Page 46 of Taming His Teacher

She starts fussing over Erin and I stand helplessly by the door until Mrs. Wilson verbally shoos me out. “Could you give us a few minutes, Mr. Shepherd?”

It’s been a while since anyone on staff called me Mr. Shepherd. They’re good about not treating me like a student, but it still kicks me back into a guilty feeling, like maybe I’m not supposed to be here. I wander out to the living room and take a seat, bouncing my heel off the threadbare carpet.

I try calling Caleb to take my mind off Erin while Mrs. Wilson is taking care of her, but no one picks up. Later. I’ll try again later. I’ve been calling three times a week since Caleb told me he wasn’t going to pass two of his classes, and it’s paid off. For his semester report card, Caleb had managed to pull Cs in math and science, and gotten his English and social studies up to Bs.

It was such a relief for so little effort on my part. Call the kid a few times a week, give him some accountability from someone whose opinion he gives a crap about, add a shit ton of work on his end and there you have it: passing grades. It’s not like it was a chore for me. Caleb’s a goofy kid. He makes me laugh in a way most other people can’t.

In a few minutes that feel like forever, Mrs. Wilson comes out. I search her face for worry but don’t find any.

“You’re right about the fever, but she doesn’t have any other symptoms that worry me. It’s probably a virus, and the only way to get rid of that is to rest. I gave her some aspirin and had her drink some more water. She just needs to sleep it off.”

I’ve been nodding this whole time as if my acknowledgment will make anything better. But Erin’s going to be okay and the vise around my ribs loosens.

“What can I do?”

“You don’t need to do anything. You can go home.”

Leave her? I don’t think so. I’ve already left her too many times when she needed me. I’m not going to fuck this one up, too.

“That’s not happening, so what can I do?”

The side of Mrs. Wilson’s mouth quirks up along with her eyebrows, giving the impression that the other side of her mouth has had its puppet string snipped. Her expression is impish, reminding me of Mordecai of all people. That is the only thing Mordecai and the Headmaster’s wife will ever have in common.

“If that’s the case, try to keep her comfortable. Mostly you can let her sleep, but when she wakes up, she can have more aspirin and more water. Regulate her temperature as best you can; put a blanket on her if she gets chilled or get a cool cloth if she’s too warm. You can ask if she wants something to eat, but don’t be surprised if she says no. That’s it.”

“Okay.”

I thank Mrs. Wilson and she gives me a funny look on her way out the door, as if she knows this isn’t just one colleague looking after another. She’s not wrong. I go back to Erin’s room, pluck a book from her shelf and dump myself in the chair by her bed until she needs me again.

Twenty-four hours, half a dozen animal glasses complete with colored bendy straws, and a small mountain of wet washcloths later, Erin wakes with a small, sleepy “Mmm.”

I get up from the chair that will have my ass permanently imprinted in the seat and drop onto the side of her bed. Even in the dim light she looks better, and her skin isn’t hot but warm to the touch. Before I can stop myself, the smile breaks across my face and the words are out of my mouth. “There’s my pretty baby.”

She dips her head and her eyes go wide and shy, not meeting my gaze. We both blush.

I clear my throat and drop my hand from her face. I don’t think I’m imagining the frown tugging at her mouth when I’m not touching her anymore.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, much, thank you.”

We stare at each other until her frown deepens and she looks away again. “Thanks for taking care of me, but you can go.”

Her words wedge themselves under my rib cage and poke at my heart. She doesn’t want me here?

“Hey, Erin. Look at me.”

Her eyes roll reluctantly to mine. In them I see all the times I’ve hurt her, every time I’ve let her down. She doesn’t trust me, and I don’t blame her. I don’t blame her, but I want that to not be true anymore. I want to be the man she thought I was, the man she offered herself to. Not the one who turned her away.

I do something I haven’t done for a long time. I get down on my knees and take her hand in mine, press my forehead into her knuckles.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to protect you and instead I hurt you. I’m not the guy you knew four years ago and I didn’t think you’d want who I am now. But that’s not for me to decide. I want you as much as I ever did. More. So if you want to get to know me, I’m going to stop being so fucking stubborn and scared and let you. Then you can decide.”

* * *

Erin

Shep is honest-to-god on his knees, holding his forehead to my hand. I feel better, but still woozy. The thrill of the opportunity being offered to me—to get to know Shep, peel back those onion layers and uncover what’s inside the man himself—it makes the bluebird of happiness that’s been nesting in my chest since I opened my eyes to his face explode into a burst of ecstatic feathers. That’s all I ever wanted—a chance.

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