Xavier E-Book

Gabbi Grey

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Single Dads of Gaynor Beach
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 289

Beschreibung

Xavier
When my wife died five years ago, leaving me alone to raise our three young daughters, only my duty to them and my work as a psychiatrist kept me from losing myself in grief. I did my best to be a good father through the darkest days, but now I can see I’ve been distant and cold. Things need to change. I've pledged to my daughters that I’ll start doing better. Be more involved. Show them what a great dad looks like. If that means soccer practice, violin lessons, and sitting through a dozen dance recitals, then I’m all-in.
Zed
Pliés, pas-de-deux, cheerleading practice, and enough tutus to last a lifetime— how is this my life? I’m a fisherman up in the Bering Sea. In the offseason, I travel through Alaska and, on rare occasions, drop in to see my sister and her four sons in Gaynor Beach, California. This year? She’s laid up with an injury. Suddenly I’m running her dance studio, and I’m a fish waaaay out of water. Then I meet another guy who’s equally uncomfortable. He’s working so hard to be a good dad, and I keep hoping he’ll notice me. Except, when my sister’s healed and fishing season starts, I’m out of here. Right?
This gay romance is a slow burn, mid-angst, age-gap, opposites-attract, instalove story with a fisherman who needs the ocean, a counselor who needs therapy, three young girls in need of love, and a found family that’ll change their lives forever.

Leseprobe

XAVIER

GABBI GREY

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Next in the Gaynor Beach Series

Also set in Gaynor Beach

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Copyright © 2023 Gabbi Grey

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

References to real people, events, organizations, establishments or locations are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Edits by ELF.

XAVIER

XAVIER

When my wife died five years ago, leaving me alone to raise our three young daughters, only my duty to them and my work as a psychiatrist kept me from losing myself in grief. I did my best to be a good father through the darkest days, but now I can see I’ve been distant and cold. Things need to change. I've pledged to my daughters that I’ll start doing better. Be more involved. Show them what a great dad looks like. If that means soccer practice, violin lessons, and sitting through a dozen dance recitals, then I’m all-in.

ZED

Pliés, pas-de-deux, cheerleading practice, and enough tutus to last a lifetime— how is this my life? I’m a fisherman up in the Bering Sea. In the offseason, I travel through Alaska and, on rare occasions, drop in to see my sister and her four sons in Gaynor Beach, California. This year? She’s laid up with an injury. Suddenly I’m running her dance studio, and I’m a fish waaaay out of water. Then I meet another guy who’s equally uncomfortable. He’s working so hard to be a good dad, and I keep hoping he’ll notice me. Except, when my sister’s healed and fishing season starts, I’m out of here. Right?

This gay romance is a slow burn, mid-angst, age-gap, opposites-attract, instalove story with a fisherman who needs the ocean, a counselor who needs therapy, three young girls in need of love, and a found family that’ll change their lives forever.

Bonnie J

Jenny Lang

Kaje

Renae

Wendy

Charley

Leanne

The other Gaynor Beach authors—my crew.

CHAPTER1

XAVIER

As I sat at my dining room table, facing my eldest daughter, Rochelle, her life flashed before my eyes. Her first breath, her first cry, her first smile, her first step, her first bicycle ride, her standing by her mother’s casket as they lowered it into the ground…

Five years on, and that image still haunted me. My three little girls watching their mother’s burial.

Jasmine, a mere baby, had been too young to comprehend. But Monique, at five, and Rochelle, a very mature eight, had completely understood.

Now, as I met Rochelle’s piercing gaze, I wondered where the time had gone. Isn’t that what all parents say? Perhaps. But her dark-brown eyes held a solemnity and an old-soul quality that disturbed me. Thirteen was far too young for what she was insisting on.

“The answer’s no.”

She jutted out her chin in a movement so reminiscent of Brandi that it nearly stole my breath. Had she always mimicked her mother’s actions, or was this an inherited tendency? God knew, Brandi’d been one stubborn woman—and her eldest daughter was the spitting image of her.

“I’m going to find a new nanny for you girls.”

Rochelle’s chin rose even farther. “Mrs. Jeffries was a horrible woman who should never have been around children. Hers probably all ran away when they turned eighteen.”

Her words stunned me. “What are you talking about? Mrs. Jeffries was kind and gentle—she always treated you like you were her own.”

