The Summer I Fell For My Best Friend's Father

“You're joking.” Jason Blackwood stared at me as though I'd just told him I'd committed a crime. I wished I were joking. “No,” I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “I like you.” For months, I'd imagined telling him. In some versions, he smiled. In others, he admitted he'd noticed me too. Once, in a particularly embarrassing fantasy, he kissed me. Not one of those versions had included him looking at me like I'd stepped in something unpleasant. Then he laughed. “Ethan, are you serious?” I nodded, already wishing I could swallow the confession whole. His two friends exchanged looks. “Oh, this is brilliant,” one of them said. Jason shook his head. “You really thought you had a chance with me?” “I never said that.” “Then what was the point of telling me?” “Because I wanted to be honest!” My voice came out louder than I'd intended. “You don't have to feel the same way.” “Good. Because I don't.” There it was. Simple enough. I could have walked away with my dignity if he'd stopped there. Instead, Jason leaned closer. “Honestly, it's embarrassing. Everyone already suspects you're into guys, and now you've decided to make it my problem.” My throat tightened. “I'm not asking you for anything.” “Then you won't mind if I teach you to stop looking at me like that.” I frowned. “What does that mean?” He looked at his friends. “Come on. Let's have a little chat.” Something in his smile made me step backward. “No. I'm going home.” One of his friends caught my arm. I yanked it away. “Don't touch me.” The second boy blocked the corridor behind me. Jason's expression changed. The amusement disappeared, leaving something meaner in its place. “Take him around the back.” My heart lurched. “Jason, stop messing around.” Nobody laughed. They dragged me through a side exit and across the grounds to an old storage building near the sports complex. I fought them the entire way, but every time I pulled free, someone grabbed me again. By the time the door shut behind us, I was breathing hard. “Let me go,” I said. Jason locked the door. That small click made my stomach drop. “What are you doing?” “Relax. You wanted attention, didn't you?” “I wanted you to know how I felt. That's all.” “And now we know.” He nodded to his friends. One grabbed both my wrists. The other shoved me against a wall hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. I struggled, twisting my arms and trying to push him away. “Get off me!” “Stop fighting,” he snapped. Jason watched from a few steps away. “What's wrong, Ethan? You like men, don't you?” I stared at him, horrified. “Not like this.” For the first time, his smile faltered. Then he shrugged. “Should've thought about that before confessing.” The boy holding me tightened his grip. His friend reached for my shirt, and I kicked out so hard that he stumbled. “Hold him!” I screamed. I didn't care how ridiculous I sounded. I didn't care who heard me. I just wanted somebody to come through that door. A fist caught the side of my face. My vision blurred for a second. I tasted blood where I'd bitten the inside of my cheek, and suddenly the room felt too small. I couldn't get enough air. My hands were trapped, my phone was somewhere on the floor, and the door was behind three people who had no intention of letting me reach it. Then the man holding me leaned closer. “Let's see how brave you are now.” I squeezed my eyes shut. BANG! The sound was so loud that everyone froze. A second later, the man gripping me let go. I stumbled forward, caught myself against the wall, and looked toward the entrance. A stranger stood in the doorway. Black suit. Black shirt. Dark hair. A face that might have belonged on the cover of an expensive magazine, if not for the coldness in his eyes. He held a gun. Nobody spoke. “Move away from him,” he said. Jason recovered first. “Who the hell are you?” The stranger didn't answer. He looked at the hand still hovering near my torn shirt, then slowly raised his gaze to Jason. “Do you need me to repeat myself?” Jason swallowed. “This is a private matter.” The stranger gave a humourless little smile. “You brought three men to corner someone who couldn't defend himself. Don't insult me by calling it private.” I had never heard anyone speak so calmly while holding a gun. One of Jason's friends started toward the door. “Not so fast,” the stranger said. The boy stopped. “Leave. All of you.” Jason looked as though he wanted to argue. Then he noticed the stranger's expression and seemed to reconsider his entire life. They hurried outside. Jason was the last to leave. He pointed at me. “This isn't over, Ethan.” The stranger turned his head. “Say his name again.” Jason's mouth closed. He left. The door remained open after them, but I couldn't move. My knees were shaking. My cheek hurt. I could hear my own breathing, embarrassingly loud in the silence. The stranger put his gun away. “You injured?” I tried to answer. Nothing came out. He waited. I hated that. I hated that he wasn't rushing me, because now I could feel how badly my hands were trembling. “I'm fine,” I managed. His eyes moved to my torn shirt. “Does that look fine to you?” I looked down. “Oh.” It was a stupid response, but my brain had apparently decided to stop working. He removed his jacket and held it out. “Here.” I took it and pulled it around myself. “Can you walk?” “Yes.” I stood up straighter to prove it. My legs immediately betrayed me, and I had to catch the wall. The stranger pretended not to notice. Somehow, I appreciated that more than I could explain. Outside, a black car waited beside the road. He opened the passenger door, and I climbed in, still clutching his jacket closed. He drove without asking unnecessary questions. After a while, I said, “You shot the wall.” “Yes.” “Were you trying to scare them?” He glanced at me. “Would you have preferred I shot one of them?” I stared at him. He looked back at the road. “Thought not.” A startled laugh escaped me. It sounded awful, halfway between a hiccup and a sob, and I immediately covered my face. “Sorry.” “For what?” “I don't know.” He said nothing, and I was grateful. At a red light, I noticed the tattoo disappearing beneath his shirt collar, dark ink curving along the side of his neck toward his shoulder. His hands rested steadily on the steering wheel. Everything about him seemed controlled. I wondered what kind of person could walk into a room full of trouble and make everyone else afraid. Then I remembered the gun. Perhaps I didn't want to know. When we reached my hostel, he pulled up near the entrance. “Go inside. Lock your door. If those men come back, report them.” I opened the door, then turned back. “What's your name?” He studied me for a moment. “Alexander.” Just Alexander. “I'm Ethan.” “I know. Your friend called you that.” Right. Of course. I climbed out, then hesitated with one hand on the door. “Thank you, Alexander.” He gave a small nod. “Get some rest, Ethan.” I shut the door. His car pulled away before I could think of anything else to say. I stood under the hostel lights, wearing a stranger's jacket, with a bruised cheek and a phone I still hadn't recovered. Jason had made me regret telling the truth. Alexander had reminded me that not everyone would use it against me. I didn't know who he was, and I had no reason to expect we'd meet again. Still, as I watched his taillights disappear, one thought refused to leave me alone. I wanted to see him again. And that was probably my next mistake.