Teacher's Crossroad

Author's Notes:

Full disclaimer, Teacher's Crossroad, contains scenes of sex. It also includes scenes that may disturb sensitive readers.

That sounds darker than I intended, but I suppose that's what disclaimers do.

All that said, it's a Burnt Redstone story, so truthfully, how dark do you think it's gonna get?

Originally intended to be three separate submissions (parts), I've merged them together for simplicity.

All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 years old or older.

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Teacher's Crossroad

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Part 1

Chapter 1

The ending of one life and the redirection of another fit neatly within a span of a few seconds.

One second: Tyson glares at his wife of twenty years sitting in the passenger seat, though he was already beginning to regret the hurtful words he'd just lashed out.

Two seconds: Tyson catches the motion of something huge and dark, quickly filling the passenger side window behind Imani's angry expression when her lovely face turns to him.

Three seconds: Impacts too extreme to feel and too many to register. Sounds too loud to hear, but distinctly experienced. Flashes of light and dark. Pain and nothingness, too much of both.

Unknown seconds later: Tyson surfaces to see stars through tall grasses, cold water from the ditch soaking through the remains of his clothes. The sensation of pain returns to sweep over him...

...and he knows she's gone.

"NO! No! No..."

Tyson surged up from his pillow to gasp for breath as the recurring nightmare shocked him awake, as it often had over the past five years.

Ghost pain floated over and through his body, forcing him to recall the year he lost in the hospital recovering from his injuries—seemingly endless hours of pushing through the pain to get his body to function again.

Once hands could grip, and arms regained their range of motion, once feet could balance his mass, and legs could support and push his bulk upright, he leaned into the machinery to find a way to cover his mental pain with pure physical agony.

Excess was shed, and he'd carried much of it. It'd felt like layers were peeling away as he struggled to find a reason to continue. He was becoming a new man, but for what?

His frailness gradually became strength, yet he pushed harder. He'd convinced himself that the pain cleansed him, but in truth, it was just avoidance. After a year of merciless exercise routines, the physiotherapists only allowed him brief supervised visits to the gym. This forced him to concentrate on his grief counseling. He needed to stop avoiding the mental anguish that drove him to bury himself in pain.

It took another eight months before the doctors felt he was safe enough to send home.

"Awww, Sugar, is that bad dream back again?"

Her voice was achingly familiar yet so out of place. Tyson's heart clenched each time he heard it, but he refused to respond. He'd clawed his way out of the darkness when he was recovering in the hospital, and the foundation he was building his new life upon depended on the keen edge of his mind. He wasn't going to give up on that now.

Imani was dead. She was gone.

She wasn't sitting at the end of his bed, slim and toned in her silk nightie, her mane of curly hair waiting for his fingers, milk chocolate skin begging to be touched, and watching him with soft brown eyes full of love and compassion.

Tyson dropped back to his pillow as he closed his eyes and rubbed his face.

He ran through his equations- and when he reached the result, he opened his eyes, and as always, she was gone.

The doctors had thrown a lot of jargon at him while they did their best to dissect his feelings, his memories of the crash, and how he felt about his mother. Survivor's Guilt and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder were at the top of the list, but there were so many others; he'd forgotten their names.

He never spoke to the doctors about Imani's occasional nocturnal visits. If he had, he'd likely still be in the hospital. It was simpler to just accept the periodic brain blip and move on. Besides, he had his other love: mathematics, to bring rationality back to his mind.

She'd started appearing to him at night after he'd begun really pushing himself in his physio sessions. As he rested in his bed, muscles screaming in agony, he'd hallucinated that she'd come to visit him. From the start, he knew enough to keep his mouth shut about it. He got information on what it might mean after he was sent home.

He read a lot about what the mind can do to resolve the loss of a loved one, especially after a traumatic accident. His unwillingness to accept her loss, demonstrated just moments ago by his cries when he awoke, meant his mind was looking for ways to fill that gap in his life. Where only vacuum existed, his mind filled the emptiness with... her.

