Page 61 of Shuttered Hearts

They continue the conversation, but I stop paying attention when I feel Declan lean into my side, whispering in my ear, “You’re doing absolutely nothing today?”

I turn to him, putting us almost nose to nose, and speak quietly. “Well, nothing unless it involves you and me with no interruptions.”

“I think that can be arranged.” The smile that forms on his lips makes me instantly wet.

I squeeze my thighs together, trying to get some relief. “Do you have to take your sister home?”

One of Declan’s hands falls to my leg, lightly stroking the inside of my thigh. “I probably should, especially if Caleb and Emily have plans, but I’d be happy to come right back.”

“Maybe you could pack a bag and stay the night?”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Well …” Dad lays his hands on the table harder than normal, bringing Declan and me back to the rest of the group. “I think we should probably get this all cleaned up so Quinn can get to doing absolutely nothing for the day.” I instantly feel the blush when I look at my dad, but the smile and wink he sends my way shows me how happy he is for me.

I look back at Declan as he stands to help clear the table. He bends to press a kiss to my forehead, giving me a secret smile before walking to the sink. I watch him as he laughs with Caleb about something, and I’m overcome by so many emotions at once. Happiness for this life I’ve somehow built here. Regret for not doing it sooner. Sadness for what this will look like a year from now. And something else I’m scared to name. Naming it makes it real, and what happens when I make it real?

I watch Declan for another minute. When he looks over his shoulder and catches me watching him, I finally get up from my seat to help clean up.

I’ve still got time to figure it all out, but I can’t avoid it forever because time is running out much faster than I want, and a decision will have to be made soon.

twenty-nine

DECLAN

“Tyler,if you could stay behind for a minute?”

I’ve always had a soft spot for Tyler. He’s been a student of mine since his freshman year, and while he’s always been a bit of a troublemaker, he’s also always been dedicated to his schoolwork. Over the last month, since Quinn first brought up her concerns, I’ve also noticed that dedication disappear. He’s slowly been withdrawing into himself more and more, and where he used to have perfect attendance, he’s missed more days than he’s attended in the last month.

I know the school guidance counselor has gotten involved. She’s spoken with all his teachers individually and as a team, but nothing we’ve done has gotten him to open up. And as far as I know, no one has been able to reach his mother.

“Yes, Mr. Day?” He refuses to look at me, keeping his head down so his hair falls in his eyes, something I’ve noticed he does a lot lately.

“Talk to me, Tyler.” I lean against my desk, trying to portray a relaxed manner when it’s the last thing I’m feeling.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Tyler, I’ve known you going on three years now. You’re a good kid. You’ve always made jokes in class, but you’ve always done your work. You’ve always attended class, and now I’m lucky if I see you at all,” I say softly. “I know something is going on. It doesn’t matter what it is. I won’t judge. I just want to help.”

He’s quiet for so long I don’t think he will say anything, but he does. “There’s nothing you can do, Mr. Day.”

“How do you know that?”

He’s quiet again, but not for nearly as long. “Because I don’t need help.”

I stand there a little longer, hoping he’ll tell me whatever it is if I wait long enough. None of us wants to report this to Child Protective Services, but I don’t think we will have a choice.

“Can I get a pass so I don’t get in trouble with my next class?”

I sigh but walk around my desk to write him the pass. “Promise me one thing.”

“What’s that, Mr. Day?”

“Promise me you'll come to me if you ever need help.” I hold the pass out to him but keep my grip on it. He finally gives me a small nod, and I release the pass, watching him leave.

I turn back to my desk to email the guidance counselor about the conversation. I know there’s nothing else she can do, short of reporting it, but I know we need to document all attempts at communication.

When I’m done, I pack up my stuff and head down the hall to Quinn’s classroom. I stop and lean against the doorway and watch her dance around to the music playing from her phone. We’ve spent almost every night over the last week together in her bed, and there’s no denying it any longer.

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