Brute: The Valves MC

by Faye, Carmen

  He wasn’t in his office, and the school nurse – his minion – informed me he’d already left. Something about official school business. I could tell by her smirk she enjoyed my earlier defeat. I didn’t bother to tell her the fight was far from over. I just smiled coldly and left. I was done for the day.

  I got in my car and drove home. I felt an unexpected surge of energy, thinking about my argument for tomorrow. I used the boost to complete some chores I kept putting off.

  ***

  But Tuesday, I awoke unpleasantly tired, not having slept well. I felt like a child just before a school trip or the beginning of a new year. That excitement enveloped me, stealing a good night’s rest. I remained agitated and checked the time compulsively. I didn’t want to be late, but I couldn’t focus my scattered thoughts long enough to get ready. Eventually, I managed to make it out the door, decent. I wanted to take Ginger to school, so I went next door and knocked.

  As I waited, I thought about managing the transition to motherhood, the responsibilities. Most of all, I worried about telling Ginger she would no longer live with Dawson. She would ask why. What would I say?

  Things had been left hanging the night of the attack, and Dawson and I needed to talk. I dreaded the conversation, but I knew I had to set aside my fears and keep true to my word, for Ginger’s sake. But for the time being, I saw little harm in postponing until I’d dealt with Deck. Admittedly, I was afraid, and I was running away. To sooth my nerves, I told myself I needed the time to come to terms with this, what Dawson probably saw as an act of betrayal.

  The door opened, and Dawson leaned on the frame, looking tired. All the signs pointed to him just waking up. I had waited longer than usual for him to answer the door, and I just realized that. “Is Ginger ready?” I asked suspiciously.

  “What? I…”

  “It’s late, Dawson,” I cut him off. “Is she still sleeping?”

  I pushed past him, making a beeline for Ginger’s room. As I suspected, she was in bed, sound asleep. “Baby, wake up,” I said gently. She stirred and opened her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Dawson said behind me.

  Ginger whimpered. “Can’t I sleep a little more, Mommy?”

  “No, baby, it’s late. It’s time to get ready for school, okay?” I urged. I helped her up and guided her sleepy steps to the bathroom. I closed the door behind her and turned to reprimand Dawson.

  He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

  “What were you thinking?” I whispered harshly.

  “I had one glass too many, and I just slept in. I’m sorry.”

  I frowned. “You never do that.” But I had an inkling why he was drinking.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, like he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  “You’re damn right!” I hissed, instantly regretting it. I looked down, hoping the earth would open up and swallow me. I was right, it wouldn’t happen because he wouldn’t have his daughter. My face burned, and I gathered all my courage to look up at him, his tired features. His empty eyes and slumped shoulders. I felt guilty for inflicting something like this on him.

  The bathroom door opened, and Ginger popped out, completely refreshed.

  “Go change into school clothes, baby. I’ll wait for you by the door.”

  She nodded and went to her closet. Needing space, I walked out, but I stopped in the hallway and whispered, “There’s still no excuse.” I didn’t look back. I knew I’d cry at the pain in his eyes.

  Torn between guilt and his behavior, I paced the living room, wringing my hands nervously. Dawson offered me a cup of coffee, but I refused. Not for spite – I just couldn’t stomach anything with this much anxiety. Finally ready, Ginger gave me her hand, and we went to the door.

  I paused. “We’ll be leaving now,” I said, turning slightly but not looking at Dawson. It sounded like a promise of the future. For him, an empty one.

  “Have a nice day, baby.” He addressed it to Ginger, but I knew it was intended for both of us. One last attempt at showing he wanted to douse the bridges before they burned down. Tears stung my eyes as I walked out, waiting for Ginger to hug her father. He brought her to the car and settled her in the backseat and then waited on my lawn until I turned at the intersection. A heavy silence fell over Ginger and me.

  “Would you like to live with me, Ginger?” I finally asked her, unable to fight the urge. I had searched for the right words and come to the conclusion there were none.

  “Are you and Daddy finally moving in together, Mari?” she asked excitedly.

  I glance at her in the rearview mirror with another stab of guilt. How did I explain this? I sighed and checked the time, the imminent danger of being terribly late making me gasp. I drove faster, welcoming the distraction, and got us there only five minutes late.

  Breathing heavily from running across the schoolyard, I came to terms with having to postpone my meeting with Deck again. I caught a glance from the nurse, and I told her to notify Mr. Deck that I wanted a word with him at recess. She looked offended at my assumption of how close they were, but I didn’t stop to apologize. We both knew it was all an act.

  In class, I went on with my day, taking advantage of every spare moment to review my strategy. At recess, I watched my students spread around the yard. When I was content, I squared my shoulders and marched to Deck’s office. I took several deep breaths and knocked on his door.

  “Come in, Miss Bennett,” he said, motioning me in, just a hint of displeasure in his voice. I stepped in and closed the door. “I didn’t know you wanted to speak to me. What’s on your mind?”

