Swing for the Fences
by Little Buddha
Chapter 24
I was up before my alarm. I hardly got any sleep the night before.
Wide awake. Heart pounding. Nerves coiled like springs in my stomach.
I didn't know exactly what today was going to bring, but I knew one thing:
I wasn't going to spend another second hiding.
I took a dump, showered, and got dressed faster than I ever had before in my life. I barely even checked my hair in the mirror – just ran a hand through it once and called it a day.
Across the room, Jack was still curled up in bed, half-buried in his blanket. I walked over quietly and sat beside him, nudging him gently. If he didn't start going back to classes soon, he was going to get in even more trouble.
"Hey," I said. "Time to get up."
He groaned, pulling the blanket higher.
"Jack," I said, more firmly this time. "We can't win this unless we fight ."
One eye cracked open, then slowly shut again.
"I know that teenage rebel is still in there," I said, nudging him harder. "I've seen him. The guy who publicly called out a teacher because he knew she was wrong. The guy who always writes subversive essays or stories in English class. The guy who started that anonymous Twitter account to call out all the real shit that goes on at prep schools. That guy."
Jack let out the smallest of snorts.
"We need to fight for us ," I said. "I know I'm fighting for you . Because I love you."
That finally got him.
A slow smile crept across his face.
He blinked up at me, and for the first time in days, I saw the faintest flicker of light in his eyes.
"I love you too, Nicky," he murmured, then sat up, stretched like a tired cat, and dragged himself out of bed.
I waited while he brushed his teeth, got dressed, and pulled on the hoodie he always wore when he was feeling vulnerable. I helped him brush his hair, and then, side by side, we walked out of our room and headed to the dining hall.
I was scared shitless.
I had no idea what kind of stares, whispers, or sneers we were about to walk into.
But what I found instead… was family .
The moment we stepped inside, Christian sprinted across the room and threw his arms around both of us like we'd just returned from war. He hugged us hard – too hard – and even gave us both a kiss on the forehead. I have to admit I swooned a little.
A second later, Jonah followed.
Slower. Quieter. His face was blotchy, and his eyes were red.
"I'm so, so sorry," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean to ruin everything. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I swear –"
I wrapped him in a hug before he could finish. "You owe me like a gazillion cuddles now, but I forgive you."
"Thank you, and any time you want," he whimpered.
"Jonah," I said, "this isn't your fault. None of this is your fault. It's the school. The system. The people who can't stand that we're just existing ."
He clung to me for a second longer, then nodded silently.
We made our way to our usual table – and it was full.
Mark, Emery, and Danny were already there, along with a couple of upperclassmen I barely knew, two younger students who always waved to me in World History class, and even Danny's four friends that I met the other day on the quad – the giggly ones. Everyone looked up and smiled when they saw us. Not pitying smiles – just welcoming .
Then came the slow clapping, which I wasn't expecting at all. Had we become some kind of poster children for this "rebellion." The school had sent in extra "monitors" to keep an eye on the dining hall and make sure there were no more "outbursts," but we weren't about to give them that satisfaction, nor were we going to let them intimidate us. We were boys on a mission!
Christian pulled a chair closer. "Okay. Here's the situation."
Jack and I sat down, and Christian leaned in like we were plotting a bank robbery.
"We need your mom to write a formal email to the Dean. That's step one. She lays out how the school is discriminating against you and Jack. We need to get that ball rolling ASAP."
I nodded, still kind of in awe at how quickly he'd turned into our unofficial general.
"Meanwhile," Christian went on, his voice steady but sharp, "the Student Council is drafting a letter to the administration. And it's not just some polite complaint – it's going to be blistering. We're laying out every single double standard we can name. All the parties the school pretended not to notice, the ones with beer cans stacked in plain sight. The drugs they turned a blind eye to. The nights kids were caught sneaking girls onto campus and having sex in the dorms. Guys sneaking off campus to hook up and bragging about it the next day. All of it was brushed under the rug or met with nothing worse than a slap on the wrist. But when it's us? Suddenly, it's a scandal. Suddenly, it's a threat to the school's reputation. We're going to throw their hypocrisy right back in their faces, in writing, with every student signature we can get."
"Compared to us just sleeping in the same bed," I muttered. "And we're roommates; it's not like we snuck off to someone else's room after lights-out."