Five years was a long time to carry the hallucinations, but like his self-imposed solitude and his regimented daily schedule, he took comfort in familiarity. Maybe he just wasn't ready to move forward.

As it always did after having the nightmare, his mind returned to the night of the party.

Tyson hadn't even wanted to go. It was Imani who'd been so insistent on getting out of the house, saying they had to make an appearance, as the man had been so supportive. He was the one who'd helped Tyson get his position as a professor of advanced mathematics at the local university. That's what the man told everyone, at least. Tyson knew the truth. It was the Dean's wife who made it happen.

The party was to celebrate the Dean's retirement. Franklin Dunnings was stepping down and had his sights set on a cushy lifestyle in a tropical coastline village in some Central American country. Tyson, Imani, his colleagues and their spouses were all in attendance at the man's home for one last blast before he and his wife set off on this new chapter of their lives.

Tyson wasn't sure if this new plan was something his childhood friend really wanted. Ashley Dunnings, née Ashley Collins, had lived next door to Tyson as far back as he could remember. They went through kindergarten to college together as the best of friends until Tyson's gift of understanding the true nature of numbers, both real and theoretical, pulled him away from their hometown to learn from the masters at several different universities around the world. When he finally returned, he discovered he'd missed his best friend's wedding.

Celebrating his return and happiness that Ashley had found a soul mate, he got a little drunk, fell down some stairs, and ended up in Imani's hospital. She introduced herself to the genius who couldn't navigate five steps, and his heart was hers for the taking.

The night of the party, as the guests arrived, they discovered that Ashley was absent, which was a first. Franklin made excuses for her and insisted the party continue, even though it was Ashley's sparkling personality that made these events work.

Tyson really wanted to leave as he'd never really bonded with Franklin and wasn't terribly sad to see him leave the university. On the other hand, Imani seemed far more comfortable at this party than she had during previous events in this house. He wondered if it was because Ashley wasn't there. He'd noticed a little friction between them in the past.

A very awkward ninety minutes later, Ashley barged into the middle of the party like the winds of wrath. That wasn't an easy impression to pull off for a slim woman with a lovely mane of blonde hair.

They could immediately tell she'd been drinking and crying, but she'd reached the anger phase of whatever she was going through. Tyson shared a nervous look with Imani.

Providing the evening's entertainment, Ashley loudly declared before all of the gathered guests that her husband was having an affair with a young female student. It seemed Ashley had just returned from a detective's office and had incriminating photos to share with all.

When Franklin returned from the cellar with more drinks, the two began a screaming match, which was horrible to witness, and Franklin finally stormed out of the house.

Ashley had nothing left, her anger spent, and she collapsed into a sobbing mess. Tyson moved to help her and shot Imani an incredulous look when his wife made a sound of protest. He collected the crying woman into his arms and carried her upstairs to put her to bed as Imani ensured the remaining guests headed home. The party was over, like Franklin and Ashley's marriage.

Tyson set Ashley on her bed, her beautiful blonde hair spilling out over the pillow beneath her. Their eyes caught, and suddenly he found her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips against his. For the briefest of moments, Tyson let it happen. Then he gently pulled her arms from his neck and his lips from hers. She searched his eyes, but he could only silently shake his head. Their opportunity to be something more than friends had passed. Ashley turned away and cried quietly.

When he stepped out into the hallway, Imani was waiting for him. He looked to her, sad for his friend, and froze when he saw the anger in Imani's eyes.

She thrust a tissue at him, pointing to his mouth. He wiped his lips and saw the lipstick.

"She's drunk—"

"You're not. I'm leaving," Imani snapped and spun to march away, downstairs and out the front door. He hustled to match her angry pace, worried her declaration meant more than its face value.

As he drove them home, he felt her eyes on him.

"She caught me by surprise," he said quietly.

Silence.

His anger began to rise. He hadn't done anything except try to help a friend. Yes, she was a friend, that at one time could have become more, but that hadn't happened, had it. "For fuck's sake, what did you want me to do, turn my back on a friend when she was falling apart?" he exclaimed angrily.