  I smiled politely. His words indicated clearly he knew I was coming. Though I didn’t know why, his attitude fortified me where my confidence lacked. I sat down, uninvited, and looked into his eyes. “I’m here because something has to be done.” I didn’t typically beat around the bush, but I needed to collect my thoughts. I continued, “Something that causes me, and probably many others, great dissatisfaction. I’m here to voice those concerns and offer a solution. And an ultimatum.” I never broke eye contact.

  My last words raised his brows to his hairline. “Oh? Concerns and suggestions are always welcome, Miss Bennett. Of course. But ultimatums? I’m not sure there’s room for that in our institution.” He sounded sure of himself, even smug, but I could make his world crumble with a few words. I wouldn’t budge under his calculating stare.

  “I’m afraid you leave me no choice, Mr. Deck. This is a school, a place to prepare the next generation, and we have a responsibility to lead them by example.” He nodded, thoughtful, and I continued, enjoying how he struggled to anticipate my move. “By the same argument, I could say expelling a student solely based on the wishes of a single sponsor with no regard for what we as teachers are obliged to offer said student does not set a good example. And this institution isn’t the place to play power games. Surely you agree.”

  His eyes widened, but then he relaxed. “Is this what it’s all about, Miss Bennett?” He smiled, probably prepared to deal with situations like this.

  I nodded. “Let me expound on that. This institution is not the place to conduct many unsavory practices. Like political games and personal agendas. I’m sure you understand where I’m heading.” I saw the tension return, his shoulders straight, his fingers dancing nervously on the armrests.

  “I don’t understand, Miss Bennett,” he tried, clearing his throat. I knew I had to play my cards fast and close to my chest. He played power games like this often, the ones I threatened to reveal, and I didn’t have his thick skin. I needed to keep him guessing and not give him time to recover before I got what I came for.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but a noise in the hallway interrupted me. A knock on the door caught his attention, and I saw he welcomed the intrusion. He called the person in without excusing himself. I took it as a sign he feared what I might say or do if I went through with my subtle threat.

&n
bsp; The door opened, and we both looked. Framed in the doorway with one hand on the knob stood one of the teachers that should have been with my students, looking alarmed. She stood just outside as if she didn’t dare step foot inside.

  “What is it, Miss…” Deck began.

  “Oh, there you are!” she cut him off as she saw me.

  “Yes, here I am. What is it?” I didn’t like the precious points I lost with the interruption.

  “You need to come outside. It happened again.”

  I didn’t understand right away. “What happened?”

  “One of your students again.” Her voice grew quieter, and she looked down. Before I could consciously comprehend the words, a cold shiver shook me.

  “No,” I whispered. “Who this time?”

  “Another girl.”

  I was out the door before she could finish speaking. I ran down the hall from the office at the back of the school to the front exit. My mind tried to interpret the situation so I could still fight for the boy. Outside, I didn’t stop until I reached my students. Then, I lost control of my feet again.

  Déjà vu. Yesterday’s scene unfolded before me again, the only thing different being the victim. Today, Ginger sat, crying as Annie had before. “Baby!” I cried, wrapping my arms around her. “Are you all right?”

  She nestled into me, sobbing uncontrollably. “The boy said something about her not having a mother,” the young teacher at her side explained.

  “What?” I snapped, irritated by a pause in her words.

  “Ginger said she had a mommy.”

  “And?” I urged.

  “She said you were her mother at home. The boy laughed and got a little meaner. You know how kids are.”

  I held Ginger tighter to my chest, not knowing how to respond. I couldn’t hurt her and save my ass by denying her statement, but I couldn’t admit it and possibly lose my job, either. Silence seemed the best option.

  Someone suggested I take Ginger to the nurse’s office, and I looked to see who it was. A few feet away, Deck looked down at me, arms crossed on his chest and a question in his eyes. He gestured with his head toward the problematic boy, but I couldn’t turn to him. I rose, holding Ginger protectively, my gaze never leaving Mr. Deck’s.

  Before I acted rashly, I pressed my lips together and nodded, turning and walking toward the school. I rushed to the nurse’s office, hearing the words of Annie’s mother over and over. I understood now. I reacted like a mother, my decision to abandon my fight trampling all over my principles. That boy could not be around my daughter anymore, and I didn’t care how people saw me after this. I had given my word, and he would be gone tomorrow. All that mattered was my Ginger’s safety. And with that, I knew I couldn’t run away from it any longer. Today, she was coming home with me. Nothing else mattered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  My eyes burned, and my legs wouldn’t support me properly. I hadn’t slept, writhing in bed through the night, and I was beyond tired.

  Yesterday, I left Ginger at Dawson’s place because she told me she had a prior engagement for the night, another birthday party to attend. Under the circumstances, I chickened out once more and locked myself in my house. I lied to myself that I needed to gather all my power to actually take Dawson’s daughter away. Today had to be the dreadful day. No more delaying the inevitable.

