Teach Me(44)

I told you I’m a jackass, Harper. I was trying for you. I really was. But this is just how I am—it comes out sooner or later. You might be the last person on the planet to still think I was decent, until now. So thanks for that. But this is the real me.

I stare at that paragraph for longer than I should. I could read a million things into it. But the main thing I’m getting is: that’s not gonna cut it. If he wants this to be some kind of Dear Jane, we can’t be together cause I suck letter, he’s going to need to tell me what really brought this on. In person.

So, twelve hours later, I find myself in the same position, banging on the same door. I’m lifting the knocker to drop it a third time when the door swings open before me, and suddenly all the anger and insecurities I’ve been lugging around for three days drop right out of my head.

He’s dripping, a towel wrapped around his waist, doing nothing to conceal the abs I ran my hands over just days ago, or his pectoral muscles, and just the right amount of hair on his chest and below his navel, tracing a line down to the towel. His hair hangs in his eyes, even longer now that it’s wet.

But then I notice how bloodshot those eyes are, and the huge bags beneath them, a detail I could never have made out in class, sitting all the way in the back row like I do.

Deliciously distracting abs aside, he looks . . . exhausted. Mentally, physically.

He’s also staring at me with huge, desperate eyes. Before I can think, before I can react, he’s wrapped both arms around me and he’s pulling me inside, crushing me to his chest in a tight embrace. But somehow, even though he’s standing here naked under that towel, it doesn’t feel sexual at all.

Well, okay, maybe a little. But mostly it feels necessary. Inevitable.

Until I remember what an asshole he’s been, to get me here like this. “What the hell is going on with you?” I shove away from him, push him backwards into the house so I can slam the door behind me. “The real story this time, not some bullshit wah I’m bad for you email.”

I cross my arms and fix him with my best death stare.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, like he can’t bring himself to speak any louder. “I shouldn’t have treated you like that on Saturday.”

“Damn right,” I mutter.

“And I shouldn’t have avoided you the last couple days. I just . . . ”

I cock one eyebrow and wait for it. This had better be a really fucking good excuse, or I swear I am out of here. This time, I won’t let my heart rule my head.

But then . . . “My father is dying,” he whispers.

Of all the things I expected to hear, of all the reasons I’d imagined in the past three days for him acting this way, that wasn’t one of them. I gape at him for a moment, mentally backpedaling. I’d been expecting some shitty excuse like “I had a work thing,” or something really bad like “My wife called.” Not this, though.

I bite my lip. “What was the phone call?”

“My sister Kat calling to say his cancer came back. It’d been in remission for a couple years, until now. I’m sorry, I should have just told you, but I . . . didn’t really want to talk about it.”

“I had no idea,” I murmur.

“How could you have?” He steps back and runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly, we were never that close to begin with, and when I drove up to see him on Sunday, it only reminded me why. But, well. I guess I’ve got a lot going on.”

The way he says it makes the knot twinge. “Do . . . do you want me to go?” I don’t want to leave him. Not like this. Not after he finally opened up and let me in. Not when he so clearly needs someone to talk to about this. But if he asks me to leave, I’ll do it.

Except, instead, he lifts a hand to cup my cheek, staring deep into my eyes. “Stay.”

My heart hitches in my chest. How could I say no to that?

Surprisingly, I resist taking advantage of the towel. He disappears upstairs to dress while I make popcorn in the kitchen. When he comes back down in a plain gray T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, my heart aches all over again for a new reason this time. He looks so simple, so sweet. I knew he was hot, hell, everyone on campus knows. But nobody sees him like this—in his casual, just-another-day-around-the-house clothes. Almost like we’re a normal couple.

We settle in on the couch with the popcorn balanced across our laps, bickering over whose handfuls are larger while Doctor Who reruns play in the background. I love that about him—his closet nerdy side. I opened his DVD deck to find every Star Trek episode ever, and he immediately swore me to secrecy.