18. Niles

Chapter eighteen

Niles

I woke sometime in the night, disoriented, with a warm body pressed against my back and an arm draped around my waist, securing me in place. Moist exhalation from my bed partner fanned my nape.

“Shit.” What time was it?

Carefully disengaging from August’s hold, I slipped out of bed and stumbled around the unfamiliar bedroom in search of my clothing. The illuminated numbers on the bedside clock announced it was close to six in the morning. I was supposed to be long gone by now.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Dressed, I glanced at the man who’d somehow become a reluctant lover and considered waking him to say goodbye, but getting tangled in an awkward conversation wasn’t high on my list of things to do on Christmas morning. Besides, I did not want to revisit the embarrassing remark I’d expressed after our exchange—rather, the pointed statement I’d declared in defense of my fragile heart.

I left August to slumber and crept out the door and down the hall to the living room. Rounding the corner, I stumbled to a stop. Constance sat on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders, a book on her lap, and a reading light clipped to the pages. It cast a yellow glow over the words, leaving the rest of the room in shadow.

She looked up at my sudden appearance and flinched.

I did the same.

Two deer caught in the headlights. Two matching expressions of shock.

Too late to retreat. Too obvious for excuses.

Besides, Constance was a smart girl who quickly deduced the unexpected plot twist in the story that was her life. Glancing beyond me down the hall and back, she seemed uncertain what to say or ask.

It wasn’t every day you caught your music teacher sneaking out of your father’s bedroom. Double damn.

My attempt at an explanation failed when the only words I managed to conjure were ones stating the obvious. “You’re up early.”

A nod. I’m always get up at five.

“Oh. Didn’t know that. I, um… was heading home.”

Another glance down the hall. When her hands moved, they conveyed hesitation. Were you… in Dad’s room?

My shoulders fell. Defeat and acceptance abated the urgency to flee. What was the point? Either I explained the truth, or she came to her own conclusions. Lying would be pointless. She knew.

“I didn’t intend to stay the night. I… fell asleep.” Cringing internally at the crass undertones, I motioned to the couch. “May I sit?”

She nodded and shuffled her feet out of the way, setting her book aside. My state of undress stirred discomfort. I’d put on pants, sure, but I hadn’t secured the belt. My rumpled shirt and sweater announced my urgency to flee. The elastic I’d used to tie my hair back was lost somewhere in August’s bedroom. I’d given up trying to locate it in the dark.

It was an odd turn of events. I, the guilty-looking adult, squaring off with the far more responsible teenager.

And like I’d done a thousand times in my youth to avoid facing upset parents, I diverted, motioning to the book she’d set aside. “What are you reading?”

She handed me the novel. Father and Sons.

“Ah yes. Ivan Turgenev.” I chuckled. “Koa shoved this one down my throat more than once. He goes on tangents, and the only way to appease the man is by giving in.”

Constance smiled. Dr. Burgard assigned it for class. An introduction to nihilism or something. I don’t know. He gave us a list of book options. We had to pick one and read it over the holiday. It’s not so bad.

“You want to win over Dr. Burgard and earn yourself an A? Read Dostoevsky. He’s his favorite.”

She shrugged. They were all super long. I picked a shorter one. I’m a slow reader when it comes to classics, and I’m still working through my first book report.

“What did you choose for that?”

Jane Eyre . My mom likes Charlotte Bront?, and I’d never read anything by her. Dr. Burgard suggested it.

“ Jane Eyre . I’ve read that one too. That girl is a force to be reckoned with, isn’t she?”

Constance nodded. You’re friends with Dr. Burgard?

I considered the paperback in my hands, fanning the pages as I chose my words, knowing I couldn’t avoid the conversation forever. “Koa and I used to date.”

A long pause. Constance chewed her lip, then signed, I didn’t know you were gay.

I hitched a brow. “Really? How is that possible? Has the Timber Creek rumor mill broken down?”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. Okay, I heard, but when I asked if you had a girlfriend last night, you didn’t correct me, so I thought maybe my friends were wrong.

“Not wrong.”

