by Kelsie Rae
Grady has dropped his dad’s hand and is pumping his little arms back and forth, running as fast as he can while Owen and Turner frame him on both sides, matching Grady’s explosive pace. Although, that seems a lot easier for Owen than it is for Turner.
When I realize I’m smiling, I blink hard and give them my back.
Keep it together, Saylor.
“Did you see what Grady’s dad did?” Mrs. Fawkes asks, sidling up beside me. “My ovaries are about to burst.”
“Yeah,” I hedge. “I saw it.”
“That was seriously the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. Does he know about Turner and his past?”
Kicking a pebble across the pavement, I tuck my hands into the front pockets of my Granite Elementary hoodie and mutter, “Yeah.”
“And he went out of his way to help him feel included? How sweet is that?” She clutches at her chest, making my jealousy flair despite the fact that she’s almost sixty and has been happily married for longer than I’ve been alive. She’s also been around this town for decades and knows about my history with Owen. Which kind of makes me want to smack her upside the head despite her age.
“Yes. That was very…thoughtful of him,” I mumble under my breath.
There are a lot of kids without parents here, but Owen sought out the one who needed a positive experience with a man.
Because he’s thoughtful like that. And sweet. And generous. And so damn selfless that it leaves me breathless.
Or at least I thought he was selfless until he broke my heart, then knocked a girl up. It shattered me and made me see him in a new light. It made me question whether or not he really was as selfless as I’d initially believed. And I was okay with that. I needed the hatred to build if I had any chance of getting over him. Yet here he is, proving the opposite while confirming my original perception of America’s Golden Boy.
He is selfless. Which only seems to make our past burn worse.
Our conversation from the night before flickers in the back of my mind, causing my phone to burn a hole in my back pocket.
“I, uh, I gotta go check on the water cups at the finish line. We’ll chat later.”
“Alright, honey. I’ll hang out around the final turn in case anyone has any questions or needs anything. Thanks again for heading this up.”
“Don’t mention it. You’ve done your time. It’s time for me to give you a break.” I wink for good measure, then head to the plastic table littered with paper cups. The entire parking lot, along with the grassy area in front of the school, is empty, so I pull out my phone and reread the message I’ve yet to respond to.
OD: Well…once that happened, the girl I’d knocked up decided she wasn’t interested in being a mom anymore and signed over her rights as a parent. Now, it’s just me and my kid.
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
And how messed up can a woman be? To basically screw over a guy’s life on purpose in hopes of tying him down to siphon his paychecks. And then, when it doesn’t work out, she just…left him? And his kid? From what I could tell from the interviews, Owen and the woman never had a relationship, but he was there for the pregnancy every step of the way. She wouldn’t let him into the delivery room, but as soon as she allowed Owen to see Grady, he was there.
Just like today in the parking lot. He’s here to show his support. His love.
Damn him.
I chew on the pad of my thumb, my eyes glazing over as the conversation replays over and over again. And even though I appreciate the answers he gave me, it’s the banter that makes my chest ache.
I’ve missed it.
His wit.
His snark.
His honesty.
I’ve missed him.
And even though I know it’s wrong––selfish even––I type a response before I can talk myself out of it with the knowledge that I can’t blame my weakness on alcohol in the light of day. No, this is on me. Sober Saylor. Desperate Saylor. Stupid, stupid Saylor.
Slytherin4ever: Sounds like you dodged a bullet to me. Maybe two, if you include the girl you’re still pining after. What’s she like? Do you really think she’s worth the effort? And I think the most important question is: what house does your kid belong to? Or has he not received his admission letter to Hogwarts yet?
I slide my phone back into the pouch on my school pride hoodie, then scan the street for any runners. Owen, Grady, and Turner round the corner, their chests heaving from exertion. Raising his strong jaw toward the finish line, Owen mutters something to the boys before they all take off at full speed.
My hands cup my face as I cheer, “Good job, boys! You’re almost here! Go! Go! Go!”
Their feet pound against the black pavement, racing closer at break-neck speed for six-year-olds when their arms fly into the air and shouts of victory erupt.
“We did it!”
“Yes!”
“Good job, guys,” Owen praises, ruffling the sweaty hair on their heads. “You both did great at pacing. Grab a drink. Then we’ll stretch.”
“I don’t need to stretch,” Turner argues.
“Everyone needs to stretch after exercising.”
“Why?”
“It helps you avoid injuries,” Owen explains patiently.
Grady pipes up, “What kind of injuries? Like your knee?”
“Nah, my knee was because of a three-hundred-pound defensive end. Come on, let’s get you guys a drink, then I’ll give you some examples.”
Owen saunters toward me like a wolf with his pups, causing my heart rate to kick up a few notches when he catches me staring at him. His smile is sheepish as he takes one of the cups from the table near my hip. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. So, how’d the run go?” I ask the boys.
“Good. Grady’s fast,” Turner tells me.
“Yeah, but my dad says you’re better at pacing,” Grady points out. “I start too fast, then get tired––”
“You guys both did great,” Owen interrupts before taking a sip from his paper cup, his mouth curved up in amusement.