"Exactly," he said. "This is a double standard, and we're calling it out. Not to mention, these prep schools are terrified of negative publicity. There've been some bad stories about prep schools in the news in recent years, and Harrison West doesn't want to be associated with that."
Christian raised his hand like he was about to call the meeting to order. His voice dropped low, serious. "Before we go any further, we need to be honest about the risk. Legally."
That word alone made my stomach clench.
"We're all sixteen or under," he went on. "Michigan law says that sixteen's the age of consent. If the administration really wants to push this, if we admit to anything – even just fooling around – it could get ugly fast. Not just detentions, not just suspensions. Police. Courts. Records."
Jonah gave a low whistle. At thirteen, still small in his middle school hoodie, he looked more like someone's kid brother than a threat. But his smirk came quick, razor-thin. "So basically, I'm one rumor away from becoming the youngest convict in the county. Awesome. Great start to high school."
Jack snapped around on him. "Don't joke about that."
"I'm not," Jonah said quickly, then shrugged with that crooked grin. "Okay, I am. But also I'm not. If they wanted to, they could wreck me. Us. Orange jumpsuits and ankle monitors for something that never even happened."
Christian's face was grim. "He's not wrong. I talked with my dad's lawyer about this, and he told me that prosecutors usually don't bother with cases where both kids are minors and close in age. But Jonah's thirteen. If someone wanted to make an example out of him – out of any of us – they technically could. And the administration knows it. They don't even need proof, just suspicion."
The air went thick. Jack cursed and started pacing again. "That's insane. We didn't do anything."
"Well, I guess what Christian's saying, babe," I interjected, "is that we didn't violate the school's handbook necessarily, but we might have broken the law , which sounds a lot worse to me. But it also means the school has a problem with its own handbook."
"Either way," Christian said. "There is a lot of vagueness, and it's not all black and white. My dad's lawyer says we can't give them anything. No jokes. No half-confessions. Not even hints. We keep it airtight: nothing happened. Because it didn't."
Jonah leaned forward, balancing his chair on two legs like he didn't care if he tipped.
"So, our new motto is: keep your mouth shut, keep your pants zipped. Boom. Iron-clad legal strategy."
"Jonah," I groaned, but even Christian cracked the faintest smile.
Jonah grinned back, but it wavered. He let the chair legs hit the floor with a thud and rubbed the back of his neck. "Truth is… it scares me. If they decide to go after somebody, I'm the easiest target. I'm the youngest. I look like a kid. If they need a scapegoat, I'm it."
For a second, the room froze. Jack stopped pacing. Christian's jaw tightened.
"They won't," Jack said firmly, though his voice was rough. "We won't let them."
"Yeah, well," Jonah muttered, trying to mask it with a smirk again, "remind me of that when I'm starring in Orange Is the New Freshman. "
But his eyes didn't match the joke. They looked scared, and it hit me in the chest harder than anything else.
Christian leaned forward, sharper now. "That's why we fight smart. We stick to the truth on our end and then slam them for all the hypocrisy on their end. And if they press, we put them on trial. All the parties, all the hookups, all the drugs and booze they ignored because the kids were straight. We don't just defend ourselves – we expose them. We've got them by the balls, and pretty soon they're going to know it."
Jonah gave a short, bitter laugh. " Hypocrisy High . We should put that on the school crest."
Jack exhaled hard but nodded. "So, we fight. Not just to clear our names, but to show everyone what the administration really is."
"Exactly," Christian said. "Letters. Petitions. Walkouts. Whatever it takes. If we're loud enough, if we're united enough, it stops being about us defending ourselves and becomes about them defending their hypocrisy. "
The silence that followed wasn't heavy anymore. It buzzed, like static before a storm.
I sat back, trying to slow my heartbeat. Christian's plan – or his dad's lawyer's plan – sounded pretty solid. Jonah's jokes, shaky as they were, weirdly helped. And for the first time in weeks, I felt a spark of hope. Maybe we weren't helpless. Perhaps we could fight.
But that spark carried shadows with it. Jonah was thirteen. Thirteen. He was still a middle schooler who should be worrying about geometry homework, not whether the school was going to brand him a criminal, even though he didn't do anything other than start the "rumor." Seeing him grinning through his fear broke something open inside me. He felt like my little brother – loud, obnoxious, impossible not to love – and I couldn't stand the thought of them throwing him under the bus just because he was the youngest.
