by Ariel Tachna
Thane glared at him, but Blake refused to back down. He had a job to do, boys to protect, and a school to run. He refused to be intimidated by anyone. Even the man who’d been the subject of his first wet dream.
“As I was saying, new students, students who don’t have a lot of social skills, and students who don’t fit the mold are the most frequent victims of bullying. In this case, I believe it’s a matter of Phillip and Kit being new. They haven’t had long enough to make new friends and find a niche for themselves, so the hyenas have closed in. Unfortunately, once that starts, it makes it harder for the victims to find their peer group because it’s a bigger risk to befriend someone who’s already being picked on than it is to simply befriend someone new.”
“That’s all very interesting, but it’s not a solution,” Thane said with a scowl.
Blake ignored him and turned to Phillip and Kit. “Have you boys learned anything about building from your uncle?”
“A little,” Phillip said. “We go with him to jobsites on the weekends sometimes to earn a little spending money. Kit’s too young to work officially, but we hang out with him.”
“Then I have a proposal. The theater department is looking for volunteers for the stage crew. You’d be helping to build the sets, so some basic sawing, hammer and nails, maybe a screwdriver, a paintbrush, nothing terribly complicated, but theater kids are a tight-knit group. They’d give you those friends to hang out with, which would make it harder for the bullies to isolate you.”
“Theater?” Thane said. “That’s the best you can come up with?”
“If you have suggestions, I’m happy to listen to them,” Blake said. “But if all you’re going to do is criticize my suggestions, then let me explain the other options to you. This will go on record as being assigned as community service. Their other choices are three days of out-of-school suspension or two weeks of in-school suspension. Those look far worse on their record than community service, not to mention the instructional time they’ll lose and the fact that it will bring them to the attention of the real delinquents in the school, which I don’t think you want. I don’t make the rules, Mr. Dalton, but I am doing my best to work within them to help your boys.”
Thane didn’t look convinced, not that Blake blamed him. He’d heard enough stories about Thane’s adventures in high school to understand that he didn’t have a lot of respect for school administrators. Few people outside the profession understood the tightrope Blake walked on a daily basis and all the regulations imposed on him by a system outside his control. He’d gotten good at finding creative ways to bend the rules, but it only worked if the parents were on board too.
When Thane didn’t offer any alternatives, Blake turned back to Kit and Phillip. “What do you think? Do you want to try stage crew?”
“It’s better than ISS or being suspended,” Phillip said. “It’s not like it can make things worse.”
Thane looked like he was about to say something cutting, so Blake gave him his best “don’t you dare” stare. He knew Thane’s type. As much as he’d crushed on him that year in high school, he’d had a few years to learn what boys—and men—like him thought about theater. Band was okay, but theater was for the fags. If Kit and Phillip had any musical background, they’d already be in band instead of taking pottery. If he had to guess, that had been stuck in their schedule to fill a hole rather than because they had any interest in it. He could be wrong—it wouldn’t be the first time—but Phillip and Kit didn’t strike him as the pottery type.
To his surprise, Thane didn’t say whatever he’d been about to say. Blake hadn’t expected his stare to work.
Kit looked at his uncle for some kind of guidance. Blake braced himself to make his case again against Thane’s disapproval, but Thane met Kit’s gaze impassively. “It’s your time. It’s your decision.”
Kit looked up at Blake. “How long do we have to work on it for, if we decide we don’t like it?”
“The entire preparation for the play only lasts eight to ten weeks,” Blake said. “Most of the building crew stays around for the performances and helps manage props or lights or other things, but that’s not really a requirement. To answer your question, though, give it four weeks. If, at the end of that time, you don’t wish to continue, we’ll consider your community service complete.”
“We can do four weeks, right, Kit?” Phillip said.
“Right.”
Blake turned back to Thane. “Then we’re in agreement. Boys, let me get security to walk you back to class. Mr. Dalton, could I have five more minutes of your time?”
“I want to talk to Kit and Phillip before they go back to class,” Thane said.
“That’s fine. Boys, if you’ll wait outside with Ms. Wright, I’ll call security to escort you back to class after you’ve talked to your uncle.”
Kit and Phillip filed out and closed the door behind them.
“You’re welcome to sit,” Blake offered. “This won’t take long.”
Thane sat in one of the chairs his nephews had just vacated, but having him at eye level instead of looming did nothing to reduce the impact of his presence in the room. “I need you to reinforce at home that violence doesn’t help the situation and that Kit and Phillip need to report any actions against them rather than fighting back. I can help them if they report bullies. I can’t help them if they fight the bullies.”
“You really expect me to believe that will work?” Thane scoffed. “It hasn’t been that long since I was in high school. I don’t think things have changed all that much.”
“What’s changed are the rules, Mr. Dalton. When we were in school, fighting got you suspended for a few days, and that was it. Now, it can get you sent to the alternative school or expelled. Not quite the same order of magnitude.”
“And not fighting back can get you gang-raped,” Thane said bluntly.