“Bullshit.”

The word hit me like a bullet. My daughters didn’t swear. Ever. One of my cardinal rules. I was about to rebuke her language when she continued.

“She hated us, Dad. She said horrible things and made Jazz cry all the time. Nicki just hangs out in her room as often as she can. She studies all the time—worried she might piss off Mrs. Jeffries.”

Another expletive from my teenager. “I certainly hope you didn’t use that language in front of Mrs. Jeffries. And that your sisters don’t hear it.”

Rochelle actually rolled her eyes at me. “You think they haven’t heard it on the playground?”

“Jasmine’s six.”

“Well, I think I was four when I first heard the f-word. Wasn’t until I was older that I understood⁠—”

“Silence!” Jesus Christ. How had my innocent girls learned so many adult things? Your swearing might not help. True. But I only ever swore in my head. Okay, aside from the one time I hit my finger with a hammer—but a man couldn’t be responsible for what he said when he was in such pain.

Rochelle crossed her arms. Apparently, she wasn’t the least bit cowed by my bellow.

I drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Now, from the top. Mrs. Jeffries quit?”

“Yeah. She won the lottery. We were all at the grocery store when she checked her ticket. I swear, if she could have, she would’ve just left us right there at the customer service desk.” Rochelle smoothed the table mat on the dining room table where we sat. “She was jumping up and down screaming. Jazz got so scared, she started crying. Nicki just kept pulling on my sleeve and asking if we could leave—I think she was humiliated at being the center of attention.”

“And you?”

She cocked her head at my question.

“How did you feel?”

“Bored.” She checked her fingernails. “I had reading to do, and I just wanted it all to be over.” She gazed back up at me. “And…it is over. She packed up her oversized purse, told me I was in charge, called us all horrible children, and stomped out the door. Since she checked her ticket first thing, she didn’t even do the grocery shopping—just dropped us here like hot potatoes and ran out the door. Good thing today wasn’t violin practice—I might not’ve been home.”

I wanted to believe that the woman I’d entrusted my three darling daughters to for the last five years—the woman I believed they saw as a surrogate mother—wouldn’t just abandon them.

Apparently wrong on that score. On all of it.

I took another deep breath. “I’ll locate another nanny. If I speak to someone at the agency⁠—”

“I want to do it.” Her eyes flashed steel.

Suppressing the urge to sigh, I offered a genial smile. “Rochelle, sweetheart, you’re thirteen years old⁠—”

“I took a babysitting course last year.”

Had she? Shit. More things I didn’t know about my daughter. “That seems awfully young.”

She shifted uncomfortably.

“Did they know your age?”

“I was old enough for the course.”

“And Mrs. Jeffries didn’t think your attendance was inappropriate?”

Rochelle snickered. “Old bat thought that meant she could make me do more. And anyway, you signed the permission slip.”

Crap. Things were not going well for me. “Okay.” I tried for another smile. “You’ve got violin lessons. You’ve got your friends⁠—”

“Nicki and Jazz are more important.”

My heart sang at the words—because who didn’t want their eldest daughter to be protective of the younger ones? Then, promptly, my heart sank. “Rochelle, you’re just a kid yourself. Barely a teenager. You’ve got so much to look forward to. I think it’s wonderful you love your sisters, but you’re still just a kid.”

She slapped the table.

I was startled.

“You don’t get it, Dad. You never do. You’re so busy with work that you don’t see what’s going on around you.”

Her words hit like a slap to the face. Yes, my work was all-consuming. I was one of only two psychiatrists in Gaynor Beach, where a typical California town this size would have four or five. That meant being on call for hospital emergencies, dealing with a massive patient load, and keeping up with professional development—including frequent trips down the road to San Diego or up to Los Angeles. I’d paid Mrs. Jeffries a substantial salary, so I never had to worry about leaving at a moment’s notice. As I ran through my commitments for the next week, panic set in.

I was seeing a young mother in those critical first days with postpartum depression—trying to help her bond with her child, a schizophrenic young man whose medications were not working well, and several folks with depression at risk of self-harm. I'd been going in early and staying late, trying to create more appointments for the most urgent folk on my wait-list. What if I couldn't find a sitter to start right away? Lives depended on me.

What if I couldn’t find someone who could start right away?

Focus.

