Chapter 17
Nick is not excited to be at work today. Truly, he loves kids, loves his job, and likes to think he’s pretty decent at what he does, but after a weekend with Charlie, returning to the real world feels like a harsh wake-up call. Instead of basking in the warmth of Charlie’s laughter or the softness of their shared moments, he’s sitting at his desk, chipping away at last-minute paperwork and regretting missing his usual coffee run. Not that he minded skipping it—he’d spent the morning texting Charlie, replaying the events of the weekend.
Still, his mind keeps drifting, and he finds himself gripping his pen just a little too tightly. It isn’t the kids or his coworkers making him tense. It’s Ben.
Ben.
The name alone makes his jaw tighten. He doesn't hate many people. Truly, he doesn’t. But Ben—the infamous Mr. Ben, Charlie’s ex-husband—yeah, he hates him.
Nick hadn’t even met the man, yet the stories Charlie shared were enough to paint a vivid, infuriating picture. The way Ben had treated Charlie, tearing him down bit by bit, making him feel small and insignificant—it boiled Nick’s blood. The idea of someone hurting Charlie, someone who should’ve cherished him, was unbearable.
Nick doesn’t want to dwell on it, but it’s hard not to. Especially when he knows the weight Charlie carries every day because of that man. It’s in the way Charlie flinches at loud noises, the hesitation in his voice when he talks about his past, the self-doubt that creeps into his words even when he’s smiling.
And then there’s Remy. Sweet, brilliant little Remy, who deserves the world and all the love in it. The thought of Ben trying to stake any sort of claim on that boy? It makes Nick’s hands curl into fists.
“Breathe,” he mutters to himself, running a hand through his hair. He can’t let this consume him, not here, not now. But it’s hard to push down the protective urge that rises whenever he thinks about Charlie and Remy.
He sighs, putting his pen down and leaning back in his chair. Maybe he’s letting this get to him too much. Maybe he’s overthinking it. But then again, isn’t that what you do when you care about someone?
And Nick does care. More than he should, maybe. Definitely more than he planned to.
Nick stares down at his desk, his gaze falling on the small framed photo tucked into the corner. It’s a little faded now, but the warmth of that moment is still so clear. It’s from freshman year—Nick in his football uniform, grinning despite the sweat on his brow, and Otis on his crutches, leaning heavily on Nick with that same wide, mischievous smile that could light up a room. Otis is pointing at Nick’s jersey number, his face full of pride as if Nick had just won the Super Bowl instead of some random college game.
Nick huffs softly, his lips curving into a bittersweet smile. He picks up the frame, running a thumb over the edge. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters under his breath, his voice low but affectionate. “You’d probably be scolding me for skipping coffee this morning, huh?”
As if on cue, in his mind, Otis’s voice fires back, dripping with playful judgment: "You skipped coffee for the guy who just fucked you? Low blow, Nelson. That’s rookie-level disrespect right there!"
Nick glances at the photo, a lopsided grin forming as he imagines Otis's exaggerated mockery. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Nick says softly, shaking his head as if Otis could actually hear him.
He sets the frame back down, his smile lingering even as a heaviness settles in his chest. It’s strange, how someone’s voice can still live in your mind, clear as day, even after they’re gone.
He wonders if it’s the same for Charlie. If, even after all these years of being separated, Charlie can still hear Ben’s voice. That cruel, controlling tone slithering into the corners of his mind, whispering things meant to tear him down. Nick hopes not. He hopes Charlie has found enough light in his life to drown out those shadows.
But really, from the way Charlie had made him promise not to hurt Remy, from the way his voice had wavered when he spoke about what Ben did, it seems likely that Ben’s voice is still there. Still whispering poison. Still making Charlie doubt himself.
Nick grips the arm of his chair a little tighter, his jaw clenching. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that someone as kind, as strong, as beautiful as Charlie could still be haunted by someone who didn’t deserve him in the first place.
Nick doesn’t know how to erase that voice. He’s not sure if he can. But if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that he’s going to do everything in his power to make sure Charlie hears his voice instead.
A voice that tells him he’s enough. That he’s more than enough. A voice that builds him up instead of tearing him down.
Nick is pulled from his thoughts by a soft knock on his door. He looks up, startled, and there they are. Charlie, standing in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, and Remy, hiding behind his legs, peeking out with wide, hesitant eyes.
Nick offers a small, warm smile and sends a little wave to Remy, who hesitates for a moment, glancing at Nick. But instead of waving back or saying hello, Remy quickly turns and scurries to the corner of the room where the building blocks are stacked, focusing intently on them. Nick’s smile falters slightly, turning into something softer and sadder before he turns his attention back to Charlie.
