Just Like This (Albin Academy #2) - Cole McCade Page 0,65
the phone’s projection.
“You’ve reached Aurelia Northcote. I can’t come to the phone right now; please leave a message, and I’ll contact you at an appropriate time.”
Rian’s next breath hitched, his posture shifting as he sat up straighter as if the recorded woman on the other end of the line could hear him, and he darted Damon a nervous look. “Hi—er, hello, Mrs. Northcote.” The pleasant edge to his voice sounded strained, forced, to Damon; as if he was trying to sound like he was smiling when his expression was troubled, withdrawn. “This is Rian Falwell. I’m one of Chris’s teachers at Albin Academy. I—”
He faltered, stopped; his mouth drew up tight, his eyes closing, brows knitting.
Come on, Damon thought, and reached over to squeeze Rian’s shoulder again. You can handle this.
Rian opened his eyes, and his gaze locked on Damon—and Damon caught that sense of pleading again, that quiet entreaty, that wordless need.
But Rian’s voice was steadier, as he continued, “I’m calling about a matter with your son that we need to discuss. It’s urgent, and I’d appreciate your call back as soon as possible. I’ll also send you an email, if you’d prefer to speak that way. My number is—”
He rattled off ten digits, followed by a soft thank you, then pulled the phone away from his ear, looking down at it pensively for several moments before tapping the button to end the call.
“I didn’t want... I didn’t want to give too many details on the phone,” he said, almost apologetically. “What if she listened to it late at night and thought she couldn’t call back until school hours? What if...what if she was up all night worrying about her son, pacing, frantic? Or what if someone else handles her voicemail and I’d given away confidential information, or...or...”
“Hey.” Damon squeezed Rian’s shoulder tighter. “You handled it just fine. Stop worrying. You can explain when she calls back, or if she comes up to the school.”
“...yeah. I guess so.” Rian kept his gaze fixed on his phone, while the call screen automatically flashed out to the list of most recent calls.
Damon instinctively averted his eyes out of courtesy—not his business to be snooping in someone else’s phone—but couldn’t quite un-see the quick glimpse he got; practically seized on the distraction with a low whistle. “Eighteen missed calls from the same number. Stalker ex?”
Rian smiled weakly, gripping tighter at his phone as if clutching a comfort object. “Worried parents.”
“I thought you said you liked your parents.”
“That’s the thing. I do.” Rian swallowed, pulling his phone to his chest. “I just don’t want them to try to help me. I don’t need help. I don’t need them judging. I’m... I’m good here. I like it here.” He bit his lip. “I like doing things for myself.”
“You’re not half bad at cooking stir-fry.” Damon managed a smile. “So why not just tell them that? Just say it up front, instead of avoiding them?”
“Apparently it’s easier with Chris’s parents than with my own.” With a sigh, Rian leaned against the chair enough to thunk his head against the padded back, looking up at Damon. “I guess I’m afraid they won’t understand it. They just...live in this different world that doesn’t even seem real, compared to here.”
“You used to live in that world, too. And you looked outside it.”
“Guess I did.”
“See anything interesting out there...?” Damon teased softly.
Rian flushed, his lashes flickering as his gaze darted searchingly over Damon’s face, before he looked away. “...yeah. I think I did.”
It hit Damon, then, that he was still holding on to Rian’s shoulder, that slim curve fitting comfortably into his palm, fine articulated bones pressing against him and body heat soaking into his skin.
And they were alone in his apartment.
Again.
Only this time a kiss they hadn’t spoken of and so much more stood between them, and Damon couldn’t ignore the charge in the air and the heaviness in his gut.
He pulled back quickly, sliding off the arm of the chair and standing. “You want something to drink?” he tossed over his shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck. “I could put water on for tea.”
“Tea would be nice, thank you,” Rian said faintly at his back, after a pretty long damned pause. “I... Damon, what do we do now?”
“We wait.” Damon checked the coffee pot, then lifted out a soggy filter full of grounds and dumped it into the trash. “You can go ahead and use my laptop to send that email, if you want.”