Just Like That - Cole McCade Page 0,73

Fox’s desk, closing his eyes, pressing his fingers to his throbbing temples. “So,” he said. “If you’re waiting to say ‘I told you so,’ I’m waiting to hear it.”

“I am not, because I did not tell you so. And you are not done yet.” Fox settled next to him, shoulder to shoulder, weight leaning subtly against him in a comforting pressure. “Headache?”

“The worst. Got any Advil?”

“No, but I may have something else that could help.”

Fox’s warmth pulled away. Summer lifted his head, opening his eyes and watching as Fox bent over to pull open the small side drawer in his desk, feeling inside before he came up with a small vial of thick golden liquid, with a cork stoppering it.

The mint scent when he thumbed it open was unmistakable, albeit much less overpowering than that night in the living room—subtle, and tinted with other things such as vanilla, maybe even a hint of clove, mixing together into something sharp-edged but somehow creamy and soft.

“Here.” Fox pressed his fingertip to the mouth of the vial and tipped it, dabbing the oil onto one finger, then set the vial down on the desk and spread the oil between the fingertips of both hands, making them glisten. “Close your eyes and just relax.”

Brows knitting, Summer did, already bracing himself for the contact—but he was still surprised by the warmth of it, that slick oily feeling seeming to absorb and amplify Fox’s body heat until it was like being touched by gentle sparks, as Fox pressed his fingertips to either side of Summer’s forehead and began to rub in slow, soothing circles.

“Breathe deep,” Fox murmured, his voice seeming to roll to the cadence of his touch. “It doesn’t work if you don’t take in the scent, as well.”

Summer started to nod, then caught himself and held still as that gentle touch massaged a quiet, relaxing sensation into his temples, the oil’s warmth seeming to penetrate deep down to slowly melt away the tension and pain throbbing in his skull. He tried to time his breaths, counting in and out so he would hold them long enough to enjoy the scent, tingling his nostrils and flowing through him until each breath felt as though it spread relaxation from his lungs out to the very tips of his fingers.

“S’nice,” he murmured. “Helping. Thank you.”

“You seemed as if you needed something before you spontaneously combusted.” Gentle amusement, turning Fox’s voice husky. “You are not wasting your time, Summer. Even if they were not willing to listen today, they will still remember and may come around later. You have let them know their sons need them, when they may not have been aware before. That is no small thing.”

“I know. I do.” Summer stopped that massaging touch by capturing Fox’s wrist, turning his head to press his lips to its underside. “I guess I’d just...wanted to see something more helpful happen today.”

“Change takes time. Change involving people, even more so.” Fox’s fingers curled against Summer’s cheek, just a warm trace of oil and then rough knuckles. “Few things terrify people more than feeling challenged in their preconceived notions of themselves and others, and being forced to take action in the face of knowledge they do not want to absorb into their worldview when it might shake the foundations of their egos.”

Summer opened his eyes, looking into that silvered, reflective gaze so close to his own, that face that even in this gentle moment of comfort was so inscrutable, so strange.

Is that you? he wondered. Are you afraid of changing this path you’ve set yourself on, because you can’t face looking at who you’ll be if that happens?

But he couldn’t say it.

He only smiled, squeezing Fox’s wrist before letting go. “We should get through the Rothfusses before they get annoyed and leave. But thank you. I feel better now.”

Fox said nothing, yet the look that lingered on Summer seemed oddly meaningful, as he withdrew to cap the vial and tuck it away in his desk once more.

Summer rolled his shoulders, breathed in with that delicate scent still hovering around him and calming his senses, then leaned out into the hall and beckoned to the Rothfuss couple with a smile.

“Sorry for the wait,” he said. “But it’s good to meet you. I’m Summer Hemlock, one of the instructors in the psychology elective track.”

He’d found that was better than introducing himself as a TA or adjunct.

Because if there was anything that would get people to ignore him, it was admitting he