Page 18 of A Longtime (and at one point Illegal) Crush

“No one?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You thought I would tell anyone that I kissed a student?”

“You didn’t kiss me. I kissed you, and you were horrified and scandalized and pushed me away.”

He let out a breath. “Okay. If that’s how you remember it. Sure. That’s what happened.”

“Thatiswhat happened.”

“Right.” His grip shifted on the wheel. “And that’s exactly how the school board would’ve seen it. They would’ve, of course, believed it was all one-sided, and I never encouraged you.” He shook his head. “That was my first year of teaching. I doubt they would’ve renewed my contract if I’d told anyone what happened.”

Guilt pinged through her. She’d been an idiot back then on so many levels to kiss him. Of course, he hadn’t told anyone—and thank goodness for that. She looked out the window at the homes they were passing. They were small, rundown things, with peeling paint behind chain-link fences. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to get you into trouble.”

“I know. And I learned an important lesson from it. After that, I made sure to keep more distance both emotionally and physically from my students.”

So basically he’d become a less friendly teacher because of her. Well, that was one more thing to feel guilty about.

He went on, “I guess I’d never done that with you because you were my friend’s little sister. We already had a preexisting relationship.”

Why had she ever brought up this subject? For that matter, why had she agreed to come on this trip? She didn’t want to hear this. Everything about the memory made her feel horrible and now she was trapped in the car with Kye.

“Does Mr. Travers live in this neighborhood?” she asked to change the subject. The homes had become shabbier as they drove, and now the ones they passed seemed to be squatting in listless despair.

Kye nodded toward a faded blue trailer home down the street. “If my GPS is right, it’s that one.”

Good. They were almost there. A beat-up truck stood in the driveway, so he was probably at home. “What exactly am I supposed to say to him to convince him to come to the wedding?”

“That he needs to be there for Olivia’s sake, and your family doesn’t hate him.”

This was news. She was not only a stranger to Mr. Travers, she was part of the family who hated him. Someone might have mentioned that to her before she agreed to come. “Why does he think my family hates him?”

“Carson said some things to him.”

Oh. She should’ve guessed as much. Carson wasn’t known for his tact. “What did he say?”

“When he and Olivia got engaged, Mr. Travers basically said that since they were going to become a family, Carson should pay some of his debts.”

Elsie winced. “Yeah, I bet that didn’t go over well.” Carson was generous enough. He’d helped all of his siblings pay off their student loans, but he was a firm believer in only helping the deserving.

“In Mr. Traver’s defense, he probably knew that Carson had already paid off Olivia’s mother’s house, and was hoping for equal treatment. Instead, Carson told him that since he’d never taken care of his family, he could at the very least take care of himself.”

Ouch. Yep. That was her brother.

“Let’s just say that the conversation devolved from there.”

As it would. Elsie only hoped Olivia hadn’t been there, in the middle of the argument, trying to reign Carson in. Her brother was made mostly of testosterone and opinions.

Kye pulled up to the house and turned off his truck. The lawn was a narrow patch of land with dead grass and an offering of discarded beer cans on the front steps. Elsie and Kye climbed out of his truck and ambled up the steps to the door.

Kye knocked. No sound of movement came from behind the door, no tread of footsteps. He knocked again, this time louder.

Elsie glanced at Mr. Traver’s dented and rusted truck. He might have two vehicles and was out somewhere. “What if he’s not home?”

“Then we’ll go look for him.” Kye took out his phone and brought up the maps of the area. “Let’s see what sort of places are around here…”

Elsie glanced at the beer bottles on the doorstep. They stared up at her in a disorderly heap. “He might just be hung over. You said he was drunk last night when you talked to him.”

She knocked, giving the door three insistent raps. Still no answer. If Mr. Travers didn’t agree to come with them, she’d be stuck alone with Kye for the two-hour drive back home. She’d already run out of small talk. This called for desperate measures.

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