“I’m sorry you see things that way. You and your sisters have always been my top priority.”

“We were never your priority. Neither was Mom.”

A stunned silence settled over us. Rochelle never spoke of her mother. As a psychiatrist, I knew she needed to be honest about her feelings and she’d said honestly she didn’t want to talk about her grief or her time with her mom. She closed up worse when I nudged gently, and completely refused to see the pediatric psychologist I'd suggested for grief counselling.

And I’d respected that.

I hadn’t pushed. With her or with the younger two.

That glaring omission blinked flashing red lights now.

“I loved your mother, Rochelle. As much as I love you girls⁠—”

“You were too busy to notice she was sick. You’re a doctor. Yeah, a head doctor, but you went to medical school⁠—”

“Well, yes, but I wasn’t an oncologist. A cancer specialist,” I clarified.

She glared. “Mom wasn’t feeling well for a long time, but you were always busy, so she didn’t say anything. If she’d just gone to the doctor earlier⁠—”

Thunderstruck. Rochelle blamed me for her mother’s death? I rejected the notion out of hand, but it boomeranged back and hit me in the chest. A niggle of doubt started in my heart. Hadn’t I expressed similar regrets to Brandi? And hadn’t she assured me over and over that no one could’ve known? Gallbladder cancer was relatively rare, and she hadn’t had gallstones—or any other known risk factor.

We needed to get back to the topic at hand. I also needed to deal with the issue my daughter had just laid before me.

“You know I loved your mother.”

Rochelle’s eyes narrowed.

“And I did everything in my power to help her live.”

Pursed lips greeted me.

“But sometimes there are things we can’t fix.” Perhaps it was time to give Rochelle more insight into grief and the inevitability of some losses. She was old enough to understand.

. I reached out to grasp her hand. “Your mom didn’t choose to leave, and I didn’t want her to go. All of us who loved her would've done anything we could to save her, and she fought with all her strength to stay with you. But humans haven't managed to beat cancer yet. No matter how hard we all wished and hoped and tried, there was nothing anyone could do. Even the doctors who did specialize in cancer couldn't save her. Being angry, including angry with me, is natural⁠—"

“I want to take care of Nicki and Jazz.” She pulled her hand back.

Regretfully, I let it go.

“You can’t even drive them to their activities, honey. And there’s grocery shopping and⁠—”

“We can do a delivery service. Celina’s mom does that.”

I was about to argue that Celina’s mom was a single mother who worked long hours at the hospital.

Except wasn’t I a single dad who worked long hours at the hospital?

“I’m going to put my foot down, Rochelle. I’m sorry, but you’re too young. You need to focus on school. On violin. On your friends.”

She blinked several times. “Mom would’ve wanted me to take care of them.”

I slowly placed my hands over hers. “No one’s saying you can’t take care of them. Just that they need someone full-time. A responsible adult who can do some things you can’t. I promise—” I weighed my words. “I promise that I’ll involve you in the process of picking someone, okay? And you can work with that person. To help out and to take more responsibilities. But, honey, you’re starting high school in a few days. That’s a lot to take on. I want you to have an enjoyable experience. Not to be worrying about your sisters all the time and whether you’ll be able to pick them on time or get them to their lessons or whether they’ve done their homework.” And brushed their teeth, had clean clothes, and weren’t having nightmares.

Maybe I had been too reliant on Mrs. Jeffries.

“For tomorrow, though, since Mrs. Jeffries is gone, I’d appreciate you watching out for them. School starts next week, right?”

She nodded.

“Okay, well, if you can be in charge for a couple of days while I interview prospective housekeepers, then I’d really appreciate that.” Is this the right thing to do? I didn’t know. Appointments filled my days. Patients needed me. Those responsibilities wouldn’t wait. You’re prioritizing your patients over your own children.

My heart sank.

“Is there anything else I need to know about?” I held Rochelle’s gaze. “Anything you’re not telling me?”

She shrugged. “No, Dad, nothing.”

I wanted to believe her. But I didn’t. Something was up, but I was under the distinct impression that pushing right now was the wrong thing to do. She needed support and reassurance, not nosy inquiries. I'd have to be observant, and I definitely should talk to the younger girls. They might be more open with me. In the future, I’d just have to be more observant.

Noises of a sudden disagreement carried from the family room to where we were.