"Is she just a friend? The lipstick says otherwise," Imani snipped.

"I told you! She caught me by surprise. Her marriage just collapsed horribly, and she was hurting! She reached out for something— someone to ease that pain—"

"Naturally, that had to be you!" Imani yelled back.

He sucked in a sharp breath as his rage spiked. He struggled to control his breathing. "You— I— What do you have against Ashley?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that she's after the man who vowed to be my faithful husband," she snarled.

"A vow I've never broken and never will!" he bit back.

As he sped along the winding country lane towards the lake and home, he could hear Imani trying to get control of her own breathing.

"I see how she looks at you every time there's a faculty party with spouses in attendance," she said quietly but with the promise of venom.

"The bitch doesn't know when to say enough."

There it was.

At that moment, he felt like he didn't know this woman sitting next to him. The woman who'd taken his breath away the day they'd met in the hospital. The woman he'd vowed faithfulness to for the rest of his life. While it hadn't been sunshine and rainbows every day, they'd made it to their fifties together, her fiftieth being only a month ago and his three years before. He'd welcomed the idea of their sharing their golden years together. As he stared out the windshield at the old, worn paving and the quiet rail crossing ahead, he wondered if he really knew her at all.

His mind took him to the parties he'd attended at the hospital and at the homes of her coworkers. He knew Imani was well respected and liked by everyone at the hospital. That said, how she'd flash that sexy smile of hers at some of the men and the look he'd seen in their eyes as she moved by had given him moments of insecurity. He'd fought back against those doubts as she'd always touch base with him at those events and give him a little kiss in front of the others. He wondered at her hatred for Ashley when he'd gone through those experiences but had never called her out like this. His mouth began moving before he consciously thought about what he was saying.

"The difference is, I don't act with Ashley as you do with Devon Wilson."

Dr. Wilson was the hospital's chief surgeon. Tall, fit, gorgeous, brilliant, and single, he was the most eligible bachelor—a divorcee, in truth. Apparently, there was something he wasn't good at.

As he watched her turn her face to him, he saw her anger, but there was something else. Something he was deathly afraid of. Could it be doubt... or was it guilt?

Then they were on the tracks.

"NO!" Tyson yelled as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes to rip himself away from his memories.

It was time to get moving. Start his day. Follow the routine.

There was serenity in patterns.

Chapter 2

Christy Taylor was having a bad day, and Fridays were supposed to be good. She pouted, and eyes around her immediately looked her way.

She knew she was beautiful. While genetics had gifted her with so many excellent qualities, she worked hard to ensure that she maximized her assets. She used all the proper skincare products to retain her flawless skin. She followed a rigid diet with natural foods to stay healthy and fit. She went to the gym to keep her svelte body in top condition. Equally important, the salon saw her for visits at least once a week to keep her long wavy blonde hair gleaming and the perfect length and her nails painted in the latest trending color and size.

Her friends all thought she should go into modeling as she had the looks, the poise, and was certainly tall enough, but that wasn't her dream.

She glanced at her hand to admire the deep red of the polish, and her eyes were drawn to the brilliant diamonds on her engagement ring. Once, the sight of it sent thrills through her body. Today, she felt... nothing. Her fiancé, Blake Carlington, was handsome, fit, well connected, and from a family as wealthy as hers was, but she'd learned during their eight months engagement there was no magic between them. No sparks. Even the sex failed to bring her satisfaction.

In the past few months, she'd definitely fallen into a funk. None of the activities that used to bring her joy held any meaning for her. She went through the motions, maintained her appearance, and kept her fashions current, but even shopping had lost its luster.

She wasn't an airhead. Christy hadn't made it this far through good looks and social standing alone. She had a brain and knew how to use it. She was doing well in most of her classes and was looking forward to eventually graduating at the top percentile or had been envisioning that prospect a few months ago.

Now she was being called in to meet with Professor Haley, her mathematics teacher, as her grade was slipping badly in his class. She needed the stupid math course credit to move to her next year, but even the fear of falling behind left her numb.

