Lloyd dropped them off at rehearsals and watched from the back of the auditorium as Wesley confronted the director about their auditioning kiss. “There’s no way you wouldn’t remember it.”

“I remember it.”

Wesley tossed his hands up. “Why did you cut us then?”

“Are you that desperate to be in my show?”

“I don’t want to be in your show. I’m desperate to hear you admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That the kiss was amazing!”

Caleb stopped blowing into his flute from the stage behind him. “That guy bugging you, sir? He’s not related to me.”

The director motioned to his assistant and Wesley weaved out of their grasp, speed-walking toward a thoroughly entertained Lloyd, who leaned with folded arms against a brick column, one ankle crossed.

Wesley slowed his gait and eye-fucked every inch of his boyfriend.

“I can tell you why we didn’t make the cut,” Lloyd said. “But I’m afraid how you’ll react.”

Wesley stopped in front of him. “What do you think I’m going to do? Curse you?”

“Yes,” Lloyd said and lowered his voice, “after trying to jump me.”

* * *

Lloyd was right. At ‘unresolved sexual tension stealing the spotlight,’ Wesley tried to jump him. Then ended up cursing when Lloyd steered them out into a cold drizzle.

He scowled at him the entire drive to Sandalwood, while Lloyd took the higher road of pretending not to notice.

“Shit,” Caleb said as they parked in the school lot. “That’s my math teacher. I gotta get to class without her seeing how tardy I am.”

Wesley glared between the seats at his brother. “The things I do for you. You owe me.”

“I promise,” he said with a fleeting look toward Lloyd. “I’m working on it.”

Wesley unbuckled. “All right. Come on, Lloyd. We’ve got distracting to do.”

Lloyd murmured disapproval under his breath, but walked with Wesley to the entrance steps, catching Mrs. Bailey’s attention.

“Mr. Hidaka,” she said, surprised. “How lovely to see you again. Are you here for your brother?”

Yes, yes, he was. “How is he doing?”

“Fine. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

Wesley glared at skedaddling Caleb over her shoulder. “Let’s hope.”

Mrs. Bailey followed his gaze, turning.

Wesley thought fast, snagging her attention as Caleb skedaddled around the building and out of sight. “The gardens. They are so well pruned. My fiancé and I were hoping to talk to someone about having a wedding ceremony here.”

Mrs. Bailey shrieked. “How lovely.”

“We were thinking an outdoor afternoon tea? We’ll declare our everlasting love for each other and our guests will cheer us over lattes and cappuccinos.”

“You must talk to Principal Bontempo right away. His office is on my way to class. Come.” She beckoned them into the brick prison, and they had little choice but to follow.

“Sandalwood gardens?” Lloyd asked under his breath. “Really?”

“Hell no. I still want a lavender farm.”

“Good. Otherwise it sounded perfect.”

Mrs. Bailey dropped them outside Principal Bontempo’s office and Wesley faked a cheery wave as if he couldn’t wait to approach the bastard.

As soon as she rounded the corner, Wesley grabbed Lloyd and yanked him down the hall.

Principal Bontempo’s voice cut around an upcoming corner, and Wesley panicked. He scanned the hall for an escape and latched onto a supply closet. “Quick,” he hissed, gesturing Lloyd into the closet.

“We won’t both fit in there.”

“Yes, we will.”

He shoved Lloyd in, squished himself against him like a vertical game of Twister, and shut the door. Darkness swallowed them. Something fell and dug into Wesley’s thigh.

Lloyd’s chest swelled with a deep breath.

Wesley pressed his mouth against the curve of Lloyd’s shoulder to muffle a sudden laugh.

They waited for Principal Bontempo’s footsteps to pass before Wesley grappled for the door handle.

He twisted it. The door didn’t budge.

Wesley bit the inside of his cheek. “You know how I said I always wanted to be stuck in the closet with you?”

Lloyd’s sigh sifted through Wesley’s hair. “You’re kidding me.”

“Not even a little bit.” Wesley shifted a bit. “Something’s digging into my thigh.”

“Most oblivious guy I know.”

Wesley laughed. “Something else is digging into my thigh. Can you reach and—” Lloyd removed the offending broomstick. “Better. Now reach in between us.”

“You’re an opportunist.”

“I can’t help that you feel so good. Maybe you should say something Cappy.”

“Why?”

“So I’m reminded why I don’t start making out with you right now.”

Lloyd groaned. “You’re my resident. I’m your—”

“RA. It’s against the rules. You do Cappy so well.”