I wanted to fight. I was committed to fighting. But beneath the resolve, I couldn't shake the paranoia that maybe we were standing on a cliff edge, kids daring the adults to push us, in a game that had been rigged against us from the start. And if the push came, I didn't know if even all of us together could stop it.
And even if we walked away from this with our names cleared, I knew the school wouldn't leave things as they were. Sooner or later, somebody in the administration was going to realize that the handbook didn't line up with state law, and they'd rewrite it to slam the door shut on everything. No more "discouraged," just strictly forbidden across the board. That would tick off a ton of students – because plenty of them were already sneaking around – but for me and Jack, it cut deeper. It meant that every little moment we shared would have to be that much more careful, quieter, hidden. And no matter how solid our defense felt now, the thought of them splitting us into different dorms still loomed in the back of my head. That possibility felt like the one thing I couldn't fight off, and it scared me more than anything else.
After all that, the room felt tight with nerves, like we were all holding our breath. Christian finally clapped his hands together. "Okay. Fifteen-minute break. Bathroom, vending machines, whatever you need. Clear your heads, then we'll pick this back up. And try to keep it in your pants while we're on break."
Everyone cracked up at that, especially since Christian sounded so serious when he said it. But we all really needed that laugh.
Jonah immediately shot to his feet. "Translation: snack raid. I call dibs on the last pack of Sour Patch Kids."
"You can have them," Jack muttered, rubbing his temples. "I just need water. And maybe a new life."
Christian rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. "Hydrate first, existential crisis later."
We slipped out into the hall, and for a few minutes, the tension eased. The vending machines hummed, and the sound of soda cans cracking filled the silence that had been strangling us. Jonah came back triumphant, waving a Sprite like it was a trophy. He chugged half in one go, only to burp so loud that a couple of kids grabbing snacks nearby burst out laughing.
"Classy," Jack said dryly.
"Don't hate greatness," Jonah replied, tossing a handful of chips into his mouth. "And be glad it wasn't one of my 'special farts.'"
I couldn't help but laugh. It was surreal – one second we were talking about lawyers and handbooks and whether we'd end up expelled, and the next we were just kids scarfing candy in the hallway. It almost felt normal, and I clung to that feeling for as long as I could.
When we finally shuffled back into the lounge, Christian glanced at the clock and motioned for everyone to sit. His tone snapped back into gear. "All right, gentlemen," he said. "Break time's over. Let's finish what we started."
"What about a student walkout?" I asked before I could second-guess myself. The words hung in the air like a dare.
They all looked at me. Jack's eyebrows shot up, Jonah leaned back with his arms crossed, and Christian tilted his head with a half-grin on his face.
"A walkout?" Jonah echoed, a skeptical edge in his voice.
"Yeah," I said, trying to keep my tone steady. "Think about it. If we just sit here and complain, they'll steamroll us. But if we get people actually to walk out of class – everyone, not just us – it forces the school to deal with it. They can't just sweep this under the rug if half the student body's standing outside the gates or clogging up the quad."
Mark's eyes lit up. "It would make the hypocrisy impossible to ignore," he said, almost to himself. "They'd look like complete cowards punishing us while letting everything else slide."
Jack ran a hand through his hair, pacing again. "It'd put them on the spot," he admitted.
"All of a sudden, it's not just our word against theirs. It's visible. Loud."
Jonah smirked, shaking his head. "Or it's a fast-track to detention city. They'll call it insubordination, or 'disrupting the academic environment,' or whatever excuse they dig out of the handbook."
"Maybe," I said, my heart pounding harder with every word. "But at least it won't be us hiding in our rooms, just waiting for them to ruin us. At least it'll be us taking the fight to them."
For a second, nobody answered. The silence was heavy, but not the crushing kind we'd been living under since the accusations started. This felt different. Like the pause before something bigger.
Christian finally nodded, slow and deliberate. "A walkout could work," he said. "If we get the numbers. If people know it's about more than us – it's about all of them too. And actually, I think the Rainbow-Straight Alliance is already planning one for Wednesday during morning assembly. They should have flyers out by tomorrow. The staff won't know until it's too late to stop it. At least half the school's already on board."
