by Kelsie Rae
“What? Why? He’s been doing so well….”
“I know. I’m sorry, Mandy. But I need to––”
“Please don’t, Saylor. Seriously. Principal Wells is an ass. No offense,” she adds when she remembers who she’s talking to.
“None taken,” I reply dryly. Artie Wells has always been a letter of the law kind of guy, while I prefer the whole spirit of the law method. But I get it. Turner’s had way too many chances already for a first-grader. This is bad. And if it were Artie’s way, the consequences would be absolute.
A defeated Mandy sighs. “Look. If Principal Wells finds out Turner got into another fight, he’ll expel him. You know that. Turner’s been doing so much better since his dad finally moved out. If he gets kicked out of school, he’ll lose the last bit of stability he has. You have to understand––”
“Trust me, I know.”
“Can’t you talk to the other kid’s parents? Maybe explain the situation? I’m not saying Turner didn’t start it because we both know that he likes to pick fights, and the last few years have been rough on him. But he’s been getting better. Even you told me that you’ve noticed a difference in his behavior.”
“I know, Mandy,” I repeat, chewing on my thumbnail as I glance toward the two little monsters in the corner of my room through the cracked door. They both look terrible. Grady’s shirt is torn, and he has a giant grass stain the size of Texas on his shoulder, while Turner’s eye is already swelling. The kid’s going to have a nice shiner, that’s for sure.
“Can you talk to his parents?” Mandy begs again. “Maybe we can sort this out ourselves without involving anyone else. We can figure out some kind of punishment on our own or something. Just this once? Please?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I squeeze my eyes shut as dread pools in the pit of my stomach. But Turner doesn’t deserve to take the fall for my cowardice. And even though I might get fired for this, I mutter, “Fine. But you are so gonna owe me for this, Mandy.”
“Thank you! Seriously, Saylor. I owe you more than you’ll ever know. And you have my official permission to tell them about Turner’s history with his dad and why he acts up sometimes. You’re also welcome to give my number to the parents in case they want to reach out to me. I’ll take full responsibility. Is there a time I can stop by so we can discuss this face-to-face or something? It’s my first day at the store––”
“I’ll take care of it. Is his babysitter still coming to pick him up today?”
“Yeah. She’ll be there, and I’ll send her a text about no electronics or sweets because of this until I can talk to him. That boy is so grounded, it’s not even funny.”
“Okay. I’ll text you about a time where we can chat and go through ways to make amends.”
“Okay. Thank you, Say.”
“Don’t mention it,” I breathe out. “Look, I gotta go. We’ll talk later.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I hang up the phone before walking back into the silent classroom and sitting down at my computer. My anxiety kicks up a few more notches as I search for Owen’s contact information from Grady’s registration papers. When I find it, my entire body trembles like a freaking leaf. He never changed his number. Even after all this time. We used to spend hours on the phone. Talking. Texting. Soaking up each other’s words like they were gospel. Too bad I’m the only one who believed in them.
With a deep breath, I shove aside the memories before forcing myself to dial his number. It rings a few times before going to his voicemail.
“Hey, this is Owen Daniels. If you’re hearing this, I probably didn’t recognize your number, so I didn’t answer. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”
Beep.
“Um, hi. This is Say––” My face scrunches with embarrassment before I correct myself. “Miss Swenson. We had a bit of an issue with Grady during recess today. Can you please come to the school so we can have a little chat? Maybe swing by my classroom when you come to pick him up or something? Um, thank you.”
Then I hang up to stop myself from rambling on my ex’s voicemail.
Because ya know, that’s a greeeaaat tactic when it comes to proving you’ve gotten over someone.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
“Trust me, Grady, this isn’t exactly how I wanted to spend my afternoon, either,” I mutter under my breath. With his elbows on his knees and his head cradled in his hands, the poor kid looks pathetic. And adorable.
Who could stay mad at a face like that?
Especially when his apology has been on repeat since afternoon recess. It’s almost enough for me to let him off the hook for his altercation. Or maybe I’m just a coward and don’t want to face his dad. A bitter taste floods my mouth.
I got a single email from good ol’ Owen about fifteen minutes after I called him. All it said was, “Be there at three.”
Well, okay, sir. I’m waiting.
In a nearly empty classroom, I should feel in my element right now. Surrounded by desks, a couple of whiteboards, and children’s drawings lining the walls, along with a few to-be-graded assignments scattered along my desk, this is my home away from home. So why do I feel like I’m crawling out of my own skin?
Oh, right. It’s because the little boy peeking up at me between his tiny fingers is an exact replica of the boy I fell in love with before he broke my heart and went away to college. And now? Now I have to face him again.
“But I’m sorry, Miss Swenson,” Grady pleads, dropping his hands to his lap. “I swear. Please don’t call my dad. Please.”
My teeth dig into the pad of my thumb before another sigh slips out of me. “Trust me. If I could get away with not involving your dad, I’d do it. And I know you’re sorry, buddy. But we don’t hit our classmates. Even if the other person started it, that isn’t acceptable.”
His chin drops to his chest. “I know.”