“Hi,” Nick says, his voice gentle.
Charlie whispers back, “Hi,” as he sets the coffee down on Nick’s desk. “How’s the paperwork going?”
Nick shrugs, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Oh, you know... work. Nothing exciting. How’s Remy?”
Charlie sighs, his gaze drifting briefly toward his son. “He’s alright. He demanded we get a new bookshelf, though, so that’s what I’ll probably spend today figuring out.”
Nick winces, guilt flashing across his face. “Sorry... again. For that. For everything.”
Charlie shakes his head, his lips curving into a reassuring smile. “Nick, we’ve been through this. It wasn’t your fault. I already told you, I should’ve made sure it was secured better. He's a kid, who should have known better anyways. And accidents happen. Don’t beat yourself up about it, alright?”
Nick nods, but his shoulders still look a little tense. “I just hate that he’s so upset with me. I want to make it right.”
Charlie’s smile softens, and he reaches out, brushing his fingers against Nick’s hand briefly. “You’re already doing that. Give him some time. You’re good with kids, Nick. He’ll come around.”
Nick glances toward Remy again, watching as the boy builds a small tower with the blocks, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I hope so,” he murmurs.
Charlie gives Nick’s hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “He will,” Charlie says confidently. “I know he will. Just be patient.”
Nick shrugs and smiles softly, his fingers curling around the warm coffee cup. “Thanks for the coffee,” he says, his voice carrying genuine gratitude.
Charlie shrugs, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “Yeah, of course, I—”
Before he can finish, a sharp knock echoes from the door. Both Nick and Charlie glance toward it, and Nick’s stomach sinks when the door opens to reveal the last person he wants to see this early in the morning: Mr. Greene. Harry Greene.
Harry steps inside with his usual air of arrogance, his gaze sweeping the room. “Morning, Nelson,” he says curtly.
Nick straightens in his chair, already bracing himself. “Morning, Mr. Greene. How can I help you?”
Harry crosses his arms, stepping further into the room with an air of authority that makes Nick want to sink into his chair. “We’ve got our staff meeting, remember?” he says pointedly. His eyes scan the room, lingering briefly on the coffee cup in Nick’s hand, and he adds, “And it seems I’m always the one to—”
His words come to an abrupt halt when his gaze shifts to the corner, where Remy is quietly playing with his blocks. Then his eyes flick to Charlie, and something shifts in his expression—an annoying blend of curiosity and smugness.
“Oh,” Harry says, his voice suddenly laced with interest. “So this is the parent of your student who pushed Dylan off his scooter.”
Nick’s jaw tightens, and he catches Charlie stiffening out of the corner of his eye. He forces a tight smile, standing up from his desk as he tries to redirect the conversation. “Yes, Mr. Greene, this is Charlie Spring, Remy’s father,” Nick says, his tone calm but firm. “And we’ve already addressed what happened between the boys.”
Harry raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I see,” he says, his tone heavy with judgment. “Well, I hope this little... incident isn’t indicative of larger behavioral issues.”
Charlie’s eyes narrow slightly, but his voice remains steady. “Remy’s a good kid. Kids make mistakes. They’re learning—just like all kids....”
Harry huffs, crossing his arms. “Right. Well, my students don't need to deal with unnecessary aggression, especially at such a young age.”
Nick steps forward, feeling the need to step in before things escalate. “Mr. Greene, as I said, the matter was resolved. Remy apologized, both boys moved on, and Char- Mr. Spring is aware of the situation."
Harry doesn’t look convinced, his gaze lingering on Charlie as if expecting him to justify himself. “I’m just saying, these things start at home, don’t they? It’s important to set the right example.”
Charlie opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get a word out, Mr. Greene turns to him, eyebrows raised in mock curiosity. “And what are you doing here, anyways? School doesn’t officially open for another thirty minutes.”
Nick clears his throat, stepping forward with an easy smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Mr. Greene, we’ve got that meeting to head to, yeah?”
Harry’s gaze flicks back to Nick, lingering for a moment before he shrugs. “Sure,” he says dismissively, as if the matter isn’t worth pursuing further. But there’s a lingering air of judgment as his eyes sweep over Charlie one last time before he turns toward the door.
Nick runs a hand through his hair, sighing heavily as his eyes dart toward the door where Harry had disappeared moments ago. “I’m... I’m sorry about him,” he mutters, voice low. “If it wasn’t against the rules, I’d have you stay here with Remy until we officially open, but... well, I might already be in enough trouble if Harry decides to say anything.”