“Try the door again.”

“You’re right. Making out would be a terrible idea. We’ll want a quick fuck to go with it.”

“I’m not into quick fucks. Not with you. Certainly not our first time.”

Wesley was one tingly breath away from grinding his hips against Lloyd in earnest. “Someone please open the door!”

Twenty seconds later, bright light hit them. Wesley and Lloyd tumbled out, crumbling to Principal Bontempo’s feet.

“Mr. Hidaka. It’s like going back in time.”

Lloyd regained his footing first, then helped Wesley up, whispering, “You okay?”

Wesley glanced at Principal Bontempo and hung his head. “Ask me again in an hour.”

Principal Bontempo cleared his throat. “May I see you in my office, please?”

Bowed head, Wesley slumped into the principal’s office with Lloyd at his side.

They were gestured to seats in front of the massive desk, and Wesley wished the velvet-padded chair would suck him up.

It was junior year all over again, with an impending lecture on how he should control his urges.

He gripped the curve of the seat. He wouldn’t stand for it. “I won’t stand for it. My fiancé and I will kiss where and when we please.” Not that they even got to the kissing.

Principal Bontempo and Lloyd jerked their heads in the direction of his outburst.

Respect and a glimmer of something softer shone in Lloyd’s eye.

The principal stood behind his imposing chair, hands braced on the back. “School grounds are hardly appropriate, and I’d have thought you’d find a better place than the supply closet.” He sighed. “While you’re here, let’s talk about your brother.”

“He handed in his math assignment. He’s acing all his core subjects.”

“Mr. Hidaka. While your brother has put in more effort and his attendance has been passable the last six school weeks, his commitment has been sketchy at best. With him trying to excuse himself for another two days—”

“What are you talking about?” Wesley frowned.

“Caleb came into my office yesterday asking me to allow him two more days off. I refused.”

“He never mentioned it to me.”

“He threw quite the hysterics. Much like you were prone to—”

“This isn’t about me!” Wesley exploded out of his seat, the back of his hand accidentally knocking papers off Principal Bontempo’s desk. They drifted to the table, and Lloyd stood knotting his and Wesley’s hands.

Lloyd looked coolly at the principal. “Mr. Bontempo—”

“Principal Bontempo.”

“Mr. Bontempo, get to your point.”

Principal Bontempo’s gaze hardened to small steel rods. “Perhaps Caleb’s role model”—he pointedly glanced at Wesley—“needs to take a hard look at his actions.”

Wesley seethed, gripping Lloyd like a vice.

Lloyd responded, voice tight, but delivered with the patience of a Capricorn. “I think we are done here.”

Wesley bit down his anger. He wasn’t finished fighting for Caleb yet. “Why didn’t you excuse him the two days? Caleb came to you directly. The time must be important to him. You could have signed it off as sick leave. Why didn’t you?”

Principal Bontempo gazed out his office window that faced one of Sandalwood’s courtyards. “If I had known how difficult you Hidakas were, I’d never have admitted you to my school. Four years later, I’m having the same conversation. Of course, back then it was about you. And I was talking to your mother.”

Wesley stared at the back of his graying head. “What?”

Principal Bontempo gave them a cursory look over his shoulder. “You were whip smart, but a truant. She pleaded me to write you a recommendation to that fancy private college you’re at.”

Wesley rocked on his feet. Lloyd’s grip shifted to his elbow to keep him from plunking backwards. “You did. You wrote a letter.”

“It would’ve been ungracious of me not to after she donated so generously toward the new music department.”

Shock slapped Wesley mute. He struggled to find his voice. When he did, it came out a croak. “How much did she give you?”

“I think you mean how much did she donate to the school.”

“How much?”

Principal Bontempo turned with a non-too-subtle glint in his eye. “Fifty.”

* * *

“Moral issues aside, I like that you tried to donate fifty dollars,” Lloyd said. They sat in a window booth of a small café across from Sandalwood’s parking lot. Raindrops weaved over the glass.

Wesley banged his forehead against his place setting. “Was I the only one who didn’t get he meant fifty thousand?”

Lloyd’s feet slipped between his under the table. “To be fair, there were only three of us in his office.”

Wesley groaned. “Caleb is attending class if I have to drag him by his flute.” Hearing that now-tainted word, he shuddered with a curse to MacDonald under his breath.

Their coffee arrived, and Wesley almost spat it out. “Bad. This whole day is bad. Was it just me, or did Bontempo think you might shower the school in donations?”

“It wasn’t just you. He looked at me and saw my Aunt Tabitha.”