Constance raised her hands more than once like she was going to speak but put them on her lap. Twice, her attention moved to the hallway.

“Just ask. I’ll be as honest as is appropriate.”

She pressed her lips together and signed, Are you and Dad… dating?

“Not exactly. Not officially.”

But?

I sighed. “But there are… feelings involved.”

I didn’t know… I’ve never seen… Dad’s had a lot of girlfriends.

“Oh really?” I chuckled, and she punched my shoulder, sneering.

Maybe not a lot. Maybe they weren’t girlfriends. I don’t know. Women like him, and he seems to… like them too. I mean, I didn’t know he… She waved a hand, letting the gesture encompass what she couldn’t put into words.

“It’s not always cut and dried for some people.”

Is he bisexual?

At that exact moment, as though summoned, August appeared in the shadowed entrance to the living room, wearing only underwear and an open robe. Hair mussed, he took in the scene with an expression of muted horror as though wondering if this was real or if he was stuck in a nightmare.

Our gazes locked, and Constance switched her attention between us.

“That’s a question you should ask your dad.”

“Shit,” August muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

I stood from the couch and did my best to appear put together. “Merry Christmas, Auggie. How about I make coffee while you chat with your daughter.”

I left the pair alone and rooted around August’s kitchen until I found coffee beans, an antiquated hand grinder, and a percolator of all things. Although not a coffee snob like Koa, I appreciated a decent cup of joe in the morning. I had not, however, learned to use a proper percolator, and what was up with the hand grinder? Koa owned several fancy machines and multiple moka pots, but he never let me touch them. At home, I used a basic drip pot. It offended Koa, but I didn’t care. Some of us preferred simple over extravagant.

I studied the contraption until I thought I’d sorted the mechanics, and I set to work hand-grinding beans like I lived in the Stone Age. It required more spunk than I usually employed at six in the morning and on holiday, no less.

August appeared long before I’d made a dent in the beans. “That was fast.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Did she—”

“Niles, please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

I held my tongue and passed him the grinder. “Fine. Make yourself useful. They have machines to grind beans now, you know? Had I known this was what you owned, I’d have bought you one for Christmas.”

“It’s the Italian way. My mother wouldn’t hear of owning an electric grinder.”

Your mother’s not here , I almost said.

August fully displayed his annoyance as he aggressively churned the beans to grounds, checking their coarseness occasionally until he was satisfied. “I thought you were leaving last night.”

“I thought so too, but someone asked me to stick around a bit longer, and I fell asleep. I tried to sneak out, but she was already awake and reading on the couch. I got caught.”

Lips pinched, August prepared the percolator in silence, stinking the air with repressed fury.

“Is it such a big deal?”

“Yes.”

“She didn’t seem overly offended by the idea. Surprised, yes, but not—”

August spun to face me. “And if she tells her friends? Her mother?”

“So what? Who cares?”

“I care.” He huffed and resumed making coffee. The gas stove took a second to catch, and the igniter’s click, click, click pierced the air.

“You know what? I gotta go. This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this in the first place.”

The flame caught with a whoosh. August spun. “Then why did you?”

“Don’t put this on me. You weren’t exactly saying no. If anything, you were throwing vibes of interest all over the damn place. I should have stopped it.”

“You started it. In the auditorium.”

“You’re right. I did. Clearly a mistake.”

I aimed for the door, but August’s softer tone called me back. “Niles, wait. Please stop.”

Like an idiot, I turned back, body hot with anger and rejection.

August scrubbed his face, pressing fingers into his tired eyes. “I’m sorry. I was caught off guard and… It’s fine. Everything will be fine.”

“I have no idea what that means. From my perspective, it’s not fine, and it won’t ever be fine unless—”

“It’s Christmas. Can we table it? Stay. Have coffee. Eat breakfast. Constance enjoys your company and—”

“To what end?”

August looked at me, truly, honestly looked at me. Sorrow and indecision filled his eyes. “I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“What do you want from me?”

Nothing, I wanted to scream. Everything.

He extended his hand. “Can we at least have today before you decide I’m not worth the effort? One more day. I immensely enjoyed last night.”

