Claiming Her_A Romance Collection

by R. R. Banks

  "I sure hope you brought along everything you need," my father said as he came back down the steps and made a beeline for the coffee and cinnamon rolls. "But don't worry, even if you forgot something, we can always go up to the store and get it."

  Yes, the store that was three minutes closer to my house than it was to my parents'.

  That night I was tucked into my lace-edged sheets, staring at the inspirational poster I had hung on my wall during my junior year when I heard my phone chime from beneath my pillow. I had taken to keeping it there in the early days of college when my dorm roommate insisted that my alarm clock was archaic and produced too much light during the night to allow her to get sufficient REM sleep, so I would have to unplug it. An eight AM class necessitated me waking up reliably and using my phone alarm from directly beneath my head proved the only effective way of getting that done. The roommate didn't last beyond the semester, but the phone-pillow habit survived to this day.

  I pulled my phone out and looked at the screen. It held a text message from Garrett.

  'How was the road trip to your folks'?'

  'Strenuous as always, but I got to listen to the top four greatest hits of the 80s, so that made it go by faster.'

  '80s music doesn't make anything go faster.'

  'Don't besmirch my 80s music.'

  'Besmirch? Is that actually a word that is still used?'

  'Oh, hush your mouth.'

  'I'm not using my mouth. I'm using my fingers.'

  'Hush your...fingers.'

  'Maybe you should come over and I'll find something better to do with my fingers.'

  I wriggled in my bed, squeezing my thighs together against the desire already growing there.

  'I told you. I can't. I'm at my parents' house.'

  'So, sneak out and come see me. I'll wait outside your window.'

  I muffled a laugh against my pillow. I loved that he was playing along, but even more amusing was that he was suggesting something that I would have never even considered in high school. Leaving for my dates when I was a teenager happened strictly through the front door, the exact same way that I returned, always on time and with my goodnight kiss occurring no less than 30 seconds before curfew so that the front door was closed and locked before I could be considered late.

  I was boring as hell.

  I thought about my response for a few seconds, wondering if I should go along with his request, then thought better of it.

  'Sorry. You're just going to have to miss me.'

  I felt myself blush as I sent the message and chastised myself for the reaction that brought me just a bit too close to being an actual teenager. I was feeling completely wrapped up in Garrett, my thoughts drifting to him every few minutes and my dreams filling with replays of our encounters and fantasies of what more could come. Even as I felt myself floating when I thought of him, there was a voice in the back of my mind that told me to be cautious. It reminded me that I didn't really know him and that I couldn't truly trust him. I had to protect myself.

  'Missing you will just make me want you more.'

  I bit my bottom lip and tucked my phone back under my pillow, trying to will myself to go to sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  Garrett

  "Are you kidding me, Jason? Are you seriously freaking kidding me?"

  "I'm sorry, Dad."

  "I thought that we had this conversation. I thought that I made it clear to you that you needed to straighten up."

  "You did."

  "Apparently I didn't because you just waltzed in here with a letter from your teacher."

  I was furious that this is the way that my week was beginning. After a weekend of flirting and sexy banter with Gwendolyn, my Monday had started with the first fire call that I received since taking my position. An apparent case of arson triggered by a long-standing feud between two families. The blaze had destroyed several generations-old buildings on a farm just outside of town and started a brush fire that nearly got out of control. If it hadn't been for some dampness remaining in the ground from the melting snow, many more buildings and homes could have been obliterated. The team had spent hours fighting back the flames, rescuing livestock, and trying to cooperate with the investigation of the arson without compromising the safety of the area and everyone in it. I had come home exhausted and wanting nothing more than just to take a shower, eat something, and go to bed. Instead, I had found an envelope sitting on the kitchen counter. There was no name on it, but the top corner held a printed return address for the school.

  "It's Miss Martin again," Jason said. "I told you, she won't get off my back. I don't know what it is about her. She just doesn't like me. She hasn't liked me since the first day that she saw me, and she won't give me a break."

  "Somehow, I doubt that," I said.

  I tore open the envelope and pulled out the folded letter. When I opened it, all anger that I had toward my son disappeared and instead shifted so that it was directed right at the teacher.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Baxter," I said. She addressed the letter to Mr. and Mrs. Baxter.

  I saw Jason nodding and suddenly I felt like I understood what he was going through. Seeing that salutation on the letter made me intensely angry and my hands shook as I looked at it. I had moved us here to Silver Lake not because of any memories that I had of it, not because this is where I had been born, not because of any ties that I had to it, but despite those things. I had moved us here because of the small community and the opportunities that I hoped that it would hold for my son. I thought that if we lived in a smaller area with a tighter community that he would have more of an opportunity to feel supported and encouraged, and build meaningful relationships that might help him to experience a greater sense of value and accountability. Instead, it seemed like he had disappeared. He was suddenly someone nobody understood, and who apparently no one was willing to take the time to understand. This letter was enough for me to see that this Miss Martin didn't even care enough about her students to take the time to get to know them or learn anything about them. If she did, then she would know that not only did Jason have a different last name than me, but there was no Mrs. in the house to read the letter along with me.