And sitting there, watching my friends' faces shift from doubt to possibility, I realized that for the first time since the whole nightmare began, I felt like we weren't cornered anymore. We had a way to fight back.
They weren't just fighting for us .
They were fighting for what this school claimed to stand for, and many were fighting for themselves as well.
And I couldn't believe it.
"Why are you doing all this, Christian?" someone asked. "I didn't take you for the type to be in the 'Rainbow-Straight Alliance' at school."
Christian just laughed. "Well, the name of the club includes the word 'straight,' so I'm pretty sure I'm allowed to be a part of it. Secondly, I love my brother more than you can imagine, and I'll always stand up for him and protect him. Not to mention, I'll always fight for my friends. I've told you all that before."
After breakfast, during my free period, I returned to my room. Jack stayed behind to talk to Jonah and Danny – who were looking a little closer than before, actually – and I sat on the edge of my bed with my phone in my hand, staring at my mom's contact.
My thumb hovered for a second.
Then I tapped.
She picked up on the second ring. "Nick?"
"Hi, Mom."
"Sweetheart – are you okay? What's going on? I got a very strange voicemail from the school this weekend, and then nothing else. I've been waiting for you to call."
"Yeah, um…" I took a breath. "It's a long story."
And I told her everything.
From Jonah's ridiculous breakfast announcement to Mr. G's sudden switch from mentor to morality police – which was maybe the hugest disappointment of all to me personally – to the unfair punishment the school was trying to impose.
She didn't interrupt once.
But I could hear the temperature in her voice dropping by the second.
By the end, she was furious .
"They want to separate you and punish you for what , exactly? Being in love? Existing as queer kids? Sharing a bed? Showing age-appropriate affection? Is that the crime now?"
"I guess so," I muttered.
"Okay. Then they've picked a fight," she said. "And they're not going to win it."
I blinked. "Wait—you're not mad?"
"Mad at you ?" she said. "Absolutely not. I'm proud of you, Nick. So proud I might scream."
That's when the tears hit.
I sniffled. "I was so scared you'd say I ruined everything."
"You're fighting for yourself," she said. "And for your friends. That's what good people do. Tell Christian I'll email the Dean tonight. And I'll make it clear this is just the beginning. I'll also email you a copy of the letter so you can share it with your friends and so we're all on the same page. I'll also start to research news organizations we could reach out to, if it comes to that."
After we hung up, I sat in stunned silence for a minute.
Then I texted Christian:
She's in.
He replied in all caps, LEGEND .
And yeah… she kind of was.
Maybe we really could win this.
Maybe we already were.
Now I just had to make sure I held on to Jack, kept his head above water, and let him know that I wouldn't let him get hurt.
My mother was true to her word. As soon as I got back from the dining hall with the other boys, I sat with my laptop, constantly hitting 'refresh' on my computer to see if my mother had sent her email yet. At 6:47, when the email finally arrived, I immediately began to hoot and holler and jump around my room. Even Jack managed to smile and giggled at my antics.
I could barely contain myself during prep, and Jack's own antics were certainly … distracting. When Mr. G stopped by several times during prep to check on us, though, I could barely withhold my disdain for him and what part he had played in all of this. It felt like the ultimate betrayal, and I would make sure that he went down for this as well. No mercy, bitches!
I immediately forwarded my mom's email to Christian, who texted back: Fire!
Christian said that the Student Council had almost finished drafting their letter to the administration as well, and the Rainbow-Student Alliance – including some teachers – would be providing more details on the "walk out" in a meeting after prep.
Were we actually going to pull this off?
That night, after prep, Jack and I walked side by side through the near-empty halls of the library, following the quiet hum of voices down the corridor until we reached the big conference room tucked behind the archives.
What I saw when I stepped inside made me stop in my tracks.
It was packed .
Not just our usual crew – Mark, Emery, Jonah, Danny – but everyone . Kids I knew only vaguely from classes or shared meals in the dining hall. Freshmen with nervous eyes. Jocks with crossed arms and stormy faces. A few teachers, too – our World History teacher, Mr. Bellemare, was there, along with Ms. Freeman from the art department, and even Mr. Patel, a Physics teacher, leaning casually against the wall with a coffee in hand.
It was… surreal.
It looked like a real movement.