Rochelle pulled her hands away. “I’ll go. I thought enough of the show was left, but I guessed wrong.”

“What—”

“They’re fighting over the next show to watch.”

I rose. “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you take a break and do something you want to do?”

She rose as well. “I want to take care of my sisters.” Hands on hips, no less.

God help me. My girl was the spitting image of Brandi. Defiant. Strong-willed. Self-possessed.

And, if the fates railed against me, Nicki and Jazz would wind up exactly the same. Not for the first time. I wondered if boys might’ve been easier. The thought, though, was transitory. I loved my daughters with all my heart and would lay my life on the line for them every time.

“Okay, you take care of them while I make a couple of phone calls.”

Her eyes flashed in triumph.

Again, God help me.

Within a few minutes of her departure, the disgruntled voices ceased.

I made my way to my office. What was the name of the placement agency I’d used? No… someone had recommended Mrs. Jeffries. Well, whoever that was, apparently, they’d missed the mark. I settled into my chair and started to search for agencies specializing in nannies.

CHAPTER2

ZED

I gaped at my sister Cee.

My sister sitting in her living room in a wheelchair with not one but two legs elevated. And covered in casts.

“What the fuck?”

“Shush.”

Her voice hit me hard—like a punch to the chest.

“I’m quite sure they’ve heard it before.” Even as I said the words, though, I hesitated at my cavalier attitude.

Although I tolerated my brother-in-law, the stereotypical trucker didn’t moderate his language around his four sons. And sure, Marc, the eldest at thirteen, might be accustomed to such language—although that caused despair within me—I wanted to believe the younger three, most especially Charles Junior, weren’t. My youngest nephew had celebrated his third birthday just a few weeks ago.

I’d sent a gift.

Apparently, Charles had enjoyed it. I received a scribbled thank-you card a couple of weeks later. The last piece of mail to arrive before I’d been summarily summoned to Southern California. The crab season in Newfoundland had been nearly over, but I had a trawler with my name on it in Alaska.

Cee’s plea had me changing courses. Now, instead of heading out to catch king crab with my mates, I was here—facing a sister who obviously needed my help.

“Can’t Chuck, I dunno…” I might’ve scrunched up my face.

“No, he can’t. We rely on his income, and he’s got three runs up to Canada planned in the next two weeks. We need that money, Zed. My medical bills are astronomical, and we have to pay the mortgage.”

I did the standard mental calculation always required when I crossed into the States. In Canada, we had universal healthcare. Not everything was free, including drugs, and sometimes those extras added up. But very few people lost their houses because of medical bills.

“Don’t you have insurance?”

She glared. No other word for it. “Yes, I have insurance. But there are deductibles. And I had to pay for an emergency babysitter because Chuck was in British Columbia. Marc’s a great help, but there’s no way he can wrangle his three younger brothers, and I was in the hospital for several days.” She ran her hands through her thick hair. “And I had to hire a temporary manager to run the studio because, as much as I love Robin, she’s clueless.”

“Clueless? Studio?” Vague recollections flashed in my mind, but nothing solidified.

“I run a dance studio.” Her blue eyes flashed. Eyes achingly familiar. Not only did I see them in the mirror each day, but that color belonged to our wayward mother as well. Or that was my recollection, at least. Chuck’s genes dominated my sister’s kids, though. He and my four nephews all bore dark-brown hair and dark-brown eyes. In Christmas cards, I often felt my sister was apart from her family. An illusion—she loved her family and they loved her.

“Dance studio?” I knew that, right? She’d opened it after Nolan, the nine-year-old, was born. Once the fates convinced her she wouldn’t be having either any more children or any girls. And since, of course, Chuck's boys shouldn't take dance lessons, she poured her heart into the studio. Charles Junior was an oops. But he hadn’t been a girl, either. “Right. What, about nine years ago?”

“And if you came to visit more often, you’d have seen it by now.”

“I’ve been busy.” I’d graduated from high school in Newfoundland that year and had been on trawlers ever since.

Cee’d been disappointed. She thought I should try college.

I’d recognized it for the money suck and waste of time it would’ve been.

After starting with the Atlantic-crab-fishing trawlers, I’d headed up to Alaska for their season. Luckily, due to our wayward father, I had American citizenship and didn't have to mess around with work visas.

And now, after ten seasons of working on crews, my bank balance was pretty damn healthy.

