by Lola StVil
“Your parents have been married for twenty-nine years; maybe they are just rekindling their romance. They could be taking long walks and spending time together.”
“Nope! I think it’s more than that. I’m telling you my dad wasn’t his normal what-are-you-doing-with-your-life self. He didn’t grill me or pick on me about what I wore, where I lived. We talked, and he was happy. I asked my mom about it, even she noticed it.”
“Who cares, just as long as your dad is happy, right?”
“Yeah, that’s true. It was like there was a light in his eyes. Tony asked me why I didn’t want to commit once, and I told him because my parents’ marriage seemed like the death of anything fun. But if they can find some kind of joy after all these years, maybe marriage isn’t death,” she says mostly to herself.
“Kenzy, did you hear what you just said?” I ask, placing a hand on her shoulder and looking deep into her eyes.
“Hey, you got some, which means anything is possible,” she jokes.
“Ms. Marshall, you got some? What is it? Some what? Can I have some too?” Kelly-Anne asks. I look down at the precocious five-year-old with glasses. Kenzy and I had no idea she had wandered over to us. Kenzy’s eyes are wide with a mix of shock and amusement.
“Yes, Katie. I had some apple juice. And I think there’s some more on the table in my classroom. Can you go get them and hand them out please?” I ask.
“Okay!” She jumps excitedly and makes her way inside. Kenzy and I exchange a laugh and wisely decide to stick to talking about “G” rated things.
“I know your parents can drive you nuts, but I always liked them. I think that they have been married for so long and that they love and respect each other,” I say.
“Yeah, it was nice to be among the few kids in school that didn’t have to choose which parent to live with. I guess life is easier with two parents. But I still say they should have let me pierce the things that I wanted pierced.”
I laugh. “Kenzy, no one should have a piercing where you wanted to have one.”
“I can’t help but be who I am,” she proclaims proudly. “So, he has a crazy sister-in-law?” Kenzy asks.
“I don’t know if Shelby’s crazy but she is certainly ‘in your face’ like it or not.”
“You think she was sizing you up?”
“I’m not sure. She said to call her if I ever needed anything and her offer didn’t feel disingenuous. She was definitely out of line, but I didn’t sense malice. And as she walked me out, she made sure I had her number and—”
“Are you going to ask him about this Monica woman?”
“I’m not sure yet. She did say that he and Monica aren’t dating…” I mumble.
Kelly-Anne comes back with the boxes of apple juice and we hand them out. And in the next twenty minutes or so, all but one kid has been picked up. His name is Fletcher. He has gray eyes, and he’s very shy. But if you get him to talk, he can go a mile a minute.
“Where’s Fletcher’s mom? She’s rarely late to get him,” Kenzy says, checking her watch.
“Are you doing something tonight?”
“Well, whatever I do, I’m sure it won’t move the earth like what you and Agent Hunter end up doing,” she teases. “But if I don’t go now, I’ll be late.”
“Okay, go ahead. It’s just Fletcher left. I’ll bring him inside and have him get started on his homework. His mom should be here soon,” I reply. She thanks me and waves goodbye to Fletcher. I call out to him and tell him it’s time to go back inside and wait for his mom.
He gives me the most dramatic pout, but I am firm—he needs to get started on his homework. He comes over and we gather his things but as we are about to go inside a man runs towards us.
“Is that your dad?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says in dismay.
“He’s never picked you up before. Where’s your mom?” He shrugs and looks down at the floor. The sadness in his voice makes me suspicious of the male figure coming towards us. Sometimes kids don’t want to go home because they don’t want to do homework or leave the playground. But that isn’t the sense I’m getting.
“Hey, buddy! Sorry, I’m late,” he says as he comes up to us. He’s a large man with beady eyes and a round face. The moment he comes near us, I smell it. He reeks of alcohol. His speech is slurred and his eyes are red. He’s not falling over himself, but he’s definitely not sober. Without thinking, I place myself between the large man and his son.
“Oh, sorry. I gotta sign him out or something, right? His mom normally comes, but she’s stuck at work, and I promised I’d come get him. I lost track of time—work.”
“You don’t work anymore,” Fletcher mumbles under his breath.
I look over at the man, and he smiles awkwardly. “I’m between jobs. It turns out no one is looking to hire a guy in middle management. C’mon, let’s go, buddy. Dad’s double-parked.”
“You drove here?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s my car—the blue Honda. Listen, show me what I need to sign so I can take my son home.”
I turn my attention to Fletcher and keep my voice calm. “Sweetheart, you stay here, I need to speak to your dad for a moment.” The little boy nods and I walk a few feet away, signaling for his father to follow. He places his hand on his waist and taps his foot impatiently.
“What’s the problem?” he asks.
“Mr. Cameron, I don’t think you should be driving right now. And I certainly don’t think you should be in the car with your son.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I can smell the alcohol on you.”
“I had a few, so what?”
“So you shouldn’t be driving, and you shouldn’t pick up your son like this.”
“Who the hell do you think you are? You’re just a teacher. I’m his parent, and I will do whatever the hell I want with my son!”