“Promise me something?”

Lloyd squeezed Wesley’s ankle.

“One day you’ll overthrow that tyrant and become principal of Sandalwood. You’ll be a firm but fair leader, and you’ll come here on your lunch breaks.”

Lloyd sipped the terrible coffee and winced. “Why would I come here?”

“Because I’ll own this place. It’ll be the best indie café in town.”

“It’ll swarm with hormonal teenagers.”

“Full of drama. It’ll be great.” Wesley stared outside the window at the imposing school across the road and sank into the seat. “I hate to admit that Principal Bontempo might have a point. But he might have a point.”

Lloyd leaned his forearms against the table. “What do you mean?”

“I’m full of drama. Maybe if I hadn’t run away from home, if I’d gone home more often, if I had been a better role model, this situation with Caleb wouldn’t be happening.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’ve been through a lot too. You’ll work this out. I’ll help you.”

“Got fifty thousand laying around?”

Lloyd laughed drily, then stopped. “I don’t.” His brow furrowed. “But . . .” He stood abruptly. “Come.”

Lloyd herded him through the rain into the car, refusing to tell Wesley his plan. Ten minutes’ drive later, Lloyd pulled into the posh side of town and parked outside a gated mansion.

“What are we doing? What’s going on?” Wesley’s gut churned, fearful he knew the answer.

Lloyd sucked in a breath and exited the car. Wesley lurched after him, forgetting to unbuckle. The seatbelt whipped against his chest. He yanked it off and hurried to Lloyd at the gate buzzer. “Stop. Lloyd. No.”

“Some things are more important than pride.”

“You’d ask your aunt for money?”

Lloyd swallowed. Wesley noted his shudder. “She donates in much larger sums all the time.”

“No.” He pulled the keys out of Lloyd’s hand and started walking back to the car. When Lloyd didn’t follow, Wesley rounded to the driver’s side and opened the door. “I will never let you ask that woman for anything.”

“She loves putting her stake wherever she can,” Lloyd said.

“Get in the car.”

“If she donates to Sandalwood, Principal Bontempo might have another stroke of ‘graciousness’ and get him into Treble.”

“If you don’t get your ass in the car, I’m driving off without you.”

Lloyd snapped into the moment. “Don’t even think about sitting behind the—”

Wesley slung himself into the car behind the wheel, shut the door, and started the engine.

Lloyd wasted no time jumping into the passenger seat.

Wesley pulled away from the curb the moment his door shut. Window wipers swung back and forth. “Lloyd, and I say this from the bottom of my heart, what the fuck?”

They whizzed around a corner and Lloyd clenched the overhead handle. “I hate you thinking Caleb missing out on his dream is your fault.”

“Your aunt is not the solution.”

“You’re a bit close to the sidewalk.”

Wesley bounced his palm over the wheel to emphasize his point. “You’d be indebted to her for the rest of your life.”

“Fire hydrant ahead.”

“I’d feel guiltier about that.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’m touched you hauled me away, but—fire hydrant!”

Wesley swerved into a deep puddle, arcing water over the side of the car. Hydrant avoided.

“Could you call your mom and put her on speaker for me?”

Lloyd stared blankly at him.

Wesley cocked his hips off the seat. “Phone’s in my pocket. Reach in.”

“Have I mentioned how much you drive me crazy?”

An approaching traffic light turned yellow and Wesley halted to a screeching stop, butt slamming back to the seat. “See. I can follow the rules too.”

Lloyd clutched his belt, shaking his head. “What will I do with you?”

“I can think of plenty. But first, the phone. Your mom.”

“Why do you want to call my mom?”

“To tell her what a generous, self-sacrificing idiot she raised.”

* * *

Wesley sat across from Caleb at his usual window booth, cradling Caleb’s hazelnut coffee.

Caleb glanced up from the book he was reading. He read Wesley right, because he bookmarked his text and set it to the side. “Fuck. You know I’m losing my chance at Treble.”

“Do you have to, Hazelnut?”

“Dress rehearsals got shifted from the weekend to Thursday and Friday.”

“This is your future.”

“They are both my dream, and I can’t bail on Johnson-Brown now.”

MacDonald cleared her throat and set avocado toast in front of Caleb. Her eyes narrowed on him. “You’d turn down a chance at Treble just to play flute in one play?”

“If the principal would excuse my absence and write the letter, I could do both.” Caleb met Wesley’s gaze with a defeated shrug. “But I can’t.”

“Damn Principal Bontempo and his rigid rules,” Wesley said.