That didn’t mean I wanted to sit out this season. In SoCal, no less. The heat had already melted my brains. September was mere days away, but apparently that didn’t help with the unrelenting sunshine.

I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What is it you’re asking, Cee?”

“Just…” She looked away for a moment, then looked back. “I want you to run the studio.”

Okay, that I hadn’t seen coming. “I, uh…” Think. “I can, like, take care of you. And of the boys. And then you can, you know, go to the studio⁠—”

She held up her hand. “Between Marc and I, we can manage the younger boys. But I’m confined to the house. Actually, basically to the living room where we’ve set up a medical bed, to the kitchen, and to the lower-floor bathroom. Which doesn’t have a shower or a tub. They’re sending a care aid three times a week to do sponge⁠—”

This time, I held up my hands. “TMI, Cee. I don’t want to think about…just, ew, okay?”

Her frown turned into amusement. “Which is why you’re not the best person to look after me. And I need someone at the studio I can trust. Chrissie does the books, but she refuses to leave the admin office. Robyn co-ordinates the classes and does some of the teaching, but she refuses to handle parents or bookings or taking money. I need someone to liaise with the two jobs. I need someone in charge.”

“Cee.” I tried for my reasonable tone. “I’m a fisherman. I go on boats, catch crabs, and…you know…enjoy myself.”

“Have sex with random men in random hotels in random cities.”

“Ouch.” Cruelly put. True, but cruelly put. “Look, I know I’m not a saint⁠—”

“There are plenty of gay, single men here in Gaynor Beach. When you’re not running the studio, you’re free to have fun.”

I thought of the little room above the garage she’d given me to stay in. With a hot plate, a mini-fridge, a microwave, a sink, and the tiniest bathroom known to man. “Well, it’s not like I can bring them back here.”

She winced. “Yeah, you’d have to go to their place or a hotel. Oh, Gaynor Beach has two great ones.”

Which cost money I didn’t want to spend. After our poverty-level nomadic childhood, I’d sworn to never be in a situation where I didn’t have healthy savings. What little I spent on random hookups was often in dive motels that rented by the hour or, just as likely, we went back to the guy’s house.

God, I loved hookup apps.

“Cee, you know I love you⁠—”

“Great, then you’ll do it. Perfect. I know you’re tired, so why don’t you get some sleep? In the morning, I’ll take you through everything you need to know. I have it all written down in lists, so you just need to follow the lists. The studio’s open six days a week. You’ll have Sundays off. Maybe you’ll want to run down to San Diego or up to LA. Both are quite close. Oh, I assume you didn’t bring a car, so you’re free to use my minivan. Keys are hanging in the kitchen.”

Jesus. She hadn’t drawn breath through that monologue. She also hadn’t given me any place to interrupt and say that I honestly believed this was the worst plan ever.

“Look, I’m sure you can hire someone. I’ll pay them, if that’s the issue.” It’d take a chunk out of my savings, but anything was better than⁠—

“I need someone I can trust, Zed. I trust you.”

She shouldn’t, though. That was my point. I didn’t have a head for business. Nor math. I’d barely passed high school. Post-secondary education had been out of reach.

Yet, I couldn't deny Cee anything she needed. She’d helped raise me and my three older sisters, Bea, Kay, and Elle. Which reminded me… “Why can’t one of our sisters help out?”

“Bea’s in Atlanta, teaching at a university. Kay’s running a wilderness camp for troubled youth in Algonquin Park. Elle’s Broadway debut is in a week. She’s the lead in the new Liz Carson musical. This is like her biggest break. I was planning to hop a flight to catch a performance.” She indicated her legs. “Let’s hope the run is longer than eight weeks.”

The youngest of my four older sisters had the voice of an angel. And could belt out show tunes like no one else I knew. Upon graduation, she’d moved to Toronto. With several big musicals under her belt, she’d headed to New York City.

With another sister in Georgia and our final sister in the wilds of Canada, the reason Cee’d summoned me had just become glaringly obvious.

I was the last choice.

Still, I owed her everything.

“Okay.” I drew in a deep breath. “What do you want me to do?”

Three hours later, I lay on the queen-sized bed in my little room with the sloped ceilings, a little frustrated that my big body barely fit in the space, but also grateful I wasn’t downstairs trying to get four boys into bed.