This wasn't just a club meeting. This wasn't just our group of misfit queers and their (many) straight allies venting over lukewarm pizza. I had to wonder how many of these kids were just "allies" and how many themselves were gay.
As we stood around waiting for the meeting to start, a nerdy-looking boy with round glasses and a slightly crooked smile came up and introduced himself. "I'm Curtis," he said. "I'm a sophomore. Are you the one who started all this?"
I scratched the back of my neck. "Kind of," I said, not quite sure if that was something to be proud of yet.
I noticed a patch sewn onto his jacket – a flag with stripes of light blue, pink, and white, but shaped like a rainbow. It wasn't the usual LGBTQ+ flag I'd seen.
"What's that one for?" I asked, pointing to it.
"Oh, that's the trans flag," Curtis replied. "I'm a trans boy."
"Oh, cool," I said, maybe a little too quickly. "I've never seen that one before."
"Well, now you have," he said with a wink, then disappeared back into the crowd.
I kind of wished Curtis hadn't rushed off so quickly. I had a lot of questions. I admit that I was totally ignorant of the trans movement, but I wanted to know more. I was just afraid that my naïve questions would accidentally offend someone, so I guess I was a little scared to ask. But I did think it was totally cool that Harrison West was even more diverse than I realized (except for the fact that there were hardly any black students there, which really bothered me).
I stood there for a few more moments, thinking about it – I'd had my mind opened tonight. The fact that transgender boys were allowed at Harrison West – that they could be open about it – actually struck me as kind of amazing. Maybe the school wasn't so backwards after all. Maybe it wasn't the place itself that was broken – just a few people in charge who had forgotten what the school was supposed to stand for.
I caught Christian's eye from across the room. He gave me the smallest nod – one of those steady, anchor-you-to-the-ground nods – and then stood up on a chair in the front of the room.
"All right, everyone," he said, raising a hand. "Let's bring it down."
The room quieted almost instantly.
Christian jumped down from the chair and stepped over to a stack of papers on the table beside him. "Thanks for coming. I know this is short notice, and I know a lot of you are scared or angry or both. So are we."
He began passing stacks of paper down the rows.
"This," he said, "is a letter from the Student Council. It's going to be formally delivered to the administration tomorrow morning."
My hands trembled as I took my copy and scanned the first few lines.
To the Administration of Harrison West Academy: We, the undersigned members of the Student Council, representing a wide cross-section of the student body, write to express our deep concern and unified opposition to the discriminatory disciplinary actions recently taken against several of our peers...
My heart thudded louder with every line.
They had named us . They had said it – discriminatory . And not just as an accusation, but as a fact.
Christian kept speaking. "This letter lays out exactly what we've witnessed over the years – how queer students are disproportionately scrutinized for behavior that goes completely unnoticed in their straight peers. How parties, alcohol, and hookups are routinely ignored as long as they fit a certain image. And how this school, while claiming to be inclusive, has allowed a culture of selective punishment, whispered judgment, and institutional homophobia to flourish unabated."
A murmur of agreement rolled through the room like a low wind.
"We're not asking the administration to lower their standards," he said. "We're demanding that those standards be applied fairly. Consistently. Without prejudice. We also ask those young people here who are innocently discovering and exploring their sexuality for the first time, experiencing first love, and all that comes with that, to be allowed to do so in peace, without fear of reprisals from the school or a few bullies. They should know that this is a safe space for them, and there's nothing wrong with exploring these new feelings so long as they are kept private, behind closed doors, and most importantly, are fully consensual .
He looked right at me, and I knew he could see the tears in my eyes.
"Nick Kincaid's mom has already taken the first step by emailing the Dean. And tomorrow, the Student Council is making its position official. But we need more than letters. We need unity. Visibility. Pressure."
He stepped back and let the silence hang, just for a moment. Christian was a natural, so much charisma and passion. He would make an excellent politician one day!
Then he said, "The Rainbow-Straight Alliance is organizing a walk-out during morning assembly on Wednesday. Anyone who wants to join, show up at the quad, 8:45 sharp.
We leave together . We sit together . And we let them see exactly who they're messing with."
Jack reached over and gripped my hand.
I couldn't speak.
There weren't words for the way my chest ached – not with pain, but with some swelling, an impossible thing I hadn't felt in days.
Hope.
These people – my friends, my classmates, my school – were showing up.
