Page 25 of Pieces of Me

“Typical Ashworth, a fucking cockteasing slut! A dirty whore!”

Scott blocked out Tanner’s invective as he ran, shuddering with disgust. He remembered how flattered he’d felt when his young, good-looking teacher had first approached him, showing an interest in him, offering to help him on Tanner’s own time. Scott hadn’t thought anything of it, excited by the idea of having his very own personal trainer and a free place to work out.

Looking back, he’d mistaken Tanner’s avid stare as him merely keeping an eye on Scott’s technique. It hadn’t bothered him, even when Tanner asked him to remove his T-shirt when he lifted, figuring his teacher was making sure he was using the proper form by observing his musculature in motion.

Then had come the day when an unexpected glance at the mirror offered Scott a glimpse of Tanner rubbing himself through his thin gym shorts, and Scott had been transfixed by that hard column of flesh pushing against the material. For a split second he’d wondered what it smelled like, tasted like, curiosity about another man’s body overtaking his senses. He’d looked up to see Tanner’s eyes locked on his, and Tanner had rubbed himself slowly, deliberately, his lips parted.

When he’d taken a step toward Scott, the spell had been broken, and Scott had fled, agonizing about reporting what he’d seen, his own guilt and shame flooding through him. As it turned out, he hadn’t had to report it―the spying kids did that for him―but the damage had already been done. Tanner had convinced himself that Scott wanted it, and rumors had spread like wildfire around town about another slutty Trashworth in their midst.

Tanner quit, and eventually the furor died down. Persistent rumors still circulated every once in awhile, and when Lisa started hitting on him, it was like a godsend. No matter her motives for being with him, dating rich, beautiful Lisa went a long way toward repairing Scott’s image as some faggoty little slut leading a teacher on to get free stuff. And to Scott, to whom image was everything, it was worth it.

When he reached home, he hung out in the front yard for a while, pacing and stretching, waiting to see if Tanner had followed him. It didn’t appear that he had, so Scott finally headed toward the trailer and a shower, stopping in front of the porch swing to watch Heather sleep. There were faint hickeys showing on her neck, and he shook his head sadly. It was only a matter of time before she fucked up the one good thing any of the Ashworths had going for them: a kind man in their life―a sober man―with a steady, reliable job. A man who seemed to love her and was interested in her kids. A man who could maybe, possibly, be a…dad.

On impulse, Scott knelt down next to her, and he brushed her tangled hair off her forehead gently, his fingertips lingering. Get some help, Mom. Please get yourself some help.

Heather stirred, and Scott stood hurriedly, not wanting her to catch him staring like a little boy with his nose pressed to a glass window, dreaming of something he could never have. As he did, Cara pushed the screen door open and toddled out, blanket in hand. Scott stretched his hand out to her, but she ignored him, climbing up on the swing as best she could next to Heather.

“Mama?” she asked, patting Heather’s cheek over and over. Scott stood back against the porch railing as Cara woke Heather up slowly, wondering if she’d get angry. She didn’t; instead she pulled Cara down into her arms, mumbling, “Hey, baby girl,” before drifting off to sleep again, Cara tucked against her side.

Scott scrubbed his hands over his face and made his way first to the shower and then his bedroom, surprising Rylan in the middle of getting dressed. His stepbrother was shirtless, his jeans pulled halfway up one leg, and he took one look at Scott wearing nothing but a brief towel wrapped around his hips and blushed.

“Hey,” he mumbled.

Scott could see the way Rylan was trying his best to avoid looking in his direction, and a little devil on his shoulder whispered something in Scott’s ear. That’s the only explanation for why Scott let his towel drop to the floor, and why he sauntered, stark naked, across the room to his dresser, making sure to cross directly in Rylan’s line of sight.

Scott could feel his gaze on him, could hear Rylan’s swift intake of breath, and he grinned. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Rylan with his head averted, and as if he couldn’t help himself, he stole another peek, turning even redder when he caught Scott watching him.

Scott winked at him and rummaged for some underwear, wondering why Rylan’s flushed cheeks were much more of a flattering turn-on than Lisa’s blatant eye fucking. He felt how his dick was reacting to Rylan’s aroused discomfiture, and he palmed himself discreetly as he pulled his boxer briefs on. His whole body tingled with awareness, the sound of Rylan’s ragged breathing scratching over his skin and making him shiver.

Scott yanked on some loose jeans and a T-shirt and turned to see Rylan fully dressed as well, pulling the sheets and covers up on the rumpled bed and smoothing them out. Memory slammed into Scott, of Rylan huddling against him in the dark…tears for his dad on his cheeks. He walked over to him and put his hands on his shoulders from behind, squeezing them.

“You okay?” he asked, and Rylan heaved a sigh.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Thanks for what you did for me last night, letting me fall apart on you like some blubbering idiot.”

Scott squeezed his shoulders again. “Hey. No apologies and no worries. Got each other’s backs, right?”

“Always,” Rylan vowed, and he reached up and patted Scott’s hand before moving away from him, grabbing up his camera, and disappearing out the door. Scott felt a strange reluctance to let him go, and he shook his head. What he had really wanted to do was turn Rylan around and pull him close, maybe kiss him again. God. What was up with him? Was he that much like his mom, willing to fuck up a good thing in exchange for an ego boost and a few moments of physical pleasure and forgetfulness? He could get that sort of thing from Lisa, and bonus, neither of them would end up hurt from it.

Holding Rylan, kissing Rylan…he shouldn’t have done it in the first place. He should never do it again.

But it felt so right.

✩✩✩

On Monday when Rylan boarded the bus for school, he was dismayed to see Gabriel wasn’t in his usual seat, and he was nowhere in sight. That meant no one would let Rylan sit next to them, and he was forced to cling miserably to the back of a seat and try to keep his feet while juggling his backpack, a piece of toast, and a carton of orange juice.

After Rylan ended up crushing the toast into an unrecognizable clump of crumbs and dropping his OJ while the bus lurched down the road, Lester finally bellowed for someone to let him sit with them. With much grumbling and shuffling around, a couple of people paired up and left a vacant seat for Rylan to drop gratefully into for the rest of the ride.

The fun wasn’t over, though. As they were disembarking at the school, Rylan was pushed, shoved, and “accidentally” tripped several times until he stumbled to the sidewalk and stood there, breathing hard. Is this what Gabriel had gone through day after day until Rylan had arrived to take some of the heat off? And he said Rylan had big balls.

He kept his head high as he tried not to let the assholes see how they’d affected him, digging his fingernails viciously into his palm to hold back tears of anger. The hours dragged on endlessly, and it seemed like all his fellow students had gotten together and planned a Target Rylan Day as he endured constant veiled taunts and petty little acts designed to make his life miserable.

At lunch he sat alone, eating his sandwich and working on his geometry homework, when he felt someone pause near him. He looked up to see some kid he thought was named Parker standing there.

“What?” he asked impatiently when the other boy remained silent. “Call me some names and move along so I can finish eating, okay?”

Parker sneered at him. “I saw you looking at me in the shower in phys ed today, fag.”