Blake winced. “They didn’t tell me that part.” The thought had crossed his mind, but he’d hoped…. Well, it didn’t matter what he’d hoped. “Then I’ve changed my mind. I need you to convince them to tell me the whole truth, because that’s a whole different situation than bullying. Not that I condone bullying, you understand, but bullying is an internal school matter. Rape is a crime.”
“They didn’t tell me either, but they didn’t have to,” Thane said.
“No, I don’t imagine they did, but they do have to tell me if their aggressors made that threat. I can’t go on hearsay or supposition. One of them has to tell me exactly what threats were made and by whom. If they will do that, then I have options that aren’t currently open to me,” Blake explained.
“Options,” Thane repeated with a roll of his eyes. “Tell me why I shouldn’t just pull them out and enroll them somewhere else.”
“Because without an explanation for what happened this month, the district won’t allow the transfer unless you move,” Blake said. “You could look into private schools, but they’re going to take one look at the discipline record and make assumptions about your nephews that will probably result in them being isolated there as well. I understand your frustration—”
“You understand shit. I know your type. You grew up in some rich neighborhood, went to some fancy school, and haven’t ever had to deal with any real hardship. Kit and Phillip lost their father when they were small. Kit doesn’t remember him at all. Last month their mother died of cancer. And now they’re having to deal with a bunch of ignorant-ass jocks who think they run the school because they’re good on the football field or a basketball court or wherever. They’ve had enough.”
Blake’s heart broke for Kit and Phillip, hearing it all laid out that way, and it only increased his determination to find a solution that would protect them and help them get settled in their new lives at the same time.
“You’ve made it very clear what you think of me, regardless of how far off base you are in your assumptions, but that doesn’t change the fact that right now, you and I are the only people in their corner. You
can curse the system all you want, but the fact of the matter is I do know how to play it, so it really comes down to one question: Are you going to help me play the system or are you going to fight me the whole time and put your nephews’ future at risk?”
Chapter Three
THANE stared across the desk at the man who held Kit’s and Phillip’s future in his hands. God, he wanted to hate the man in his starched white shirt and perfectly knotted tie. He wanted to pick up the chair he was sitting on, put it through the asshole’s desk, and tell him to go to hell and take his entire system with him. He could do it. He might own Dalton Construction, but he still spent his days on one worksite or another. He had the strength to do it, and he was angry enough to use that strength, but it wouldn’t solve anything. Barnes had him by the balls, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
“You have four weeks,” he spat. “If your plan works in that time, we’ll call it even. If it doesn’t, or if it gets worse between now and then, I’m done with waiting and playing by asinine rules.”
“That’s reasonable,” Barnes replied in that same even tone that made Thane want to pinch him just to see if he was capable of reacting. “You didn’t answer my question, though. Are you going to help me or are you going to fight me the whole time? Because I can tell you now that if you fight me, it won’t work. I work with teens, and I know all the ways they interact with their parents.”
“I’m their uncle, not their father,” Thane muttered.
“You’re their legal guardian. For all intents and purposes, that makes you their parent. As I was saying, I know all the ways teens interact with their parental figures. I saw how they look at you. They’re scared, which is perfectly logical after everything they’ve been through, half of the situation and at least half that you’ll change your mind, and they want your approval desperately so you won’t throw them back. If you don’t make them believe this is the best idea you’ve ever heard, they won’t put their hearts into it, and if they go in with sullen attitudes and long faces, the regulars in the theater program are going to know they’re there because they have to be instead of because they want to be. My entire plan depends on them making friends and becoming part of a group that will embrace them. Don’t undermine that before it ever has a chance to work.”
Not only did he have to deal with this shit for a month, but he had to pretend to think it was a good idea? No way in hell Kit and Phillip would believe that. Barnes might think they were that stupid, but Thane knew better. His boys were sharp as tacks. They’d just had a rough year. They were entitled to some struggles with academics and everything else. Not like he could help them much either. He could teach them how to swing a hammer, but he’d stacked his high school schedule with as many shop classes as they’d let him take. Academics had definitely not been for him. At least the boys had gotten Lily’s intelligence.
“How do you suggest I do that?” he demanded.
Barnes shrugged. “They’re going to be building sets. You could offer to help. You could keep an eye on them to make sure they’re safe and get to spend some quality time with them all at once.”
Thane snorted. “Free labor? Am I supposed to donate supplies too? I run a business, not a charity.”
“It was a suggestion, not an order,” Barnes said mildly. “You asked for suggestions, so I gave you one. And no, you don’t need to donate supplies. The theater department has a budget for sets, costumes, and the rights to put on the performance. All you’d be doing is providing the students with a little expert guidance and spending time with your nephews. This is not our first performance. Our team knows what they’re doing.”
Thane felt the sting of the gentle reproof but ignored it. Maybe Barnes really hadn’t been trying to take advantage, but enough people had in the past to justify Thane’s distrust.
“I’ll think about it. If there’s nothing else, Mr. Barnes, I have a business to run.” He also had two scared boys to talk to, but that was between them. Barnes didn’t have any part in it.