“It’ll be okay,” I promise, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince. My palms are sweaty, so I rub them against my mustard yellow skirt before picking up my pen and clicking the top over and over again like a nervous tick. But I can’t stop it.
I’m freaking out inside.
Mandy owes me big time for this.
“Where is he?” I mumble under my breath, checking the white-faced clock on the wall for what feels like the thousandth time in ten minutes. He should be here by now.
Heavy footsteps echo down the otherwise empty hallway before skidding to a halt at the entrance to my room.
Speak of the devil.
My breath catches in my throat as I drink him in like an addict––slow and controlled, without any delusion in regards to how bad he is for me but unable to stop myself.
Same chiseled jaw. Same stubbled cheeks. Same rock-hard body. Except he isn’t in high school anymore. Nope. The bastard has gained at least thirty pounds of solid muscle, regardless of his bad knee that ended his NFL career before it even had a chance to begin. When his soft, wavy hair falls on his forehead, his gaze connects with mine, and I hold my breath, hating how weak I am, but I can’t look away.
It’s too much.
This is worse––so much worse than I expected our little reunion to be. Because I can’t run away and hide. I have to actually talk to this guy. To form sentences that don’t include why did you leave, and I wish we’d never met.
Shoving his fingers through his hair, Owen pushes it back, then clears his throat and looks down at a very somber Grady on the opposite side of my desk. And just like that, high school Owen is replaced with responsible dad Owen. I kind of hate how easily he’s able to push me aside to focus on his son. But that’s what a good dad would do, and I always knew he’d check off that particular box with ease. That doesn’t mean I want to witness it firsthand, though.
“What the hell happened, Grady?” Owen demands before rushing forward and kneeling down in front of him.
“I-I’m sorry,” Grady whispers with his gaze glued to his lap.
<
br /> “Look at me, Grady.”
Lower lip trembling, he lifts his chin and stares back at his dad. There isn’t any fear, just…shame.
And it breaks my heart.
“I-I’m sorry, Dad,” he repeats, his voice trembling.
“Come here.” Owen throws his arms around Grady’s neck and pulls him into his chest, making my own tighten with a fierceness that steals my breath.
Don’t break down, Saylor. Don’t you dare break down, I silently beg myself. But this particular brand of torture is crippling. I always knew he’d be an amazing dad. But I thought it would be to our kids. Instead, I get a front-row seat to witness it from a distance. And it sucks.
He whispers something into Grady’s ear that only they’re privy to before Grady nods his understanding. Satisfied, Owen takes the second available seat across from me, leaving the desk separating us. I swallow thickly, fidgeting with a few of the papers as his chiseled jaw tightens with pent-up frustration at being left in the dark.
“What happened?” he demands.
“Should we wait for your”––I lick my lips, hating the way my voice quakes––“wife?”
His eyes soften. Not enough to erase his stern expression, but just enough to show me that he’s well aware of the fact that my insides are in knots, and it’s all his fault.
“I’m not married,” he murmurs.
Waving my arm toward Grady, I correct myself. “His mom.”
“She’s not in the picture.”
I open my mouth, then close it just as quickly.
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
I should’ve looked closer at Grady’s freaking file, but initially, I couldn’t stomach it. Now, it’s biting me in the ass.
“Oh?” I offer when an awkward beat of silence has enveloped the room, yet I still can’t manage the courage to look at the guy. Even after all these years.
He clears his throat. “Yeah. It’s just me and Grady.”
“Oh. Okay. We’ll just, uh, get started then.” I tear my gaze away from Grady and force myself to look at Owen while pushing away the last memories I have of us together. The pain. The betrayal. The agony that broke me in a way that I still haven’t managed to repair.
With a deep breath, I close my eyes, then pretend to read a paper on my desk even though it has nothing to do with Grady’s altercation at recess.
I can’t do this.
Focus, Saylor.
“So, um…Grady got into a pretty bad fight during recess today. Under normal circumstances, the principal would be notified and take care of the situation, but ours can be a bit of an––” I bite my tongue to keep from swearing in front of a student and correct myself. “A bit strict sometimes, and I’d like us to be able to work this out on a more…personal scale, if possible. The student he fought with has been having trouble at school. His mother and I were concerned that if we went to the principal, then he’d be expelled, and despite today’s events, he’s been making some real progress lately.”
Jaw tight, Owen turns to Grady. “What happened?”
“We were playing soccer.”
“And?”
“And I was faster.”
Owen’s mouth ticks up on one side before he prods, “Then what happened?”
“He got mad. He was calling you names.”
“Me?” Owen points to his chest.
“Yeah.”
“What kind of names?” Owen asks, almost amused that his little boy would defend his honor like that.
“That you were a washed-up player. That I was a…a…swear word.”
Owen’s amusement vanishes.
“Which swear word, Grady?” His voice is deathly calm, but I can tell he’s close to snapping.
Grady’s gaze shifts from his dad to mine before returning to Owen’s. “B-bastard. Because you and mom weren’t married.”
Nostrils flaring, Owen rubs his hand over his face, then pins me with his stare. “Why is my son the only one in here?”
I pause, nearly crumbling under his scrutiny before rasping, “Hey, Grady?”