Charlie’s expression shift from warmth to concern. “Oh no,” Charlie says softly, “did I get you in trouble? I didn’t mean to—”
Nick quickly shakes his head, waving a hand to cut him off. “No, no, it’s not you, Charlie. Trust me, this is my own doing. Harry’s... well, he’s just Harry. I’m used to it.”
Charlie doesn't seem to believe his words, but hums along and moves over to Remy. Nick lets out a breath as Charlie crouches down to talk to Remy, his chest tightening when he hears the soft concern in Charlie’s voice. He’s doing that thing again—blaming himself for something that isn’t remotely his fault. Nick wants to step in, to reassure him, but he doesn’t want to interrupt the sweet moment between father and son.
“Come grab your backpack, okay?” Charlie says gently, patting his knees to get Remy’s attention. “We’re going to play some music in the car while Mr. Nick goes to do some boring teacher stuff.”
Nick smiles faintly as Remy huffs, slinging his backpack over his little shoulder. The boy’s reluctance makes Nick’s chest ache, especially after the tense weekend. He knows Remy’s still trying to figure out how he feels about him, and that makes every small interaction feel like walking a tightrope.
As Charlie straightens up, grabbing Remy’s jacket and ruffling his hair, he turns back to Nick. “Seriously, though,” he says quietly, “if me being here causes any issues for you—”
“It won’t,” Nick interrupts quickly, shaking his head. He doesn’t want Charlie spiraling. “Charlie, it’s fine. Harry’s just... Harry. I promise.”
Charlie hesitates, his brow furrowed, and Nick feels his own stomach twist. He knows Charlie doesn’t fully believe him yet, but he can’t stand the idea of Charlie carrying even a fraction of guilt for this. “I’m sure,” Nick says, his voice firm but kind.
Nick’s attention shifts to Remy, who’s fiddling with his backpack straps. He crouches down to the boy’s eye level, softening his voice. “Hey, Remy,” he says gently. “You and your dad have fun in the car, yeah? Maybe play some of that music you like so much?”
Remy blinks up at him, his little face scrunched in thought, before nodding slowly. “I like Disney,” he says simply, and Nick can’t help the chuckle that escapes him.
Nick hears Charlie clear his throat and stands, watching as Charlie grabs Remy’s hand. “We’ll let you get to your meeting,” Charlie says, giving Nick a small nod. “Don’t let Harry get to you, okay?”
Nick’s throat tightens at the softness in Charlie’s eyes, but he manages a smile, brushing off his hands as if to reset the moment. “I won’t,” he says quietly, holding Charlie’s gaze a beat longer than necessary. “Later?”
“Later,” Charlie echoes, and the weight of the word settles in Nick’s chest as he watches them leave.
When the door clicks shut, Nick exhales and leans back against the desk, staring at the empty doorway for a moment. Nick shakes his head, trying to clear the worry from his mind, but it lingers, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.
He feels like a teenager again, sneaking around, keeping secrets, and walking on eggshells. It’s exhilarating in moments, sure, but it’s also exhausting. Nick hates it. He hates that he has to feel like this, that this beautiful, wonderful thing with Charlie has to feel so dangerous, so messy.
Because it is messy. A teacher dating a student’s parent? It’s the kind of thing that would turn heads, spark rumors, and maybe even cost him his job if it got into the wrong hands. And Harry? Harry’s always sniffing around for something to latch onto.
Nick’s steps are light as he walks across the quad, fingers intertwined with Grant’s. The crisp autumn air brushes against his cheeks, but he barely notices. He’s too busy listening to Grant ramble about some professor’s overly ambitious lecture on philosophy. Nick doesn’t mind. He likes the way Grant talks—how he waves his hands a little too much and gets this crinkle in his brow when he’s passionate.
“You’re not even listening, are you?” Grant teases, nudging Nick with his shoulder.
Nick grins. “I am. Something about the professor’s obsession with Plato and how it doesn’t hold up in modern philosophy?”
Grant rolls his eyes but smiles, squeezing Nick’s hand.
It feels good. Comfortable. Right.
Until it isn’t.
“Nelson!” A voice calls, loud and booming, cutting through the hum of the campus chatter.
Nick turns, his stomach sinking when he sees Harry Greene jogging toward him. Harry’s wearing his usual cocky grin, but there’s something sharp in his eyes.
“Hey, man,” Nick says, instinctively loosening his grip on Grant’s hand.
But it’s too late. Harry’s already seen.
“Who’s this?” Harry asks, stopping just short of them and pointing his thumb toward Grant. His tone is casual, but Nick knows better.