It was an illusion, but I had too.

I should have run out the door. I should have firmed my resolve. I should have listened to my head because my heart was unreliable and vulnerable. It conjured fantasies like a wishful child believing they could come true. It listened to sweet words and turned them into something they weren’t.

But instead, I took the offered hand and let August drag me into the comforting embrace of his arms. His warm skin and scent enveloped me. I closed my eyes and let go of frustration.

For now.

For today.

It was Christmas.

***

The morning progressed with a hearty breakfast—poached eggs, crusty homemade bread, pastries, fruit galore, nuts, and yogurt—an abundance of delicious coffee that put Koa’s to shame, and presents.

We didn’t speak of the previous night, and when Constance surreptitiously eyed us from time to time, August ignored her. I offered a commiserative shrug, unwilling to play his it-never-happened game.

Constance loved the bracelet and charms August had carefully boxed and wrapped, and when she uncovered the gift card for the cinema, she held it questioningly.

“I thought maybe you’d like to go with school friends. There’s enough there that you could treat them to a show. Niles tells me the kids spend a lot of time at the movies in the winter months during free time. If they request a pass, they can go into the city.”

Constance studied me for a long minute and nodded. That sounds fun , she signed, then, for her father’s benefit, she offered a simple thumbs up and a smile.

Constance might not have shone a light on her dad’s revelation, but when August wasn’t paying attention, she studied him through a new lens. The affection August and I had shared the previous night remained locked away. No more touching. No more secret smiles and expressions of mutual longing.

Constance opened the gift bag from me, uncovering a handmade fabric makeup bag decorated in a musical theme. A tiny violin attached to the zipper aided in its opening and closing. Inside, she found a gift card for the salon in Peterborough, one geared to teens where I knew many of Timber Creek’s female population ventured, returning to class with colored hair, freshly painted nails, or lash extensions.

Constance beamed and thanked me, zipping and unzipping the pouch, admiring the design and the pamphlet I’d grab from the salon to go with it. August was new at parenting, and without a mom around, I thought Constance might enjoy some girl time with her friends.

One gift remained under the tree. Constance brought it to August, showing him the tag with his name.

“You really shouldn’t have,” he said, untying the curly ribbon.

“Oh, believe me. You’re right. I’m regretting all my decisions at this point.”

He stopped and studied my face, likely thinking I was solely referring to our faltering connection as lovers, but I wasn’t. The gift was bound to go down like a sinking ship.

Inside, he found a book. For a long time, he stared at the title, expression unreadable. I sensed his silent fury reigniting. Constance grabbed the hardcover and read the title, immediately darting her attention to me, a wide smile forming. A Comprehensive Beginners Guide to ASL .

August took the book from his daughter and set it aside on the end table. With a tight smile, he thanked me, then swiftly changed the subject, speaking to Constance. “We have about three hours before we have to be in Toronto, and it’s about an hour and a half drive. How about you shower and get ready.”

Excitement sparkled in Constance’s eyes. She glanced at the discarded book again, then to me, signing, Thank you .

I winked as she ran off.

Alone, the air in the room shifted and changed. Tension bled through the walls and settled around us.

“Chloé’s in Toronto?” It was none of my business, but at that point, jaded and uncaring, I figured, why not?

“She told you?”

“Only that she was visiting her mom today.”

“Yes.” August got up and collected the discarded wrapping paper strewn about. He didn’t offer more information.

“I guess I’ll take off. Let you get ready.”

He saw me to the door and waited as I tied my boots and buttoned my coat. Face-to-face on the threshold, August wore the expression of a man in anguish.

“I don’t expect to hear from you,” I said. “I guess I’ll see you in class after the holiday.”

Before I could turn and open the door, August crushed me against it and kissed me. The previous night, lust prevailed. Lust drove us into bed and fueled the entire encounter. It was not lust in control that morning. It was desperation. It was fear. It was something far greater and stronger, delivered with aching tenderness.

By the time it ended, I didn’t know up from down. August stroked my cheek and pressed his forehead to mine. “Give me a minute to sort myself out. Please.”

“You know where to find me.”