Page 8 of Matthias's Protective Embrace
“I. Forgot. My. Lunch.” Frank punctuates each word, his eyes daring me to make a comment.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Can you run home and get it?” I check my watch. Depending on how far away he lives, he’d be late by the time he gets back.
He huffs at me. “No, I’m already on thin ice with Sam.” He gasps and covers his mouth, like that’s a secret I’m not supposed to know. “It’s fine.” He can say that as many times as he wants, but from his face, it’s clearly not.
“What did you have for breakfast?” I ask, aware I’m not going to like the answer.
“Nothing.” His cheeks turn the same color of red as his hair as his stomach makes the point by growling loudly. This boy is trying to kill me. If someone needed a Daddy, it’s him. First, forgetting his water, and now food? I’m scared to know what else I might be missing.
Yeah, that won’t do. I turn and walk back toward the house. This boy is going to be the death of me. And he’s not even my boy. A fact I remind myself of way too often. I can’t leave him like this, though, hungry and without anything nearby. I adore my neighborhood with the quiet streets and grassy parks—even if I don’t make use of them. It’s close enough to work that my commute is minimal and near my regular spots, like The Flaming Unicorn.
What it doesn’t have is a lot of food choices. Thank God for delivery, is all I can say, but I doubt Frank’s budget allows for him to order take-out regularly.
I throw open my fridge, trying to think of what I can get him. The options are limited, especially for something that will keep until noon. I spy a jar of strawberry jelly in the door. Yep, peanut butter and jelly. Not fancy, but combined with a few other things, it’ll make for a decentlunch. I’m already shopping in my head for things I can have on hand in the future.
Nope. Not going there. This is a one-time deal. Someone in need that I can reach out to and help.
Brown bag in hand, I head back outside. Frank’s pacing next to his car, mumbling something to himself.
“Here.” I thrust the bag and contents into his hand. “Eat some of it now and save the rest for lunch.” I made sure to give him plenty since I doubt he’ll make it until lunch, given the way his stomach growled. “You need energy to do this kind of work. Otherwise, your body’s going to fail you.”
“Wouldn’t want the help passing out on your property.”
“I think what you meant to say is,thank you.”
“Thank you.” There’s something about Frank. He might seem like a bit of a mess on the surface, but there’s more to it. Something much deeper. I can see how hard he’s trying. The way he swallowed his pride to say, ‘thank you’, even if his voice was small and quiet. It makes me want to pull him into my arms and shield him from the weight he’s carrying around on his shoulders.
Of course, he’s not eating anything, merely staring into the bag, examining the contents. “You think I’m trying to poison you?”
“No, but… I have some complicated food allergies.”Shit.Maybe the peanut butter wasn’t a good idea. “I can’t have any animal products, so I mostly eat vegan.”
“Well, there’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a granola bar, and an apple. Does any of that work?” I run through it in my head, trying to figure out what might or might not work. I wasn’t kidding when I said my current options were limited. Worst-case scenario, I could be late to work and make a run to the grocery store.
“Thank you.” The tension in Frank’s shoulders eases a little. “Seriously. This is great.”
I nod and head back to the house. A quick look back when I’m closing the door sends a flash of warmth through me. His hand is in the bag, fishing out one of the sandwiches to eat for breakfast. I might occasionally skip lunch at work, but I’m not doing any manual labor. My work is sitting at a desk, staring at a computer screen. I’m thankful I saw him out here this morning, but that’s not going to convince me to give up my new morning routine of watching him from out the window. At least now I have a reason.
FRANK
For once, I’m not late for class. I’m not early either, but at least I’m right on time.
I drop into my usual seat near the back of the room and pull out my notebook. Everyone else uses a laptop or tablet to take notes during class, but my ancient laptop isn’t up to the task, and anything new would smash my budget to smithereens. My spiral-bound notebook might attract a few strange looks, but at least I can easily copy the formula notation.
“We’ve got lots to cover today, so let’s get started.” My professor claps his hands together a couple of times before everyone quiets down. “I’ve got good news for those of you who are keeping up with the material. A pop quiz.”
I join in a collective groan. I’m nowhere close to being ready for something like that. I blame working over the weekend. I meant to go straight home and study when Ifinished my shift, but when I got there, everything was so… loud.
My parents started in on me needing to get a real job and get my life together. It’s a familiar refrain which comes with a strong side ofCan’t you be more like your brother, andWouldn’t you like Ethan to help you?
I’d rather take a hundred pop quizzes than let my brother help me.
My professor hands out a page of questions to each of us, giving us ten minutes to work through the three problems. I remember sweating in elementary school when we got five minutes to do fifty multiplication problems. What I’d give for that level of simplicity now.
I do my best to work through each of the questions, but I keep getting stuck part-way through. Starting is easy. Figuring out how to get to the end always stumps me. It’s like, initially, I can see the exact path to take, but once I’m in the middle, everything gets murky. Out of three problems, I’m only confident in my answer to one of them. That doesn’t bode well for my grade. Not only on this quiz but also on the upcoming exam.
Basically, unless some of this calculus manages to seep into my hard head in the next few weeks, I’m fucked. Someone remind me why I chose a math-heavy major?
When my professor calls time, I turn in my paper with the rest of the class and return to my seat. As hard as I try to focus on the lecture, my brain is stuck figuring out how to do better. And yes, it’s clear even to me that paying attention in class might be the low-hanging fruit on that list, but instead of taking copious notes, I’m making all sorts of promises to myself of extra study time during the week. Despite what my parents think, my free timeisn’t filled with video games and hook-ups. Free time exists in only the tiniest of quantities, and I typically use it to nap. If I want extra study time, it means getting up early or staying up late.