“Look, I don’t want us to argue, especially in front of your child. I can call someone on his list of approved people allowed to pick him up.”
“Lady, I’m his father; I’m on that list!” he rages.
“No, you’re not; at least not today. You need to stay here and wait until I—”
He storms off and marches towards Fletcher. “Let’s go, son,” he says as he grabs the boy by his elbow. I pull Fletcher away from his father and order him to get inside the classroom and lock the door. He does as I say and takes off. I turn around to try to reason with the father but before I can say anything, he has each of his hands on my upper arms and is shaking me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demands. His grip is absolute and sends pain shooting down my arm. “Let go of me!” I scream as I stamp my heel down on his toe. He groans and releases his grip. Then he regains his composure and grits his teeth at me. “You’re just like my wife, all mouth. Well, you’re not keeping my son from me!” he shouts as he tackles me. I fall backward and onto the floor. He gets on top of me, and all of a sudden, I feel just like I did back in the alley. I have no control; I’m terrified, and all I can do is brace myself. He pulls his fist back to take a swing but his fist never lands the blow.
A large figure appears behind him and yanks him off of me. The man—who appeared out of nowhere—effortlessly wrestles Fletcher’s father to the ground and cuffs him.
“Sky, you okay? Can you stand up?” he asks. I nod and try to get on my feet. I’m sore and bruised but other than that I’m fine.
“Thank you. Who are you?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around what just happened.
“I’m Wyatt—I’m Cash’s brother.”
***
It takes a while to get everything settled. Wyatt took Mr. Cameron to the station. I was able to reach Mrs. Cameron, and she sent her sister to pick up Fletcher. I promised her that I was fine and she explained that her husband had been drinking more and more and having trouble holding down a job. She begged me not to file charges against him and said he’d never behaved that way before. I told h
er all I cared about was their son and that he was safe. When I was finally done and Fletcher was headed home safely, I went down to the police station, like I promised Wyatt I would.
I spot Wyatt at his desk and marvel at his strong jawline, piercing eyes, and athletic build. So, it looks like being hot is in the family DNA. I go over to his desk, and he asks that I take a seat.
“Are you sure you are not hurt?” he asks.
“Just sore. How did you come to be at the school and how did you know who I am?”
“Shelby told me about her run-in with you, and I thought I’d come apologize on behalf of—well, all of mankind. When I pulled up, I saw what was happening. It was just a lucky break.”
“Yes, thank you for stepping in,” I reply. I hear him talking, but for some reason, I’m not there in the station with him. I’m floating above myself. I’m so damn out of it.
Wyatt places his hand on the side of my face gently. “Sky, are you sure you are okay?”
“Ah, yeah. Yeah. Fine,” I lie. “I just need to take a hot shower and turn in early. Thank you for helping me.”
“Sure, I think Cash would rip my head off if I didn’t help his girl.”
I can feel my cheeks grow warm and my stomach flip.
“I contacted social services, and they will handle the case. You should be safe now. I doubt that guy will be allowed to come within five hundred feet of the school after this.”
I don’t reply; I just nod. I haven’t thought about the alley in a while and what could have happened. But being attacked brought it all back. How is it that some of us are such easy targets?
“I’m gonna take you home. You’re still a little out of it,” he says as he watches me.
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” I mutter.
“And Sky, don’t worry about Shelby. She can be a handful, but she means well,” he explains. “And when Cash finds out, we’re gonna have to plan her funeral.”
A woman enters the station and waves to Wyatt. She’s gorgeous. She’s a tall blonde with blue eyes and the most perfect facial features I’ve seen in a long time. Her stride is confident, and her clothes are very chic.
“Wyatt, where is that brother of yours? I thought I told you to have him call me?” she says.
“Hi, Monica,” he says in a low tone.
“Monica? You’re Monica?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
“Yes, I am,” she says like she’s expecting a prize for being herself. “Do I know you?”
“Ah, no. I’ve…heard about you,” I reply, suddenly aware of how awful I must look. I look down at myself and yup; I look like crap.
“You have? And who are you?” she asks with an air of superiority. Wyatt hangs his head, takes a deep breath, and tries to walk through the minefield.
“Skylar, this is Monica. Her brother is a cop friend of mine. Monica, this is Skylar. Cash’s girlfriend,” he says carefully. She looks me up and down; I stare back and smile even though I feel like throwing her out into traffic. We shake hands—barely.
“Oh, so you’re the reason why he hasn’t called me?” she says.
“I don’t know why he hasn’t called. You’d have to see him about that,” I reply.
“How did the two of them meet?” she asks Wyatt.
“You know, you could just…ask her. She’s right there,” Wyatt says.
“So, how did it happen?” she pushes.
“He was running an op, and I unintentionally became part of it,” I reply, trying to keep my voice even.
“Oh no, wait! Did he save your life?” she says, smirking. “Well, that explains it.”
“I’m sorry, what does that mean?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just that Cash has a thing for weak, wounded birds. You know the Hunter brothers love a good pet project.”