My 13-year-old nephew, Marc, was a stereotypical oldest child. Or so Cee told me in her voluminous and frequent letters. He took everything seriously.

Lawrence, at eleven, didn’t take anything seriously. He was always in danger of failing a grade—although apparently that wasn’t a thing teachers liked to do—and he goofed off and got into all kinds of mischief.

At nine, Nolan’s personality was still developing. He’d been the youngest child for almost six years and had been quite happy to be spoiled.

Then Charles Junior appeared and upended everything.

Cee’d been thrilled.

Chuck not so much.

His upset had never been outright, but I’d read between the lines of Cee’s missive when announcing her pregnancy. Another mouth to feed. Even longer before they could enjoy an empty nest.

Not wanting to dwell on the family in this house, I pulled out my phone. I didn’t like tech all that much, but I always had the latest-model phone. Needed that to pull up the various hookup apps and to see the pictures with the most clarity possible. Quirky, I knew, but I liked to look at other guys’ cocks. Not necessarily to jerk off or anything…I just wanted to decide if I’d go down on a guy before I responded to his profile. Truthfully, I’d only rejected a handful of guys based on looks.

If they were willing, I was in.

But I couldn’t do more than look tonight.

I eyed the papers strewn across my bed as well as the keys for the minivan.

Cee honestly believed I could do this.

Hell, I wasn’t certain I believed I could do this.

But I’d sure as shit try.

CHAPTER3

XAVIER

The Great Housekeeper Search was on its third day, and my panic was increasing.

Rochelle had watched the girls yesterday without incident, and today I’d interviewed three candidates during my lunch hour. All three possessed stellar qualifications. None were available to start right away. I tucked away their resumés in case circumstances changed.

Tonight, I’d made the concerted effort to leave work on time as Nicki’s dance lessons began promptly at five o’clock. That meant having to turn away a patient having a minor crisis. I promised to see him first thing in the morning, but I worried about leaving him for the night. Although I’d focus on Nicki, I’d also wonder how he was doing.

We made it to class with thirty seconds to spare.

Rochelle had ensured Nicki was dressed correctly and all her…stuff…was in her dance bag. She opted to stay home with Jazz, who tended to fidget and get bored and, apparently on at least one occasion, get into trouble.

Nicki dropped her bag and immediately joined a group of girls about her height. They chattered together and made quite a bit of noise. I was relieved to see Nicki wasn’t the only girl of color in the class. Not that having a good racial mix should affect teaching dance—but it mattered to me. I wanted her interacting with kids from lots of different heritages.

Rochelle’d explained to me that the studio had four different rooms with lessons from beginning to advanced, jazz to ballet, cheerleading, and—to my surprise—elocution lessons.

I spotted two boys around Nicki’s age standing off to the side, chatting.

Brave souls.

A middle-aged woman in a leotard with a short skirt clapped her hands.

Everyone in the room turned to her.

Including, I noted, all the parents.

Although I’d spotted a couple of men leading kids to the other rooms, I was the only male-presenting person in this one, and the only one who seemed to have no clue what came next. I tried not to feel out of place, but that didn’t work. I moved to the wall and leaned against it. After shedding my blazer at home, I’d stuck with my pressed trousers and dress shirt.

Glancing around, I could see that the formal dress also glaringly advertised I was an outsider.

The dancers had all moved to the bar. Barre? Something I remembered. Nicki loved to talk about dance, and I regretted that I hadn’t paid more attention. I hadn’t meant to be a neglectful parent—I’d just had so much else on my mind.

And I’d believed Mrs. Jeffries was caring for the girls’ emotional needs.

More fool you.

The instructor pointed.

All the kids faced the barre and touched it.

“And now, first position.”

The kids moved, and it took me a moment to realize they’d turned their feet out.

Could I do that?

“Daddy, Daddy look! I’m doing first position.”

Nicki’s words rang through the room and, en masse, everyone turned to face me.

My cheeks heated.

“Monique,” the instructor admonished.

Nicki hung her head.

The instructor lightly touched her shoulder, leaned in, and said something only my daughter could hear.

My girl’s shoulders straightened.

After stepping back, the instructor said, “Now we’ll move to second position.”

“I'm used to different first and second positions.”