The boys continue their banter, their water forgotten as they take off running to the grass. An awkward silence settles over Owen and me.
Rocking back on my heels, I peek over at him, then motion to the kids. “Looks like they’re getting along better.”
“Yeah. Turner’s a good kid. Competitive,” he clarifies, “but I think you’re right. He’s trying to make better decisions. He said shit when we were running, then corrected himself with shoot a few seconds later. It’s not like I cared. Grady’s heard me say worse, but I could tell he was trying to be respectful, and that’s all that matters to me.”
“Aw.” I press a hand to my heart. “That makes me happy. Mandy said that his dad was anything but respectful. It’s been a process to keep him from saying the F-word when he’s frustrated, along with all the other inappropriate language he was used to hearing, so I think that’s really good progress. Thanks for making him feel included today.”
“It was Grady’s idea.”
“From what I saw yesterday at recess, I’m going to go ahead and say that you helped nudge him in the right direction,” I counter.
“Only because you suggested it in the first place,” Owen returns with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners. I’ve never understood how he can ride the line between humble and confident so easily. I think that’s why the football community fell in love with him like I did. He’s just…one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met.
When I catch myself staring, silently analyzing him, I clear my throat and drop my gaze to the tabletop before fussing over a few more paper cups like a mother hen.
“So, how’s life? How’s your family?” Owen asks.
I scowl. “We don’t have to do small talk, Owen.”
“It isn’t small talk to me.” He leans closer. “I miss your family, Say––Miss Swenson,” he corrects himself. “They’re good people. In a way, your little sisters felt like they were mine
too.”
“Hmm,” I hum, refusing to give in. When he left, I wasn’t the only one who got hurt. He was the brother my sisters never had.
“Tell me,” he prods, gifting me with his signature smirk. It’s laced with a cockiness that I should find annoying, yet somehow makes me want to melt right here on the surface of the cool pavement.
And it grates on me, snapping me out of the haze from our past that I get lost in all too often whenever he’s around.
I fold my arms across my chest. “No offense, Owen, but I don’t think that’s any of your business. Not anymore. Not when you left and are just going to turn around and do it again.”
“Who says I’m going to leave again?” he challenges, his voice low and gravely.
“Call it a hunch.”
“Is that why you won’t give me an inch? Because you’re afraid I’ll leave again?”
“Don’t do this,” I whisper as he crowds me against the plastic table littered with paper cups.
“Tell me, Say.”
I jerk away from him. “Don’t call me that.”
“I just wanna know what it’ll take for you to let me ask menial questions like how your family is doing without you jumping down my throat. Is that too much to ask?”
“Apparently,” I quip.
“So that’s it? We can’t be civil to each other? I can’t ask how your family’s doing?”
“Nope. Not when you’re gonna wind up leaving again.”
“Are you serious?” he asks.
“Dead serious.”
“Who says I’m going to leave again, Say? And don’t deflect this time,” he warns me.
“You don’t have a job.”
“So?”
“And you didn’t buy a house. You’re renting.”
“Wait. How did you––”
“Small town, remember? And trust me, everyone has loved keeping your pathetic ex up to speed on every little thing you do.”
“You’re not pathetic––”
“That’s not the point,” I seethe.
“Then what is your point, Say? Huh? You just feel like making me shoulder the blame for the shit I did? Trust me. I don’t need your help on that account. And yeah, I haven’t found a house to put any money down on yet. If I’m going to stick around, I want to make sure that I find what I’m looking for. So what?”
“So, if you don’t have a job, and you didn’t buy a house, then what’s keeping you here? What kind of roots are you actually planting, huh? None. You aren’t planting any roots because you have no idea whether or not you’re going to stick around, and until the time comes that you do, then I don’t know why I should bother wasting my breath to fill you in on what my family’s been up to since you left me––”
“Hey, Dad!” Grady calls, interrupting my completely over-the-top tantrum in the middle of the school parking lot.
My cheeks flood with shame.
Get a freaking grip on yourself, Saylor!
Owen holds my gaze for another beat before shaking his head and calling, “I’m coming, Grady.”
His iciness only fans my guilt as he turns on his heel and heads to the grass where almost half the class are now lounging around. Arms crossed, I try to ignore his commanding tone as he leads them in a cooldown stretch, bending at the waist and touching his toes.
Aaand there’s America’s ass. Sorry, Captain America, Owen Daniels has you beat.
The class follows suit, rotating from one foot to the other before stretching their arms above their heads and pushing themselves into a lunge position. When they stand on one leg while pressing their opposite ankles to their butts in hopes of stretching their quads, they look more like a bunch of clumsy flamingos than miniature athletes, but I bite my lip to keep from smiling at the sight. I’m too pissed to enjoy the spectacle as a few more kids join the others.
“Is that Grady’s dad?” a deep voice inquires, sidling up to me.
I jump a few inches into the air before twisting toward Principal Wells. “Crap, you scared me.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I return. “Uh, what were you saying?”
“That’s Grady’s dad, right?”