Not just for me.
But for all of us .
And suddenly, I wasn't scared anymore.
I was ready.
The meeting finally broke up just before lights-out. People lingered – whispers and handshakes, supportive glances, a few brave souls even hugging Jack, who looked stunned but grateful. It felt like the tail end of something big. Like the moment before a storm breaks, when everything goes still.
As the room emptied out, I found Christian by the front doors of the library, where the glass caught reflections of soft hallway lights and falling snow.
He was zipping up his jacket when I walked over.
"Hey," I said.
He glanced at me, smiling gently. "You good?"
"I… yeah," I lied. "Sort of."
He waited.
"There's just –" I hesitated, then took a breath. "There's something that's been bothering me. A lot , actually."
His brows lifted slightly. "Go on."
"It's Mr. G," I said. "I don't get it. He's always been on our side. He let Jack and me stay up late watching movies. He used to bring us snacks during prep. He gave me my meds and ruffled my hair like he cared . And then suddenly he's standing there, calling us irresponsible, talking about brothels, and saying we've disappointed him."
Christian's smile faded. He looked down for a second, then rubbed the back of his neck.
"You haven't heard the whole story," he said softly.
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
He motioned for me to walk with him down the darkened hall, and we slowly made our way past the trophy cases and reading nooks, our steps muffled by the old rugs.
Christian kept his voice low.
"After Jonah's little performance in the dining hall, one of the parent volunteers, Karen , went straight to the Dean, like you know. But what you don't know is that she didn't just file a complaint. She named Mr. G."
My stomach twisted.
"She accused him of allowing inappropriate behavior in the dorm," Christian said. "Said he'd 'encouraged a sexually permissive environment' and 'failed to supervise' students under his care. She basically accused him of facilitating misconduct ."
"What?" I breathed. "But he didn't – he didn't do anything wrong!"
Christian nodded. "Yeah. But the school panicked. They pulled Mr. G into a meeting with the Dean and two Board members that night. From what I heard, they basically gave him a choice: publicly reprimand the students and demonstrate that he was 'restoring order'… or risk losing his job."
I felt like the floor dropped out from under me.
"So that's what that was," I said. "In the office. He wasn't yelling at us , not really. He was trying to save himself."
Christian gave a tired little shrug. "Doesn't make it okay. Doesn't make it hurt less. But yeah… he was trying to protect himself. And probably – on some level – trying to protect you , too. If he didn't act like it was serious, the school might've taken things even further."
I was quiet for a long time.
We stopped by the main staircase. The hallway was empty now, lit only by the emergency lights buzzing faintly overhead.
I leaned against the wall and exhaled.
"I hated him," I said. "For what he said. For making Jack cry. For turning his back on us."
"I know," Christian said.
I looked over at him. "Do you think he's sorry?"
Christian didn't answer right away.
"I think," he said slowly, "he's stuck between being who he is and who the school wants him to be. And I think that hurts him more than he's letting on."
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.
I still didn't know if I could forgive Mr. G. Not yet.
But at least now I kind of understood.
By the time Jack and I made it back to our room, I felt wrung out. Between classes, the heavy meeting, and everything swirling in my head, I just wanted to collapse. Jack shut the door behind us and leaned against it for a second, his face tired but softer than it had been in days.
"We survived," he said quietly.
"Barely," I muttered, kicking off my shoes. Then I looked at him and couldn't help smiling. "But we're still standing."
He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around me, resting his forehead against mine. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'll never have to find out," I whispered back.
We double-checked the door, pulled the shades, and made sure our underwear was firmly in place before climbing into my bed. Jack curled against me, his head tucked into my shoulder, and I propped up the tablet so we could catch up on RuPaul's Drag Race .
The queens' jokes and glittering performances felt like they belonged to another world – bright, ridiculous, comforting—and for a little while, it was just us again. Jack laughed under his breath at the shade being thrown on screen, and I couldn't stop smiling at the sound.
We didn't talk much – there weren't really words for everything weighing on us – but his hand resting on mine said enough. Somewhere between RuPaul's voice and the steady rhythm of Jack's breathing, our eyes closed. The day's battles lingered at the edges of my thoughts, along with the fear of what tomorrow might bring. But lying there with him, warm and safe for the moment, I let myself believe – just a little – that maybe we really could make it through.
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