The ennui she was experiencing was sucking away the significance of everything in her life. Still, she had to keep up appearances.

Christy knocked on the office door and heard a voice call out for her to enter. She stepped through the door into a chaos of paper. From his office's condition, one might build an image of George Haley as a Luddite who refused to move into the digital era. That was only true for his personal work. He, by far, preferred the medium of paper to test out his computation experiments. As for the day-to-day work with the students, the university insisted he give his assignments out digitally, but he snuck papers in as often as possible.

She saw the short and stout man with his trademark Einstein-esque wild white hair and bushy mustache sitting behind his desk. He looked up at her and smiled.

"Ah, Ms. Taylor! What can I do for you?" he asked as he blinked her way.

She reached up and twirled a strand of her blonde locks as she looked back at him. "You asked me to come to see you about my grades."

The professor nodded as he pinched the bridge of his large nose. "Yes, of course. Your grades are beginning to drop, and if you don't turn that around I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to fail you in my class."

"Isn't there a test I can take to bring my grade back up?" she asked.

He gave her a piercing look. "Understanding the material will bring your grade back up. The next exam will be crucial to you. You must have a firm grasp of the course material by then."

She pouted again as she knew she had been suffering a mental block with the last few chapters. "I need a tutor—"

"Yes! I was about to suggest the same!" Haley exclaimed enthusiastically. "I happen to know a local man who's not only a bona fide genius in the field of mathematics, he's one of the most natural teachers I've ever had the honor of working with. To stand any chance at all of learning this material as thoroughly as required in the short time you have, you need someone of his caliber teaching you."

Christy gave the professor a cautious look. "Is he here at the university?"

A sad expression came and went on the short man's face. "Not anymore, no. He... retired, early." His eyes then locked on Christy's. "I hope I'm stressing the significance of the risk you are facing of failing my course. You must get him to agree to tutor you." A determined look came to his face as he seemed to be thinking hard about something. Then a slight smile slipped onto his lips. "I'll provide you with a letter of introduction which should help, but you must convince him to do this."

He grabbed a sheet of paper and his pen and got to writing up the letter.

"If he's as good a teacher as you say, why did he take early retirement?" Christy asked curiously, her genuine intrigue over this mysterious genius beginning to lift the mental lassitude she'd been suffering.

Haley folded and sealed the letter in an envelope. He wrote something quickly on the outside, then handed it to her. Christy's eyes widened when she saw the name above the address.

"Tyson Kane? The man who stopped the terrorists?"

"Stop! Do not mention that event to him or the role he played in it. He lost his wife that night and does not need reminders." He gestured to a picture hanging on the wall showing a thick-bodied bearded man in a suit with his arm around a beautiful slim woman with a large head of curly hair. "All Tyson needs to remember is his joy of teaching. The letter will get you in the door, but you must convince him you'd be a worthy student."

Christy gave the professor a shocked and disgusted look as her mind took her to dark places as he looked at her in confusion. "Are you implying I need to offer him sexual favors—"

"What? NO!" Haley snapped in anger, and it was Christy's turn to look confused. Haley huffed. "Prove you are going to make something of your life. Be worthy of his investment of time. He has no respect for those who drift through life, making minimal effort to contribute. Express to him your drive and ambition. Get him to teach you, and you will pass my course."

Christy looked nervously at the envelope as the importance began to sink in.

"Go see him tomorrow. Do you have plans for your Saturday morning?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"Thank you, Professor Haley," she said as she nodded to him and left the office. She set her course to take her to the library. She'd do some research on Mr. Kane as she would treat this as a business deal she couldn't afford to lose. Christy needed to know everything she could learn about the man she'd be pitching to.

-=-

George Haley dropped his chunky body into his deeply cushioned chair as the pretty blonde left his office. He rested his eyes on the door as his mind struggled with the lie he'd written in the letter to his friend, Tyson. He pushed aside his doubts as the small white lie was justified if he managed to break through the shell Tyson was building around himself. Becoming a recluse at the age of fifty-eight was a crime compounded by how he was depriving the world of his brilliance.