The Professor’s Date (The Script Club #5) Read Online Lane Hayes

Categories Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Script Club Series by Lane Hayes
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Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
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Mrs. R nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. Michael Burns is one of our top salesmen. The company just sponsored a huge bonfire in La Jolla last weekend and—”

“Yes! That’s why it’s so fresh in my mind. Here, honey, hold this. I gotta show him this photo.” Mr. R handed over his wineglass and snaked his phone from his coat pocket. He scrolled through his photos, unaware of my blank stare and Thomas’s worried frown. “Look, strangest thing. You’re Michael’s doppelganger. Uncanny, isn’t it?”

Mr. R tapped his screen meaningfully before shoving his cell into my hand and pointing at a photo of him with his arm around my dad.

My dad.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

“Uncanny, isn’t it? We were talking about kids and I swear he said he had a son. It’s got to be you. C’mon, fess up,” he cajoled.

“Uh…”

Mrs. R shook her head. “No, no. You’re wrong, dear.”

“What d’ya mean I’m wrong? Let’s take a selfie. I have to show him,” Mr. R insisted.

I opened my mouth to protest. No. No way. No. But I couldn’t form words fast enough, and the Remingtons couldn’t stop talking. Mr. R was trying to figure out how to work his camera while his wife jabbered about how lovely the Burnses were.

“Such nice Christians. Good, hardworking people. They’re very involved in their church.”

Mr. R swayed drunkenly. “I can’t get the camera to work. You do it, Tommy. You’re the smart one here.”

Thomas took the phone and set his free hand on my back. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, but Remington was talking again. “You know, I think their son was named Noah. I swear that’s what they said.”

“Oh, honey, yes,” Mrs. R chimed in. “But Noah died, remember?”

An invisible knife tore through my heart and gutted me from the inside. I couldn’t breathe for a few seconds.

Thomas’s hand stilled as he studied the photo. “Oh, Noah.”

“Jesus, that’s right. I think it was a car crash or something. He was twenty-three. It’s all coming back to me. Okay, no photo. That’s tacky. But you have to admit, it’s a wonder.” Mr. Remington returned his cell to his pocket and thanked his wife for holding his wine. “We’d better say good night to the Smiths. We’ll see you boys on the tennis court in the morning.”

They were gone in a rush of expensive cologne and wine. I clung to those scents as my world teetered slightly and memories hit me like grenades.

Lying in a hospital bed with tubes in my throat, broken bones, and a battered face.

“You’ve destroyed our family.”

“You’ve shamed yourself and us and everyone who thought they knew you.”

“If anyone asks, we’ll tell them you’re dead.”

“Noah. Noah?” Thomas put his hand under my chin. “Look at me, baby.”

“Yeah,” I breathed.

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

I sucked in a deep gulp of air, pulled out of his grasp, and rushed down the short set of stairs to the garden, where I promptly puked in the Remingtons’ rose bushes. Tears streamed down my face as my body turned itself inside out. I couldn’t stop shaking and dry heaving. I could hear Thomas bark at someone to grab me a water, assuring them I’d be okay, telling them he’d take care of me. Jesus, it all made me want to fucking cry.

When the worst of the spasms passed, I buried my head in my hands and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Shh. It’s okay. C’mon. We’re leaving.”

I stripped and showered when we got back to our room. I didn’t feel any cleaner. I felt dirty and gross. I was so fucking afraid of contaminating Thomas with the ugliness inside me, but on the other hand, all I wanted was to curl up into a ball next to him. So I did. He held me while I alternately shook and whimpered against the deep, searing pain wracking my body.

I must have slept at some point. The blackout curtains in the room were parted just enough to allow a sliver of light to cut across the duvet the next morning. I stared at the spear of sunlight till my eyes hurt, and heard my mother’s voice. “I hope you know you’ll be alone forever. This wasn’t our choice. It was yours.”

And my dad wouldn’t look at me.

I sat up quickly and took half of the covers with me.

“Noah?”

“I’m okay.” I shifted to face Thomas, memorizing his features in the semidark. His stubbled jaw, sleep-mussed hair, and heavy eyes.

He propped himself against the headboard and opened his arms. “C’mere.”

I wanted to refuse, but I started shaking again. And next thing I knew, he was holding me and I was sobbing like a child. I didn’t say a word. He didn’t either. He just held me.

And I let him.

12

TOMMY

I’d never seen anyone in that kind of pain. Deep and guttural. I wasn’t sure how to comfort Noah, so I just held on and waited for the storm to pass. I ordered toast and coffee, and set a place for him at the table next to the window, then texted my mom to let her know we were heading out early.


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