  First, though, I had to fix myself. I tried coffee, but it tasted like cardboard. My mouth felt weird, and I couldn’t shake a slight nausea that had come and gone since just before dawn. I looked out the window, trying to assess if I should go or not, when I saw a minivan pull up Dawson’s driveway, Ginger getting out of it. Sadness washed over me at the prospect of taking her from her father. But it was for the best.

  I grabbed a cream cardigan and stepped outside. Dawson picked Ginger up in his arms and glanced at me. I could barely hold his gaze as I approached them. The little girl whispered something in his ear, and he nodded, hurrying into the house. I followed the into the living room, feeling like an intruder.

  “Go on, baby,” he said, setting Ginger down. She rushed to the bathroom.

  “Good morning,” I hedged after a tense silence. We didn’t look at each other.

  “Morning,” he muttered. I felt his hand on my shoulder as he said, “You don’t look well, Mari. Are you feeling all right?”

  I looked up and nodded. What was the point in sharing the details of my crappy night? It wouldn’t make me feel any better. He dropped his hand and took a few steps away, and I felt the loss physically. I nearly begged him to come back, but I was the one leaving.

  Ginger’s cheerful voice interrupted my bout of self-pity. “Good morning, Mari! How was your night? Mine was awesome! I had loads of fun, and we slept in a fort in Alice’s living room. She has too many dolls, though. I don’t like that, but she’s my friend, and I do like that.”

  Her words dumped a thousand miles a minute and I smiled. She looked like she’d forgotten yesterday’s events, and I crouched down to hug her. “That sounds amazing, baby. Did you, by any chance, actually go to sleep?” I struggled to hide the battle in my heart.

  “Of course, silly. We got tired, and Alice’s parents sent us to bed. But we didn’t want to go, so we reached a comprise!” she said proudly, emphasizing her grown-up statement.

  Dawson snorted, chuckling, and I bit back a grin. “What does that mean, Ginger?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Alice’s father said that, and then he made us a fort, and we slept there. I guess it’s about the fort.”

  “You mean a compromise?” She nodded.

  “Very good, baby. It is, indeed, about the fort,” Dawson intervened. “I believe Mari would be more than happy to build you one when you’ll be sleeping there. Right, Mari?”

  His cooperation shocked me. I couldn’t help but search for his eyes, and I found nothing but honesty in them. I nodded, my throat burning.

  “Really?” Ginger cooed. “Will you, Mari?”

  “Yes, honey.”

  “That’s awesome!” But then, her expression changed, and she looked crestfallen. “Too bad the weekend is so far away.”

  Dawson laughed sadly, pulling her toward him. “If you want, you can go tonight. Don’t you want to sleep at Mari’s for a while?”

  She looked at him, incredulous. “What do you mean, Daddy?”

  “I think Mari would be very happy to have you around, baby. I just thought you might like that, too,” he said, pouting.

  It prompted Ginger to put her little hands on his face, trying to pull his lips into a smile. “Yes, Daddy, I would love that,” she assured him and burst into giggles as he turned his head to bite her hand.

  “Good girl! Why don’t you go pack your favorite things?”

  She didn’t wait for him to finish. I could hear her pep talking herself into proper toy arrangements. She kept trying to convince her teddy bears they were all equally important but there was only so much space in the small bag.

  I got to my feet and leaned against the wall. “Thank you,” I whispered. He smiled at me, and I followed him into the kitchen. I couldn’t shake the pain in his eyes while talking to Ginger. He’d used his sweet voice, but it was fake, just like mine. I could barely keep my own pain from spilling over, and as I watched him convince his daughter to leave him, I knew he struggled just as much. I squeezed my eyes shut against the usual sting of tears.

  “Don’t cry, baby,” he said. I looked up as he took my wrists. “And don’t thank me, either. You were right, and you’re doing the right thing. Please don’t cry, okay?”

  I couldn’t speak, so I gave a slight nod, the hot tears leaking. He wiped them from my face and sat me at the table. He politely backed off and turned, gathering the main ingredients for pancakes. “What are you doing?” I blurted, thinking that he only made pancakes for Ginger. She loved his funny shapes.

  “Making pancakes.” He stated the obvious, and a strange pain cut through my soul. “I’d love to have one more breakfa
st with my daughter,” he added, his voice quiet and resigned. I knew what he meant without his explanation.

  I didn’t reply, trying to cry silently. He didn’t press for an answer, either. The absence of a denial served as an agreement that he could cook for Ginger. “Have you…called them yet?” he asked after a long silence.

  My throat had swollen shut around the lump in it, and I choked back more tears, unable to respond. I wanted to say no and tell him how I felt about what I was doing, how torn I was. I had postponed the horrific call until after Ginger settled into my place. But the truth was, I didn’t want to make the call at all, and it was eating me alive. He might have taken my silence as an affirmative, judging by his reaction – making stupid comments about the pancakes.