“Oh. Yeah. Owen Daniels.”
“That’s what I thought. The kids seem quite taken with him.”
“Yup. Looks like they are,” I mutter.
“And he’s athletic,” he notes.
“Yup.”
“Seems like he’s good with kids.”
“Sure does,” I agree, trying to keep the venom from my voice.
“Think he’d mind if we ran a background check on him?”
Feeling whiplashed, I shake my head. “What? Why?”
“For the teaching position.”
“Teaching position?” I squeak.
“Gym––”
My eyes nearly bug out of my head as I hook my thumb over my shoulder toward the crowd gathering behind me where Owen is the star. “You want him to be the gym teacher?”
“Yes. Why not?”
“Because he’s….” I take a deep breath, praying my voice doesn’t shake. “He’s Owen Daniels.”
“Yes. He’s Owen Daniels. Father of one of our students. Has an excellent background in athletics, and––”
“And has so many better options than being a gym teacher at an elementary school,” I point out.
Unamused, Artie straightens his tie. “The physical education department is desperate for a strong leader. I think he’d be an excellent candidate, and I certainly hope you don’t think so lowly of the teaching industry,” he adds, snarkily.
“I don’t,” I tell him. “You know that. I love my job. It’s just––”
“It’s just what, Miss Swenson?”
“I’m just not sure he’d be interested. That’s all.”
“Well, I think you should ask him and see.”
Like a fish out of water, my mouth opens and closes. “Principal Wells, I’m not sure––”
“Fine. I’ll do it.” Artie’s spine straightens as he holds his head high and yells, “Mr. Daniels! May I speak with you for a moment?”
Kill me. Kill me now.
Owen’s brows furrow before he mutters something to the kids then jogs over to us. “Yeah?”
“Hello, I’m Principal Wells.”
“Nice to meet you. Owen Daniels, Grady’s dad.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Principal Wells mentions as he shakes Owen’s offered hand. “I’m curious if you’ve ever considered teaching.”
“Uh, teaching?” With a shrug, Owen looks back at the kids congregated on the lawn. “Well, I––”
“We’re looking for someone to head up the physical education department. Mainly a gym teacher for the elementary kids, along with organizing any extracurricular activities that you feel would be beneficial for the students.”
“I don’t have a teaching degree,” Owen explains.
“You graduated with a Bachelor’s from LAU, correct?”
“Well, yeah, but––”
“Then, your credentials are sufficient for the position. Unless you’re already employed…?” Artie’s voice trails off while I fight the urge to cringe.
The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. Artie’s a Nosey Nancy and was probably eavesdropping on our conversation from earlier, already privy to the fact that Owen doesn’t currently have a job. It doesn’t seem like he’s in a rush to find anything, either. He’s probably been living off his endorsements of a few sports drinks and physical therapy equipment that got his stamp of approval after his surgery. He also made bank when he was helping recruit high school students to sign with LAU, so….
“I wanted to make sure Grady and I were fully settled before searching for anything long-term,” Owen explains. His attention darts over to me. “But I’d love the opportunity to be close to Grady during the day, and I’ve always gotten along with kids. Plus, it’s athletics, which is important for children, so….”
“So, you’ll say yes?” Principal Wells concludes with a quirked brow.
“Uh….” A dazed Owen nods, though I’m not sure who he’s trying to convince, himself or Principal Wells. “Sure?” He looks over at me, and his resolution solidifies. “I don’t plan on going anywhere for the foreseeable future, so I’d love to be considered for the position.”
“Perfect. As long as the background check comes back clean, then the job is yours. If you have any questions, you’re welcome to speak with me or Miss Swenson.” Artie motions to me with a look of pride that nearly knocks me on my ass. “She’s being considered for the vice-principal position next year, you know.”
Wait. What is happening right now?
“Really?” Owen asks, intrigued.
“She’s young, but we think she has a great deal of potential,” Artie explains like I’m not standing two feet away from him. “I’m sure she would love the opportunity to demonstrate her value in regards to it, so don’t hesitate to reach out to her if you need anything.”
Are you freaking kidding me right now?
Owen smirks as he looks me up and down. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Our current VP, Ms. Rasmussen, can get you the official application as soon as the Fun Run concludes. Once everything is filled out, and your background check comes back clean, you should be able to start on Monday.”
The whirlwind makes me nauseated, but I swallow it back. “Wait. Are you sure you’re interested?”
Artie’s nostrils flare. “I thought we already discussed this, Miss Swenson––”
“It’s fine,” Owen interjects, offering his hand for Principal Wells to shake. “I look forward to working with both of you.”
Artie takes it with a firm grasp before Owen turns to me and does the same. Which means we have to touch. And I’m not sure I can handle it. Not after everything we’ve been through. I’ve been avoiding this very moment like it’s the plague. I look over at Principal Wells, who’s staring right back at me with a look that says, What’s taking you so long?
Just shake his damn hand, Saylor. It isn’t rocket science.
Tingles race up my spine as soon as my palm touches his while I say a silent prayer that he doesn’t notice the way I’m shaking like a leaf.