Page 41 of Midlife Crisis

“We didn’t have band. My school cut the arts.” He sits on the stool beside the drum, his eyes still drawn to it. He clasps his hands between his thick legs.

“That’s sad.” The comment seems weak. I glance around the surrounding room, recognizing my children are at an advantage. “It’s expensive to go to school here. I mean, most kids who go here are rich but not everyone, like us. I just want things for my children. When we moved here, we didn’t know which school districts were good, so we took our chances with the grade schools but decided private high school was best.” I pause, hoping I’m explaining myself well enough not to sound like a snob. “When Paul and I divorced, Elston was about to enter high school, and we had it put in the decree that private education at this level remained a must. We share the cut. It’s why I need to work for Pendelton. Besides, it could be the start of something for me.”

Hank watches me, nodding for me to come to him. “Like what?”

“Just something I’ve been thinking about. Maybe trying to do this on my own. Be an independent contractor or something.” I shrug, blowing off the idea since I’ve said it out loud to someone else. My head lowers, and I reach for the two bracelets at the edge of Hank’s cuff. Rolling my fingers over them, I remain quiet.

“Hey.” Hank grips my hips, jiggling me a little. “I think you can do anything you want, little lady. You’re smart enough. Determined enough.” I nod without taking my eyes off the woven leather band and the wooden beads around his wrist.

“What did you want to be when you were younger?” I ask, hoping to shift the conversation from my plans.

“I wanted to be in a band.” My head shoots up and steel eyes of sadness meet mine. “Did you know that’s how I met Tommy?” The question is cautious, hesitant as if he expects me to know something I don’t.

“No. I mean, I know Tommy was in a band. Something about his sister, and they were famous, but I didn’t want to pry. It wasn’t my focus when I met Ivy and Edie. I was all about Rhythm Walk, the fundraiser.” Hank’s eyes lower to my chest, and his head shakes. “Were you in a band?”

Swiping a hand over his hair, he turns his head. “Yeah, I was in a band with Tommy, but that was a long time ago, and a very distant me.” He sighs. I sense this isn’t something he wants to discuss, but he continues.

“His sister was the girl I told you about.” He exhales, then takes a deep breath. “It’s why I’m not married. I asked her several times, but she always said no.” His voice saddens, and it breaks my heart. I can’t imagine someone not loving him. I reach for his cheek, drawing his attention to me. As he peers up, I lean down and kiss him. Tender. Sweet. I want his thoughts restored to me, not some memory haunting him. He smiles when I pull back.

“Lady, those lips,” he mutters. I’m standing between his spread legs, and his hands curve over my backside. “Can I ask you something? Why the fuck did Paul give you up?”

“He wanted a younger model and a different flavor. I caught them on the phone one night. He moved us here for her.”

“Fucking hell,” Hank mutters, and I realize now’s the time to just get it all out.

“They eventually broke up, but by then, I wanted a divorce. He’s found someone else, and they’re getting married this summer. The boys don’t really like her.”

“He’s a fool, but I’m glad he’s stupid. He doesn’t deserve you. Thank God he’s an idiot.”

“Why would you say that?” I chuckle, uncertain if he’s teasing or serious.

“Because you wouldn’t be standing between my legs if he was smart.” With that, he stands abruptly, nearly knocking me over, giving me his signature quick kiss. “Show me more of the school.”

Leading him up the stairwell and down a few hallways, we come to the gymnasium. The school actually has two, but the traditional wood floor one with the school insignia inlay is where we stop. Hank tugs the door handle, but it’s locked. He peers through the windows. “There’s a balcony.”

This reminds me of another way into the gym, and we return to the stairs leading to the theater. Heading for the backstage of the performance, which is a hallway partitioned off by a large curtain, we turn just before it. The door to the balcony remains open as a few of the props are stored here between sets. We walk to the railing, and Hank takes in the dark gym. I’m about to speak when he climbs over the railing and reaches for me.

“What are you doing?” I laugh, feeling like we’re about to do something we shouldn’t.

“Hold my shoulders,” he commands, barely giving me time to do so before hiking me over the railing as well. He balances me on the open bleacher before leading me down the steps. It’s shaky walking in my heels, and as he hops off the last step, he turns for me, lifting me by my hips again. He spins me around and leads me to the center of the empty wooden floor.

“What are we doing?” I repeat, whispering with giggles. Hank holds my hand but walks me in a circle. Tugging me, I step into him, and his arms encircle my waist. My hands come to his shoulders, and he sways. Oh my God, he’s dancing with me.

He hums for a moment, and I slip my hands around his neck. Definitely no longer teenagers, I can still picture us in my head as if we were—a pretty dress on me; a dark suit on him. The idea doesn’t quite work. He’s not the suit type.

“I never went to a high school dance.” I pull back at his admission and scratch lightly at the back of his neck. “Stoner under the stands instead.” He nods at the open bleachers. I can picture him—the cool kid with those hard eyes, a lost soul inside.

“I would have wanted to date you, but you wouldn’t have noticed me. Quiet girl with a book and taking art class.”

“Oh, I would have noticed you, but you would have been out of my league.” He huffs, peering down at me. “But why would you want to date me?”

“Love a bad boy.”

He chuckles lightly, shaking his head again. “There’s a rebel girl inside you.”

“Maybe.” I shrug, knowing he’s onto something. I’m not suggesting I want to be tied up or anything, but I like discovering sex can be a bit more than just missionary. I like sex with him, a lot.

“Paul ever see it?” The question seems strange, but even stranger is my answer.