Dispatched Confessions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 2)

by Talia Maxwell

  “Yes, he’s his father’s son, too, if that’s what you’re asking.” Holly wished it wasn’t a fact of life that her kiddo needed extra helpings of how-to-live-in-this-age information. He’d never talk to a person of authority without Brian. She was certain. “I’m sure Fran has gone over the basics of what to do should he need to call you…”

  “He’s a smart kid,” Brian said and his warmth made her feel comforted, but still, she recognized how disingenuous they were. He was a smart kid who brought a gun to school.

  “You said it. This is Alex. I feel like I’ve slipped into a different universe. Do you believe in that?”

  Brian sighed and Holly knew he was annoyed with having to indulge her sidetracked conversation. “Do I believe in alternate universes?”

  “Yeah,” she swallowed. “Like, there’s a world where I stayed married to Fran or one where Alex and I got out faster and I lived with my parents and…”

  “Those are just called dreams, Holly. Look, I’m on my way. I’m on my way.” He hung up.

  Holly kept the phone in her hand, stood up, and walked up to the men patiently waiting for her to finish.

  She looked at the SRO, who smiled, and then she turned to the counselor. There was something pained behind his eyes, an eager longing to set things right. But, there was also something else, too—assessment, awkwardness, a protective stance. He stood between her and the cop, strong and self-assured, while everything inside of her felt little and afraid.

  Joel reached out.

  He put a hand on her shoulder.

  There was intimacy in the touch—a softness, familiar and hyper-charged—and Holly noticed it immediately. She wanted him to take his hand off of her and take a step back.

  “I want to see my son,” she demanded.

  Joel dropped his arm and led the way.

  Chapter Two

  Joel remembered Holly from high school.

  It was probably more accurate to say he’d never really forgotten Holly from high school.

  Holly Bloom. Like a flower. She’d been a firecracker, a force of unbridled teenage hunger for anything and everything—she led their AP class on a protest and published long editorials in the school newspaper lambasting student leadership. And she was homecoming princess their junior year and won Most Likely to Sneak into your Room and Organize your Closet for their senior class.

  They ran in different circles, sure, but there’d been that one night.

  It was after the choir concert.

  He bet she didn’t even remember. Most high school memories were fuzzy shadows of a different life—but that era was something he revisited often since he worked in a high school and the nostalgia for his own experiences always cropped up throughout the year. He was amazed when people said they didn’t remember high school. He remembered high school better than he remembered yesterday.

  The choir concert memory was especially clear. For her, it was probably a passing comment, an opportunity to land a barb on someone who deserved it. For him, it was the first time he knew he didn’t have a chance with the girl in front of him and it made him ravenous with attraction.

  Joel’s ugly duckling phase was formative because it made him brave and stupid for attention, which wasn’t an attractive quality to the brainy girl who’d nabbed his attention at outdoor school.

  He’d gone to the end-of-the-year concert to support his friends when Holly sidled up after the show and said, “I didn’t think jocks came to things like this. Quick, don’t let your buddies know you came,” before she laughed and sauntered away.

  They ended up at the same after party.

  He’d chased her around, stubborn and cool. She took another shot.

  “It’s the spring choir concert,” she mentioned when she knew he was listening. “Someone should’ve told the football players that their interest in the arts is a bit too late.”

  It was the cocksure way she’d annihilated his presence that drew his attention. He hated to admit it, but he was used to high school girls that flung themselves at him—giggling and whispering, asking their friends to set them up. That was the lone memory of Holly Bloom—two moments, with one lined interactions that stayed with him his entire life. That night, he hadn’t considered himself a jock, an outsider to the world of the arts, no, just a friend at a choir concert. Her comment left him bruised and contemplative.

  Some things stuck.

  He’d used that story dozens of times to teens in need of a reminder that sometimes other people would only judge you by what they could see with their eyes. And that the world would be a better place if we could all see with our hearts.

  Joel’s counseling persona was 75% Fred Rodgers and 25% Steve Rogers.

  Now, Holly Gamarra nee Bloom was gorgeous. And unchanged. Her shock of red hair, her bright doll eyes. He knew who she was and she didn’t have a clue, and he knew it would be strange to remind the one-time high school acquaintance that they had, in fact, spent four years traveling together through beige hallways and boring math classes.

  She’d known him as Rampage.

  Even his own parents called him that for a bit.

  Now, he mused, Holly was an elementary school secretary and mom to a teenager, which wasn’t how he’d pictured her, but he knew life often had many twists and turns. When she arrived at the counseling office, seeking out assistance, he took pause. Her tiny waist and her curves; the thin-point of her heart-shaped face.

  I didn’t think jocks came to things like this.

  The confidence she exuded, even though he knew she was nervous and worried for her child, demonstrated to him that she was captivatingly in control. Most parents were heaps of shaking nerves. A lot of them yelled. Most of them yelled. He had to take a second at the counter to prepare for the interaction and deep down he wondered if she would remember him immediately or if it would dawn on her slowly.

  May, the counseling secretary, shot him a look when Holly had first walked in all terrified and anxious, clutching her purse like a shield. He saw the secretary shoot him a look: here’s another one. They had their fill of hyped-up helicopter parents. But still, Joel had to take a moment to pause. He’d known she was coming and he was prepared—but she made him feel blustery, as though he knew she’d be capable of cutting straight to his heart again—like she did all those years ago.