  I skimmed the rest of the letter. It requested that I come in for a conference with her so that we could discuss Jason's behavioral issues. I looked up at Jason who had stayed standing a few feet from me, watching me as I read the letter.

  "What is it that you're doing in her class that has made her so angry at you?" I asked.

  He shrugged.

  "I'm not really doing anything," he said. "I might tease her a little bit. Sometimes I don't really get along with the other students that are in the class. But it's not like I'm throwing things at her or inciting riots or anything."

  I nodded. I folded up the letter and shoved it back into the envelope, slamming it down onto the counter. The last thing that I wanted to do was go up to the school and face this miserable woman. It seems like an absolute waste of my time and energy to go listen to her ramble on about Jason when I felt like I had gotten plenty of information from him and from that letter. At the same time, I did want to confront her. I wanted to tell her that she needed to back off and stop being so hard on him just because he was acting like a teenage boy. I knew that he was rebellious and could be difficult. He was my son and I had lived with him every day of his life. I had seen him at his worst, at least the worst that I hoped that he would ever achieve, but I also knew that he was a decent kid. Being as hard on him as she was being wasn't going to help. If anything, it was going to push him further into acting out. I grabbed the phone and called the firehouse, letting them know that I needed to shift my hours the next day. When I hung up I looked at Jason.

  "I'm going up to the school tomorrow and I'm going to have a talk with Miss Martin," I said.

  He nodded again. Not feeling hungry anymore, I stomped down the hallway toward the shower, ready for the day to be over.

  The next afternoon I strode into
the front office of the high school just a few moments after the final bell rang. I wanted to give any students in Miss Martin's last class the opportunity to get out of the classroom before I got into it. The secretary looked up at me with an expression that was somewhere between intimidation and attraction. It was something that I was accustomed to seeing in women, but at that moment I didn't care how anyone was reacting to me. I was getting ready to ask the secretary where to find Miss Martin when I saw the principal coming down the short hallway that led to his office.

  "Garrett," he said, sounding happy to see me. "This is certainly a surprise. What can I do for you?"

  "Well, unfortunately, it isn't a good surprise," I said. "That teacher that you and I talked about sent a letter home with Jason yesterday asking me to come up here and talk to her about him."

  The color in the thin man's face drained away slightly, but he fought to keep the smile in place. I couldn't tell if that was because he was trying to lessen the impact of the situation or just because he wanted to stay on my good side. Either way, all I needed was for him to tell me where to find her classroom. He offered to escort me there and tried to keep up with a casual small-talk conversation as we made our way through the crowds of students congesting the hallways, as they tried to escape the school building for the afternoon. I kept my eyes out for Jason but didn't see him, as we turned off the main hallway and into one of the wings of the building. There was a sign above the main entrance to the section of the school that said Humanities and I remember that Jason had mentioned that Miss Martin was his History teacher. We turned down another small hallway and Mr. Jefferson stopped, gesturing at one of the classroom doors.

  "Here it is," he said. He then turned toward the door. "Gwendolyn, there's a parent here to see you."

  Gwendolyn? Is that what he just said? There can't possibly be many of those in Silver Lake.

  I waited for a few breathless seconds until the teacher appeared at the open doorway and then felt my heart drop to my feet. Gwendolyn stood with her mouth partially open, her eyes locked on me. She was holding a pen in one hand and it dropped to her side, the pen falling from her fingers and onto the floor. The sound made her jump, seeming to bring her back into the moment and she leaned down to pick it up.

  "Are you alright?" Mr. Jefferson asked.

  "Yes," she said, brushing hair away from her face as she tried to regain her composure. "I'm fine. Thank you."

  Mr. Jefferson looked at me.

  "This is Garrett Allen. He tells me that he received a letter from you requesting that he come in to discuss his son Jason."

  Gwendolyn stumbled over her words for a few seconds and then nodded.

  "Yes," she said. "That is correct. Thank you for making sure that he found me."

  Mr. Jefferson looked between the two of us, apparently able to see the tension that was building.

  "Do the two of you know each other?" He asked.

  Gwendolyn's eyes snapped to him.

  "I met him at the party that was thrown for him at the community center," she said. "I helped Sarah organize it and he and I had a few moments to speak then."

  The principal nodded.

  "Good. Well, then, I will leave you to your conversation. I hope that everything works out well."

  There was a strange tone in the way that he said that almost as though he were saying it both as a plea to me and a warning to Gwendolyn. We both watched as he walked back down the hallway and as soon as he disappeared around the corner she turned dark, piercing eyes toward me.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" she asked.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm the one that received a letter from you saying that I needed to come in and have a conference with you about my son's behavioral issues. Actually, Mr. and Mrs. Baxter received a letter from you."

  "How was I supposed to know that he doesn't have the same last name as his parents?" she hissed at me.