I turned to find a massive guy standing close to me. So close, in fact, I had to gaze up slightly to meet his eyes. He had to be well over six feet, making me feel positively petite at five foot nine. His blue eyes sparkled, and his overlong blond hair looked like a halo, backlit as it was by the sun steaming in from the front windows.

Oh, yeah, he’s…cute. And flirting with me? I was so out of practice. I had no clue. And, also, I didn’t generally go for guys. Still, I managed a smile.

The man leaned closer and murmured, “First one has me on my knees. Second one, the opposite." He cocked his head and smirked.

I managed not to sputter, but almost failed. Slowly, I turned to the guy who’d sidled up next to me.

“Now we’ll do the demi plié.”

The instructor’s words pulled me back from the unexpected longing that rocketed through my body. It’d been more than five years since I’d touched another adult person with affection. Held them. Been held by them. And it’d been even longer since sexual intimacy.

Oh, and that person had been my wife.

I cleared my throat. “That’s, uh, not really my thing.”

Instead of retreating in embarrassment, the man titled his head as if trying to solve a puzzle. “I may not be the most worldly guy, but I can usually tell.”

“Tell?”

Not being pulled in by those angelic blue eyes was proving tough. Something deep within me stirred. Almost like awakening from a slumber.

“Well done, class. Now, let’s move to second position.”

My mind flashed to me giving him a blow job. Instead of being appalled by the idea, I was damn intrigued. I’d fooled around with my buddy Terrence in medical school. Just a couple of blow jobs and hand jobs and some quick furtive sex. Those experiments cemented I was not gay, and that Terrence was. In fact, my friend married the love of his life eleven years ago. Mario, his nurse husband, often joined him in overseas medical missions. They lived a carefree lifestyle I occasionally envied. Not that I’d ever give up my girls—that’d never happen. Or that I might even regret them. Just…once in a while I wished I could hop a plane to some exotic location and just relax by the beach with someone I wanted to touch.

Gaynor Beach has beaches.

Yeah, not the same thing.

“You’re thinking about second position, aren’t you?”

The dancers now had one of their arms above their head. Was this third position, or had we moved on?

Focus.

Yet, I turned to my erstwhile companion of sorts.

Us being the only two guys in the place.

“I’m sure you’re a really nice guy, and we could…have lots of…” I made an odd hand gesture. “But I’m focusing on my daughter.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “Yeah, that’s great. You know, the senior class has a couple of students with single dads. Good luck.”

With that, he left, leaving me even more confused. What part of I’m straight had he not understood.

Well, you didn’t actually come out and tell him you’re straight.

Okay, that truth rang through clear. A simple thanks but no thanks would’ve put an end to…whatever that had been.

Flirting?

God, did people flirt anymore? I thought life was all about apps and hookups and shit.

At least that was the impression I got from many of my patients. Who, admittedly, wouldn’t necessarily be an accurate random sample. My patients might span in age from the young through to the elderly, but they clustered in the young-adult age range. Adolescence through young adulthood is when most serious mental illnesses are diagnosed, and that was reflected in my caseload.

As Rochelle neared this time in her life, I worried.

In fact, worry was my perpetual state of being. I was the sole caregiver for three young girls. Brandi and I were both only children with a few distant cousins. Her parents passed a few years ago. My mother was gone as well, and my father… Well, the less said, the better.

That lack of safety net for my kids concerned me greatly. Many nights, I couldn’t sleep, imagining my daughters being turned over to Child Protective Services and being separated.

And that blond hunk had offered a reprieve from that unrelenting stress.

Huh.

Okay, had he? He’d perhaps offered a blow job and expressed a desire to receive one in return.

Hell, I didn’t even get his name.

The instructor had the class prancing around doing little jumps.

Nicki, bless her heart, wasn’t the most coordinated of children. She held her own, but she wasn’t the best in the class. Neither was she the worst.

Stop judging. Stop comparing. I winced. Yeah, one of my worst traits—turning everything into a competition.

Brandi hated that about me and had made me promise I’d never do it with our daughters.

And I just had. Shame swamped me.

“Uh, excuse me…”

I gazed down to find a petite, compact, very-attractive woman. Early thirties? She wore heavy makeup with way too much rouge for her pale skin. I didn’t mean to be judgmental, but she would’ve been even more gorgeous if…she wasn’t trying so hard. “Yes?”

“You’re Nicki’s dad, right?”

“I am.”