“Exactly.”

MacDonald still stared at Caleb, her face not betraying a single emotion. Either Caleb read her better or Wesley had gone temporarily insane. Caleb snagged her hand and delivered a small kiss to her fingertips. “Don’t worry about me, MacD. I’m going to make something of music.”

Wesley searched for ways to change his mind, but who was Wesley to stop Caleb from walking his own path?

He slid the latte over.

The rest of his shift, Wesley struggled to concentrate. Worry mixed with anger and confusing tenderness kept creeping up on him.

Suzy left work in a hurry, saying she was late to meet someone, so he and MacDonald closed up shop.

Walking back to Williamson, Wesley tried to call Lloyd. He wasn’t answering. He also wasn’t in his room. “Fuck,” he said, throat constricting in frustration and panic. “Fuck.”

MacDonald was by his side in a heartbeat. “Stop puffing. What do you need?”

“Fuck. I need to go home.”

MacDonald’s leg was well enough to drive him home—or so she claimed. “Do you want me to go in with you?” she offered. “I have a particular gift in offending the heartless.” She gave the slightest acknowledging nod. “And everyone else.”

“How did you ever break your leg?”

MacDonald looked out the side window. “I slipped in the shower.”

“Why did you come into work swearing off sex?”

“I was practicing when I slipped.”

“Practicing?”

“Practicing.” She huffed a short laugh. “If I can’t even do it right alone, I don’t think I’m made for it. Now get out of the car before I realize how much I regret this conversation.”

Wesley leaned over the console and smacked a kiss on her temple. “Thanks for dropping me off.”

“I’ll wait until you’re done.”

Wesley thanked her, got out of the car, and faced his mom.

* * *

They stared at each other over hot chocolates. His mom sat on the blue-floral armchair, and Wesley sat across her on a matching sofa.

“Why don’t you ever wear shirts anymore? Always these clingy T-shirts and jeans that make your legs look like they got put in the dryer too long.”

Wesley looked at the white V-neck he’d worn to work. If she thought this was tight . . . “I haven’t worn a button-up shirt since Sandalwood, and I only wore one there because it was the uniform.”

“It makes you look mature.”

“The clingy T-shirts? Or the uniform?”

Mom gave him parental eyes that said, You know exactly which.

He did.

“Well,” Mom said after a sip of hot chocolate that left a milky mustache on her upper lip, “you didn’t surprise me with this visit just to discuss our varying opinions on your outfits.”

“Not today.”

“Not today?” Hope glimmered in her eyes. “Does our future hold a more frivolous discussion?”

Wesley set his drink on the coffee table. “Why did you pay Principal Bontempo to make sure I got a letter of recommendation?”

Mom hopped off the armchair and moved to the corner cabinet. Wesley’s eye was drawn to a dozen of Dad’s old CDs. Cases open, as though Mom had been listening to them. She picked up two coasters from a stack. “It was a donation. To the music department, I believe.”

Wesley took the coaster she was wielding and slipped it under his cup. She stared at him.

“Is it difficult to believe I’ve always cared?”

“Mom.”

“I know.” She set her drink on a coaster. “It doesn’t mean anything if I don’t accept the gaying.”

“I wish you would,” Wesley said.

“Your father left enough money to pay for your and Caleb’s school and college tuition, and a little extra.”

“Fifty extra?”

She shot him a frown. “Fifty thousand, Wesley.”

A burst of tenderness filled him. He swallowed back a laugh. “Oh, Mom.” He sighed. “We are more alike than I sometimes give us credit for.”

“Was that a compliment or an insult?”

“A bit of both.”

She blew an escaped strand of black hair off her face. “You’re more like your father. He had a cheeky streak that stole my heart.”

Soft silence descended on them, and Wesley reluctantly broke it. “Caleb is insanely talented. He would be perfect at Treble, but he’s not getting the recommendation he needs.” Principal Bontempo could probably even dissuade the admissions board from letting Caleb in on music merit alone.

His mom sagged against the arm of the chair, cupping her chin. “There’s no money left. He can always go to another college.”

Wesley rubbed the handle of his cup but didn’t lift it. “It’s his dream, Mom.”

Mom pressed her lips together, then nodded with a sigh.

Wesley stood with one more fleeting glance to Dad’s beloved CDs. “MacDonald is waiting for me in the car.”

His mom walked him outside. Wesley hauled in an uneven breath. “Mom?”

“Wesley?”

“Would you like to come to Williamson’s Fifties Bash?”