“Yes, Miss Swenson?”
“Can you go wait in the hallway for me? I want to have a grown-up conversation with your dad for a minute.”
Grady looks at his dad, who gives him a stiff nod as his knuckles clutch the armrests like his life depends on it.
“O-okay,” Grady stutters before pushing himself up and exiting the room.
Once the door clicks shut, I take a deep breath and dive right in. “The other student’s name is Turner. His dad was abusive to him and his mom before she recently got out of the relationship. He’s struggling, as I’m sure you can imagine. And I know that’s no excuse for his behavior, but his mom and I agree that kicking him out of this school will only make him feel less stable. I didn’t know the details about what happened until Grady just now told us, but I promise you that Turner will suffer repercussions for his actions. Honestly, he’s dealing with them already.”
Owen cocks his head to the side, my honesty sparking his curiosity. “What do you mean?”
My mouth quirks up in the corner. “Your son has quite the right hook for a first grader.”
Leaning back in his chair, a dry laugh escapes him. “Well, he is my kid.”
“He sure is,” I agree as I take in his boyish grin. I miss that smile. I miss when it was directed at me. How contagious it is. How happy he made me.
Shit.
“So, what kind of repercussions are we talking about here?” Owen asks, sensing the shift in my emotions. “What’s the plan for the other kid? Because shit like that––”
“It’s unacceptable,” I confirm. “Trust me. His mom will be mortified when she finds out what Turner said, and she’s good at following through with consequences. Turner’s also going to sit inside with me during recess for the next few weeks and will apologize to Grady in the morning. I know that doesn’t seem like much, but for Turner…it’s a lot.”
“I trust you,” Owen murmurs. His sharp gaze flicks over to mine, holding it hostage for a few seconds before he clears his throat. “How’s Grady been doing other than the fight? I’m sorry I missed the Meet the Teacher Night or whatever you call it at the beginning of the school year––”
“A lot of people miss Meet the Teacher Night,” I reply while withholding the fact that I was relieved he didn’t attend. “And Grady’s smart. He’s one of my brightest students in my classroom and is already the popular jock on the playground.”
Just like his dad, I almost add before chewing on the inside of my cheek while toying with my pen on the desk. “Honestly, I think that’s why Turner started the fight.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think he was jealous. Turner struggles to make friends and has a pretty crappy self-esteem, thanks to his sperm donor. The only adult male influence he had for the first six years of his life was extremely negative. He’s picked up some bullying tendencies, regardless of how much his mom and I have been working to curb them. It’s affected his ability to make friends, which only perpetuates the problem. I was wondering if….” I dig my teeth into my tongue as my knee bounces up and down beneath the desk.
“If what?” Owen prods, drowning me with that same intensity that first caught my attention in high school. I was never able to keep secrets from him. He always had a way of pulling them out of me with a single look.
“I, uh….” I shake my head in hopes of snapping myself out of whatever spell he’s cast on me. “I think Turner and Grady could get along really well if given the chance. They both like sports. They both like superheroes. I dunno…I think it could be good for them to get together outside of school. Would you like his mom’s number so you could set up a playdate or something? She’s pretty too. And single. Maybe you could kill two birds with one stone or something since you mentioned you’re single and all.”
His concerned gaze snaps to mine. “Say….”
I flinch back as though I’ve been slapped, s
ending me spiraling into the past we shared. The late nights. The stolen kisses. The moments that made me who I am today––for better or worse––no matter how many times I’ve tried to erase them in hopes of finding peace.
“Don’t call me that,” I breathe.
“Shit,” he curses under his breath and rubs his hand over his face. “Sorry, Miss Swenson. I didn’t mean––”
“I know.” With another subtle shake of my head, I try again. “I shouldn’t have offered to play matchmaker. That’s on me.”
“I’d love to set up a playdate for Grady. He misses his friends from our old place, and if you think Turner and Grady would be a good fit despite the fight on the playground, then so do I.”
“Sure thing.”
I dig out my cell phone and search for Mandy’s number before scrawling it on a Post-It note and handing it to Owen while making sure our fingers don’t touch.
I don’t think I’d be able to handle it.
“Here you go,” I offer.
“Thanks.”
“And, Miss Swenson?” he adds.
“Yes?”
“I’m not interested in dating his mom. I’m only going to use this number for Grady and Turner.”
“I don’t care what you do anymore, Owen. I stopped caring the moment you dumped me on my front porch, then had a kid with someone who wasn’t me.”
His expression falls. “Say––”
“Why’d you move back, Owen?” I growl. The question tumbles out of me before I can stop it. But it’s been rolling around in my head since the moment Sway and Anthony saw him in the hardware store. It’s been gaining momentum with every second I’ve spent wondering why he’s here and why he ever left in the first place.
He shakes his head, then stands to his full height. “I should get going.”
I scoff. “Oh. Right. Silly me. You refused to tell me why you were leaving, so why would you ever bother to explain why you’re back?”
“Say––”
“Stop calling me that. From here on out, I am Miss Swenson and only Miss Swenson. We are not friends. You are not the love of my life. And the only time we will interact is when your son is involved. We clear?”