“This is Grant,” Nick says, trying to keep his voice steady. “We were just—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry interrupts, grabbing Nick by the shoulders and pulling him away. “We’ve got practice, man. Let’s go.”
Nick stumbles slightly, frowning. “I know. Let me just say goodbye real quick—”
“Nah,” Harry cuts him off again, shaking his head. “Really, come on. Why’d you want to be in a relationship when you could just hook up with any girl you want?”
Nick freezes. He knows what Harry’s doing. The way his voice drops, the way his eyes rake over him—it’s deliberate.
Harry’s grin widens, his gaze flicking to Grant. “Or, you know, any boy.”
Nick’s chest tightens. He doesn’t miss the way Harry’s voice drips with condescension, or how Grant stiffens beside him.
“Harry,” Nick starts, his voice low and warning.
But Harry claps him on the back, all mock-friendly. “Come on, man. Let’s go. You don’t want to be late, do you?”
Nick glances back at Grant, his heart sinking at the look on his face.
“I’ll see you later,” Nick says softly, his voice almost drowned out by Harry’s laugh as he drags him away.
He doesn’t look back. He can’t. Because if he does, he knows he’ll see the disappointment in Grant’s eyes. And he can’t face that—not when he’s still disappointing himself.
Two days later, Nick is pushing his way through the crowd, his steps a little unsteady from the drinks already warming his system. The party is loud-bass thumping, people laughing and shouting over each other-and it's already starting to give him a headache. But as the team captain, he knows he's supposed to be here, even if he doesn't want to be. He's smiling, though, giddy as he lifts his phone to his ear.
Nick grins as he holds his phone to his ear, his voice soft and teasing despite the pounding bass of the party around him. "So, what are you wearing right now?"
Grant’s laugh comes through the line, light and warm. "Oh, so you decide to be horny only when you're out of town, I see. You know, I could be rude and not tell you, but since you're a little tipsy and probably will forget anyways, my usual—sweatpants and your hoodie because someone still hasn’t bothered to ask for it back."
Nick chuckles, leaning against the doorframe. "Yeah, that’s because you look better in it than I do. I’d say keep it forever, but then I’d lose my excuse to take it off you."
Grant hums, his voice dropping a little. "So you are horny. That's pretty bold talk for someone who’s not even here. What’s stopping me from finding someone else to take it off me?"
Nick’s grin widens, and he leans his head back against the wall, his free hand gripping the edge of the doorframe. "Grant, don’t tease me like that. You know I’d be on the first bus back if I thought someone else was trying to take my place. I'm kind of obsessed with you."
Grant’s laugh echoes through the line again, and Nick feels the tension of the party around him melt away. He’s about to respond when an arm slings over his shoulders, jerking him forward slightly.
“Aww,” Harry’s voice cuts through the moment, loud and mocking. “Is your little boyfriend keeping you from the party, Nelson?”
Nick’s stomach twists, and he stiffens immediately, pulling the phone away from his ear. “Stop it, Harry,” he says sharply, shrugging off the arm.
“Who’s that?” Grant asks over the phone, his voice laced with concern.
Nick doesn’t answer. He can feel Harry leaning closer, his breath hot against Nick’s ear as he continues. “What’re you even doing on the phone, man? You’re the captain. You’re supposed to be the life of the party, not whispering sweet nothings to some guy who—”
“Harry,” Nick growls, turning to glare at him. “Don’t.”
Harry grins, raising his hands as if in surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get all defensive.” But the smug look on his face says otherwise, and Nick feels his grip on his temper slipping.
Grant’s voice comes through the phone again, quieter this time. “Nick? Are you okay?”
Nick doesn’t answer. He ends the call abruptly, shoving his phone into his pocket before Harry can say another word.
Nick stiffens immediately, shrugging Harry's arm off with a glare. "Stop being a dick, Harry."
"No, man, I'm serious," he says, leaning closer. "I mean, you've got it lucky, right? You've got both girls and guys lining up to fuck you or be fucked by you, and yet."
Nick's jaw clenches as Harry continues, his voice dripping with disdain.
"And yet, you're allowing yourself to be hung up on some gay nerd."
Nick spins around, his glare sharp enough to cut. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Harry?" he snaps, his voice low and dangerous.
Harry raises his hands in mock surrender, a grin still plastered across his face. "Chill, man, I'm just saying. You're the captain. You could have anyone you want. Why settle for a f-"
"Don't" Nick interrupts, his voice ice cold. "Don't fucking finish that sentence."
“Chill, man. I was just trying to do you a favor. You’re out of town, surrounded by options, might as well have one hell of a night before heading home.”
