mr. Anderson, the signs are all there.”

  “Diagnose what?” I asked, suddenly feeling very worried about my son. “What’s going on?”

  Anthony took a deep breath and stared at me, his mouth set in a grim line. “I believe Jackson is dyslexic.”

  Chapter 10

  Anthony

  I had rendered Marcus speechless. He just stood there, in his bright yellow kitchen holding a half empty pot of peas, with his mouth hanging open. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there, staring back at him I felt like a complete douche for dropping that bomb on him.

  “Mr. A, I thought you were going to come see my room?” Jackson asked as he stomped into the kitchen.

  “Right, sorry little dude, I was helping your dad clean up the table. But, let’s go see that room of yours,” I said with cheerfulness I didn’t at all feel. But I knew I needed to give Marcus space to process what I told him.

  Jackson reached out and grabbed my hand to drag me down the hallway. With a flourish, he shoved open his door and ushered me inside. It was pretty much what I expected. A twin bed, a desk for homework, posters and pictures, and a television with a gaming system. But for some reason unbeknownst to me, Jackson wanted me to see it. So I feigned interest in seeing his collection of games and acted very impressed with his comic book posters.

  “Cool room, dude,” I told him as I stared at a poster of a dude wearing way too much spandex, in my opinion, and a cape. “Who’s this guy?”

  Jackson gaped at me and looked offended that I’d even ask such a question. Then he spent the next few minutes teaching me all about the superhero and how he can’t come in contact with some green glowing rock thing. I pretended that I knew exactly what he was talking about, but truth be told, I was clueless. Comic books and superheroes were not my forte growing up. I was more into books and music.

  “Want to play a game?” Jackson asked me and walked back over to the system.

  “Maybe some other time. I’m going to go see if your dad needs anymore help, and I believe you have to get your smelly butt in the shower.”

  “I don’t smell!” Jackson denied fervently.

  “Jacks, you’re twelve. All twelve year olds smell. Now go shower while I go check on your dad.” I chuckled and a shook of my head.

  “Whatever, Mr. A,” Jackson grumbled as he opened his drawer and started pulling out some pajamas. “And it’s Jackson, not Jacks.”

  I laughed again and exited his room. I could hear the sound of running water, and I went back to the kitchen. Marcus’s back was to me as he furiously scrubbed the counter top. His knuckles were white from the tight grip he had on the sponge, and he was scrubbing so hard that chunks of it were coming off.

  “Keep that up and you’re going to need a new counter top,” I joked softly and leaned against the entryway.

  Marcus jumped at the sound of my voice and looked down at the counter. With a sigh, he started to pick up the pieces of sponge with his free hand and dumped them in the trash next to the counter. Then, without saying a word, he rewet the sponge, sprayed the stovetop with cleaner, and started to scrub at a spot that wasn’t there.

  “Marcus,” I said to him.

  “Are you sure?” he finally asked me. “Are you one hundred percent sure that this is his problem and not something else?”

  “I’m sure,” I said with finality.

  “How?” he asked as he sprayed more cleaner on the stove.

  “The signs are all there,” I answered him and sighed as he scrubbed more at the nonexistent spot. “Marcus will you please stop and look at me.”

  Marcus’s hand stilled and he stared down at the ruined sponge in his hand. He didn’t look at me while he threw the sponge in the trash. He also didn’t look at me when he grabbed the bottle of cleaner and stashed it in the cabinet under the sink and turned off the water. Instead, with his back to me, he gripped the edges of the counter top in both of his hands and hung his head.

  “How is this possible? How could other teachers have missed it?” he finally asked me.

  I shoved off the wall and crept a little closer to him. Against my better judgment, I reached out and placed
a tentative hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the first second of contact, but then I felt his body relax under my touch. And it was all I could do not to groan out from the feel of hard muscle under my hand where his shoulder bunched up. This dude did not have a dad bod.

  “I really don’t know, Marcus. I asked myself the same thing. Maybe he was just really good at hiding it, or the assignments were much easier. I’m not a doctor, and neither are those teachers, so I really don’t have an answer.”

  Marcus took a few deep breaths and flexed his fingers against the counter. I felt the muscles in his shoulder contract under my hand, and I bit my lip to stop any animal noises that tried to escape. I really needed to move my hand, but all sense of motor functions escaped my brain. And being in such close proximity to him was not helping, especially when I continued to catch whiffs of his cologne.

  Finally, he lifted his head and turned his face to look at me. His gorgeous eyes latched on to mine, and I saw the display of emotions in them. The worry and concern for his son. The confusion, because he was at a loss of what to do. And most of all, the guilt for not realizing it sooner.

  “Now what do I do?” he asked softly. “I’ve never dealt with this before, and I don’t know anyone else who has either. I’m overwhelmed right now with what to do.”

  I let go of his shoulder and took a step back. My fingers tingled from touching him for so long, and I clenched my fist to try and suppress it.

  “First you need to make an appointment with his pediatrician to get him evaluated. And then we go from there,” I told him.

  “We?” he asked.

  Talk about a slip up. But there was no going back now. Somewhere between finding out Jackson’s problem and telling his father about it, I somehow became involved in this family, and there was no way out.

  “We,” I said with a nod.

  Marcus let out a slow exhale and turned back around. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, and my mouth from watered at how broad it was. Damn it! Why are all the delicious men straight?