“Help me make this work. That’s all I ask,” Barnes said.
Thane nodded sharply and rose. He had to get out of this office. Too many memories, for all that this office looked very little like the one at Tates Creek where he’d spent more time than he cared to admit. High school hadn’t been the most successful stage of his life.
He walked out of the office to find Kit and Phillip sitting with the secretary. So much for any heart-to-heart talks, not that he was any good with those regardless of the circumstances. Kit and Phillip stood up immediately, rocking on the balls of their feet like they were caught between running and standing their ground.
He reached for them to clasp their shoulders in a strong grip and met their eyes each in turn. “We will find a solution,” he said. “If this isn’t it, we’ll do something else. I won’t let anything else happen to you. I swear.”
Tears welled up in Kit’s eyes, wetting his lashes and making him look like a kicked puppy, but Thane read the gratitude there as well. He squeezed Kit’s shoulder more tightly. Phillip hid his emotions better, his face impassive, but the way he clung to Thane’s arm gave him away. “Stay in busy areas in view of teachers as much as you can. If they can’t get you alone, it’s harder to pick a fight because there will be witnesses and people you can ask for help.”
“We’ll try, Uncle Thane,” Phillip said in a wobbly voice. He might’ve had the poker face down pat, but he needed to work on the rest.
“That’s my boys.” He squeezed their shoulders one more time and took a step back. “I have to go back to work. I’ll see you at home tonight.”
They both nodded and returned to their seats. He wanted to say something else, but words had never been his strength. He preferred action, but he had no authority here to act. He bit back a frustrated growl and stalked out of the office. He’d spend the afternoon pounding nails. That would release his tension better than any other option open to him. Kind of hard to pound a willing ass with two teenagers sleeping in the next room.
BLAKE slumped back in his chair when the door closed behind Thane. He wasn’t fourteen and figuring out his sexuality anymore. He knew exactly who he was and what he wanted—and Thane Dalton wasn’t it. Sure, he was nice to look at, but Blake had no use for the Neanderthal caveman type. Especially a judgmental Neanderthal caveman.
Then why did Thane still have the ability to leave him completely unsettled? He had to pull it together or Heidi would have a field day with him when they met for their regular Friday happy hour. He’d put money on her remembering Thane too, and if she remembered Thane, she’d remember his hopeless puppy-dog crush.
He was so screwed.
Thane hadn’t given any sign of recognizing him, much to Blake’s relief. He hadn’t really expected otherwise—they’d hardly moved in the same circles, and Thane had been three years ahead of him in school—but not having that shared past between them made things easier for Blake. They didn’t have an old friendship for him to call on, so it helped Blake maintain his authority if Thane didn’t remember him as a pimply freshman.
He needed to talk to Ms. Clark, the director of the theater program. He never helped out with stage crew in the spring, what with EOC testing and all the associated rigmarole, but if he was going to foist two troubled boys and possibly their uncle on her, he needed to be there to help. He checked her schedule quickly and saw that she had planning time. That meant she’d be in the theater getting things ready for next week.
He put his computer to sleep, grabbed his keys, and headed that way. He could help her with whatever she was working on while they talked.
He walked into the theater to find all the lights off except the ones in the wings. “Jenny?” he called, not wanting to startle her.
“Back here.”
He followed the sound of her voice to the wings and up into the loft they used to store set materials when they weren’t working on a play. “Can you come down and chat for a minute or should I come up?”
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“I’ll be done in five minutes. Or you can come up.”
Blake scaled the ladder to the loft above the stage and found Jenny in the back corner, surrounded by flats—the square or rectangular frames with wood on one side that they pieced together to make the walls of the sets. “I thought we counted and sorted those last fall.”
“We did, but I can’t find the inventory sheet anywhere, and we start on Monday.”
“Speaking of starting on Monday, I have two new volunteers for you.”
“Why do I think that’s not a good sign?” Jenny asked as she made another tally on the paper in front of her.
“Because I wouldn’t have come in here if it had been simply a question of two kids wanting to sign up?”
“That’s what I thought. Tell me about it.”
Blake sighed. “I’ve got two boys, new to the school, who are getting picked on—or possibly worse—by a group of jocks. I’m trying to keep the boys from getting in trouble. I thought they might make friends if they helped out with the sets.”
“You know I’m all for helping kids,” Jenny said. “Are the boys willing?”
“They decided it’s better than being suspended,” Blake replied. “I didn’t exactly have time to talk them into it.”
“Why not? You spend hours talking with kids who need it.”
“Because they weren’t talking and their guardian wasn’t helping. I don’t know if he’ll make an appearance, but I thought you should be aware, in case he does.”
“He can learn to use a paintbrush just like the kids do,” Jenny said with a shrug.
“I don’t think that will be a problem. He owns Dalton Construction. He’s more likely to come in and try to take over everything.”
“This is a student-run production, and I have no trouble making that perfectly clear to him. The adults are there for advice and supervision, nothing more.”