“Monica, enough,” Wyatt scolds in an icy tone. Right away, Monica falls silent.
“Your brother is in the break room. Maybe you should go find him—now,” Wyatt suggests firmly.
She smiles and shrugs. “Okay, okay. I can take a hint,” she says as she turns her attention to me. “Nice to meet you.” Then without looking back, she takes off and makes sure that I see her ever-so-elegant walk as she departs.
“I’m sorry about that,” Wyatt says. “She can be a little much.”
“You think?” I reply.
He smiles. “I’ll take you home and have Cash meet you there.”
“Wyatt, quick question: is there any way we can keep this just between us?”
Wyatt guides me to a small, empty office at the back of the station. Once we enter, he closes the door behind us. I hate that I’m asking this of him—he just helped me out, and now I’m asking him to lie to his brother. But I don’t feel like I really have a choice.
“I’m not a relationship guru or anything like that. In fact, I really don’t know much about them. But I know my brother, and believe me, lying to him is not the way to go,” he cautions.
“I’m not lying; I just don’t think he needs to know this.”
“You were attacked. How does he not need to know?” he pleads.
“It’s not a big deal,” I insist.
“Exactly, it’s not a big deal right now but the moment you lie to him, it will be,” he assures me. I exhale and lean my head back against the wall. I’m about to be more honest than I have ever been with someone I only met a few moments earlier.
“I don’t want Cash to see me the way Monica says he does. I don’t want him to think I’m some kind of wounded bird who can’t take care of herself. I don’t want to be his pet project.”
“I doubt Cash thinks of you that way. I saw how you stood up to that guy and how you placed yourself in danger to make sure that kid didn’t get in the car. That is not a wounded bird. That’s a mama bear who knows how to fight for herself.”
“But in the end, I still needed help. Just like I needed help in that alley. I was over it, at least I thought I was, and then…I flashed back to the same fear I felt in the alley and I just…I don’t want to be thought of as helpless. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, Sky, I do,” he says reluctantly. I get closer to him and place my hand on his shoulder.
“This isn’t the first impression I wanted to make on his family. I know how close you guys are and I would never want to get in the way of that. But what if Monica’s right? What if I’m someone Cash feels he needs to save all the time? What then?”
“Monica doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s just trying to stir something up, and you need to be smarter than that and not fall for it. Look, my wife did something similar to me a long time ago. Something happened that she should have shared with me, but she didn’t. And it worked out, but it was a lot more difficult because she didn’t come right out and tell me. Sky, think about this.”
“I am thinking. And I know this for sure: I don’t want to be the woman that Cash has to worry about,” I push. He rubs the back of his neck with his palm and closes his eyes for a few moments.
“Okay, I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to. But I have known Cash all my life, and he’s fine with a woman he has to save; however, he’s not fine with a woman he can’t trust. So choose your next move carefully…”
***
By the time I make my way back to my apartment, I have a splitting headache, and I ache all over. I down some aspirin and drink two bottles of water. When I take my clothes off and look in the mirror, I’m surprised at just how bruised I am. There are two large handprints on my arms, where that jerk grabbed me. Suddenly even the thought of getting in the tub feels like too much of a task. But I make myself get inside anyway. The best thing to do is to let the water ease my muscles.
This would be even better in Cash’s spa tub but that would mean seeing him, and I am not sure what I would say to him yet. I can think about all that tomorrow; right now, soak and then sleep. Yeah, I’m living a wild life here. I plant my face in the water and try to drown out the world if only for a few mo
ments. Suddenly a flood of memories invades my mind.
The moment I open the back door of the restaurant and the gunman grabs me, the force he used to keep me in place as he wrapped his arm around my neck, the gun on my temple, the moment I’m thrown to the ground at school. I see myself falling and desperately trying to grab onto something—anything. But there’s nothing to stop my fall.
I hear a drum beating far off in the distance as I pull my head out of the water. It takes me a moment before I realize the pounding isn’t in my head; it’s at the door. Someone is knocking. I get out of the water, slip on my bathrobe, and make my way to the door.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“Kenz.”
“Hang on,” I reply as I tie my robe closed. I open the door and find her wide-eyed and panic-stricken.
“What the holy hell, Sky? You were attacked at the school?” she says as she looks me over and embraces me tightly. I wince a little because I’m still sore as hell.
“I’m okay, Kenz. How did you know?”
“You know the lady who lives across the street from the school, Mrs. Alstead? Well, she called me and said there was a fight in the schoolyard, and someone was arrested. She couldn’t make out which one of the teachers was involved, and she wanted to know if I was okay. I told her I had no idea what she was talking about. I also told her that there’s no way my best friend would get hurt and not tell me—again!” she scolds.
“I’m fine.”
“You really need to stop saying that and start telling me what happened,” she demands.
“Okay, I will tell you everything but can we do it on the sofa in front of a pot of tea?” I beg.
“Fine, but screw the tea, I’m having a shot of tequila. Now talk, woman!”
I tell her everything; she listens carefully and doesn’t interrupt. When I’m done, she bursts into tears. I quickly hold her close.