  Another teacher stepped out of a classroom a few doors down and slid her eyes toward us. I gave a small smile and we both fell silent as she walked past. She moved at a pace that was far too slow, obviously hoping that she would be able to catch more of the conversation, but neither of us said another word until she was out of sight and we couldn't hear the sound of her high heels against the polished concrete floor.

  "Maybe we should go in your classroom and continue this conference,” I said.

  "Fine," Gwendolyn said.

  We walked into the classroom and she closed the door behind me before stalking across the room to take her place behind the desk. It was like she was bracing herself, creating a protective barrier between the two of us with her professional standing as much as the hunk of pressed wood and metal.

  "So, do you want to explain to me why you have so much of a problem with my son?" I asked.

  "I didn't even know that he was your son," she said defensively. "How could you lie to me about something like that?"

  "I didn't lie to you. You never asked me if I had any children."

  "I didn't think that I needed to ask. I would think that having a teenage son is something that you mention."

  "When?" I asked. "It's not as though we've been having a lot of deep and meaningful conversations. When exactly were we going to have the opportunity to get to know each other? You never even told me your last name and didn't program it into my phone when you put your number there."

  Color splashed against her cheeks and she looked down at her desk so that she didn't have to make eye contact with me. Finally, she looked up again.

  "Why doesn't he have the same last name?"

  "Not that it's any of your business or that it has anything to do with this, but Baxter is his mother's last name."

  "Are you married?" she asked.

  I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

  "Seriously? You think that this is all some sort of lurid affair and I have a little wife back home who has no idea."

  "It happens," she said.

  "No," I said emphatically. "I am not married. I haven't been married for a long time. Jason came along when I was still a teenager. His mother and I weren't married, and her family insisted that he be given her last name on the birth certificate. Even when we got married, she refused to have his last name changed."

  "Why?" she asked.

  "That's a really good fucking question. She never told me. I think that she did it to punish me for taking her youth away from her and turning her into a military wife rather than letting her continue to live the carefree lifestyle that she wanted. I think that she wanted to have a constant reminder for me of what I had done and what I had cost her. Like she wanted to make sure that I always knew that this wasn't her plan, that the life that I fought and struggled so hard to provide for her and Jason was just the consolation prize for everything that she had ever wanted being taken away from her." I didn't know why I was explaining all of this to her. It was something that I never talked about. Not to anyone. But now that I was saying it, I felt like I couldn't stop myself. "Once she was gone, I thought about changing his last name to Allen, but he was already so accustomed to his name. I didn't want him to have to go through more change and more confusion. "

  "Gone?" Gwendolyn asked. "Did she...?"

  "She didn't die," I said. "But she might as well have. She abandoned both of us after I asked for a divorce. Jason hasn't even seen her since he was a little boy. I figured that taking his last name away from him would just add to the trauma and make him feel more like he was losing everything that he had always known. I didn't want him to feel more abandoned."

  "So, you left him with a constant reminder of the mother who left him?" she asked.

  Anger surged within my chest and my fists clenched at my sides.

  "I'm not here to discuss my parenting tactics with you. I'm here because you won't get off my son's back and give him a chance."

  I was seething, but the emotions inside me went well beyond just the anger that I had felt at the way that she was treating Jason and h
aving my tattered marriage brought up by someone who had no idea what she was talking about. I could still feel the heat between us, the almost consuming passion, but that feeling only made my anger harsher. I didn't know her. I knew nothing about her. I felt like everything that she had said to me, everything that I thought that we had experienced together, was a lie. There was no way that I could even consider allowing the feelings that had started developing to exist now that I knew who she really was. This was just confirmation that I couldn't trust any woman, and I didn't want to even look at her anymore.

  "I have given your son every chance that he deserved. You're just refusing to admit that he's capable of doing anything wrong."

  "I'm not refusing anything except to deal with you being too hard on him. He's just a teenager."

  "A teenager that's already on a path to self-destruction. He shows no responsibilities and no motivation, he's rude and surly, and he's made no effort at all to fit in with his fellow classmates…"

  "That's funny because he comes home every day telling me about his friends and what he's learning in his other classes and the baseball team."

  "The people that he calls his friends I would be very cautious about," she said. "I haven't talked to any of his other teachers, so I don't know how he is actually doing any of those classes, but as for his baseball team, that's what made the situation worse, to begin with." She paused, and her eyes narrowed at me. "Of course, you know all about that."

  "Yes, I do. I know that you tried to force him to miss an important practice just so that he could stay after school and get scolded for not being the prim and proper little schoolboy you want him to be."

  "No wonder Mr. Jefferson went behind my back and lifted Jason's detention."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Everybody in this town knows that Benjamin Jefferson is a wannabe firefighter. He has been his whole life. But he was never able to be healthy or strong enough, or frankly clear-headed and organized enough, to get through the training. So instead he just has an almost obsessive fascination with firefighters. He must worship you. Of course, he would bend over backwards to make sure that your son wasn't unhappy and that you didn't have to be embarrassed by the fact that he got detention on his second day in my class. It probably would have been the first day if he had bothered to show up, or did he failed to mention to you that he skipped almost his entire first day of classes?