Nick glares at him, crossing his arms tightly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, though. I’d prefer not to be a cheating asshole.” His voice is sharp, cutting through the noise of the party around them.
Harry snorts, clearly unfazed. “Cheating? It’s not cheating if he doesn’t know, man. Besides, don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. I mean, look around you.” He gestures broadly to the crowded room, full of people dancing, drinking, and laughing. “Half of them would kill to have a chance with you.”
Nick’s stomach twists, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Well, I’m not interested,” he snaps. “I have someone waiting for me, and I’m not about to screw that up just because you think I should.”
Harry chuckles, shaking his head as if Nick’s words are somehow amusing. “Suit yourself, Nelson. But you’re missing out.”
Nick takes a step back, his fists clenching at his sides. “No, Harry. You’re the one who’s missing out—on basic decency.”
Without waiting for a response, Nick turns and storms off into the crowd, his pulse pounding in his ears. He pulls his phone from his pocket, staring at the blank screen for a moment before opening Grant’s number. His thumb hovers over the call button, but he hesitates, the weight of Harry’s words still lingering.
Harry has always had this way of getting under Nick’s skin, like a mosquito buzzing in his ear, relentless and infuriating. Even in adulthood, in a professional setting like this, Harry manages to carry that same smug energy, the same calculated way of prying into Nick’s life without saying much at all.
As Nick steps into the staff meeting, he feels it instantly—the weight of Harry’s gaze burning into the side of his face. Judging. Questioning. Trying to dissect him, to figure out what’s going on with him and Charlie. It’s fucking annoying.
Harry’s eyes linger far too long. It’s juvenile, really—like they’re back in college when Harry would make comments about Grant or snicker with the other guys on the team about how Nick had “too many options” to waste his time on just one person.
It’s the same smug, invasive energy that always left Nick second-guessing himself, that made him feel like no matter what he chose, it would somehow be wrong. Back then, part of Nick felt like he could never fully be himself because someone like Harry was always around the corner, ready to lecture him, tease him, or twist his choices into something selfish or stupid.
And now? Now, it’s still the same. Harry’s eyes are doing all the work, silently prying into Nick’s life, clearly trying to piece together what’s going on. Is he sniffing out their connection, turning it over in his mind like some cruel joke he can’t wait to laugh about later?
He thought he left this bullshit behind years ago. Yet here Harry is, still with that same childish need to poke, prod, and dig.
It’s petty. It’s exhausting. It’s so fucking Harry. And Nick is so fucking done.
Nick is gripping the edge of his notebook, pretending to jot down notes while he tries to avoid Harry. Stupid. Fucking. Harry.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to focus.
“Thank you, staff, for all attending today. I know this is a shorter-notice meeting than expected,” Mr. Singh says, his voice calm but firm, “but as you all know, with my upcoming move in a month, I think it’s important you are all aware of what changes will be happening.”
Nick nods absently, already dreading the upcoming shift in leadership. Mr. Singh has always been fair and understanding, the kind of principal who listens to both staff and students. Whoever takes over has big shoes to fill.
Mr. Singh clears his throat, a smile spreading across his face. “Well, after months of searching for the right candidate to fill my position, I am pleased to announce and have you all meet your upcoming principal, Mr. Benjamin Hope.”
Nick cringes as soon as he hears the name—Ben. Of course, it had to be Ben. A name that, for Nick, is forever tainted. He has a deep-seated hatred for anyone named Ben now, justified or not.
Ben is a name that reeks of bad decisions, manipulations, and the kind of arrogance Nick can't stand.
He’s grateful, for once, that he doesn’t know much about Charlie’s ex. If he did—if he knew even half of what Ben had done to Charlie, his full name, his date of birth and blood type—he’d probably take a year-long sabbatical just to hunt the guy down and give him a piece of his mind. Maybe not just a piece—maybe the whole damn thing.
Nick narrows his eyes at Benjamin Hope as he speaks. He already hates the guy on principle. There’s something about the way he carries himself—his self-satisfied smirk, his too-practiced tone, the way he looks down his nose even while pretending to be approachable.
Nick’s mind drifts back to Charlie, to the way Charlie’s voice had trembled when he’d talked about Ben. The way Charlie had looked so small and vulnerable, even as he’d been so determined to move forward.
The thought makes Nick’s stomach turn.
This Benjamin Hope guy? He could never be trusted. Not in Nick’s book. Not with that name. Not with that smirk. Not with that goddamn presence.
Nick lets out a slow, frustrated breath. He already knows this guy is going to be a problem.