  She was wearing a skirt, it hugged her lower-half, with boots halfway up her calf. She walked slightly in front of him as they left the office and he couldn’t help but glance down and catch the curve of her ass. When he lifted his head, May raised her eyes with humorous admonishment. Joel hustled and caught up to Holly’s side, he kept his eyes on the floor, his walk brisk.

  The last thing he needed was some kid watching him check-out someone’s mom.

  He was taking her to see Alex and Officer Wilde had slipped off ahead of them. They marched in even steps down the tile floor—the school mostly silent.

  “So,” he said, the small-talk bubbling forth, his own nervousness evident, “I know you work for the district. What else have you been up to since high school? Did you go to the ten-year?”

  He knew she hadn’t.

  He’d looked for her.

  “No,” she said with a small shake of her head. “I was a single mom with an eight-year-old. Couldn’t really pay ninety bucks to see people who didn’t know me back then. Wasn’t my thing.” She took a beat. “How long have you worked here?” she asked. He could tell already that she didn’t care, she was passing the time, keeping the awkward silence from overtaking them.

  “Five years. I coach varsity soccer. Played a bit after school in the minors…thought for a hot-minute the Timbers might call, but nah.” He felt foolish for adding that last part; he hadn’t made the cut—hadn’t that been the important part of the journey, though? The failure. That’s what he told kids, too.

  “Of course,” she answered. She still hadn’t looked up at him—her eyes remained ahead at all times. “Yeah. That was your sport. I remember
.”

  She never knew that was his sport. He smiled.

  In all her insults she’d called him a football player. What else did she remember or not remember?

  You remember that slight smile you had when you stared at me from across the room? The way you didn’t break eye-contact and crossed your arms, watching me until I looked away, he thought.

  “Here we are,” he said as they approached the main conference room.

  He opened the door for her; she ducked under his extended arm and walked inside. The operatives gathered in their rolling chairs—a collection of administrators, a security officer, two police officers, Joel and her, and in the center chair at the end of the table, Alex. He looked into his lap and didn’t move.

  His face was tight with anger and embarrassment.

  Joel watched Holly’s face as she explored her son and tried to coax him into noticing her presence. He didn’t. And he could see her silently seething, not used to being ignored. Her worry eclipsed the anger soon enough and she leaned forward and whispered to him. Alex nodded his head once and she patted him on the arm and that was that.

  When Joel took the seat by her side, Holly instinctively slid her chair away from him an inch, and he found himself reaching over further than he wanted to pat her hand with a comforting swipe. The intimate gesture even caught him by surprise and he withdrew himself quickly as she seemed to tense and take a breath.

  The principal looked to Joel to start the meeting and so, he produced the letter and slid it across the table. Alex kept his head down and his eyes closed as the paper slid closer to him. Joel cleared his throat.

  “I’ll read the referral filled out by Mr. Jefferies.” He shuffled through the papers and brought out a printed email. “Today during class,” he read, “Alex Gamarra was visibly agitated at a student. At the start of class, they were verbally shouting. I removed them from class. I asked Alex to take a walk. He stormed out and left his things. A student was packing up his backpack to take to student management when the note was found and addressed to this student. This student made the mistake of mockingly reading the letter out loud to the class, stopped when it got brutal.” Joel stopped. He should feel Holly tense beside him—she kept looking at Alex, but the child was resolute in his stillness.

  “That’s not my kid,” Holly said slowly and with that sharp malice he’d remembered from high school. Joel’s heartbeat quickened at the familiar timbre of her complaint. “I dropped off a happy, healthy, amenable child off at school today. You are threatening to expel him for behavior that seems normal. Where’s the girl who read through his private property? Sounds to me like there was a fight and then some teenager decided to bully him in front of an entire class—”

  Brian would’ve told her to stop talking by now, but Holly was irate at knowing how the story unfolded. Someone went through his private papers and made them public—could there be nothing more embarrassing to a fourteen-year-old boy?

  The staff’s faces went from supportive, but stern, to dismissive. For a moment, Alex’s eyes fluttered to his mother’s. Even he was baffled by her erroneous support as though he’d expected her shame and refusal to help instead. Joel inwardly clapped.

  He’d made the same claim about the bullying. Not that it would ultimately impact Alex’s expulsion or his ride to juvenile detention, but it could impact his future at other schools greatly. Joel wanted the kid to have a fighting chance at a future—he was smart and he was only a baby.

  Also, he knew the girl in the report quite well. The referral couldn’t contain her name for legal reasons, but everyone in that room knew he wrote the note to Claire Gregor.

  Miss Gregor held some sort of power over a few different cliques of people and Alex Gamarra’s small clan was no exception. Joel made it his job to know his students: where they ate lunch, who their friends were, all of their extracurricular activities. And the bombastic Claire, the youngest of a brood of Gregors who’d gone before, held court with her motley crew of misfits in the 500 Hall at lunch every day.

  Alex, though, wasn’t one to run with any of them. Joel couldn’t quite figure out how he was swept up into all the drama, but he felt sorry for the kid. He did.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Gamarra,” said one of the administrators, in a tone that was shorter than it needed to be, “we are not holding one child’s actions against another. We are simply holding Alex accountable for his own behavior which involved threatening the life of the girl in the letter. She felt threatened and traumatized…”

  Joel knew, in fact, that she didn’t feel that way at all. She’d thought the ordeal was laughably funny when he’d tried to talk to her that next period, but he didn’t want to interrupt and risk his boss’s ire.

  Holly had no such qualms.

  “I’m not asking you not to hold my child responsible, but I am asking for you to consider that maybe there is more to this story and you’ll find it out…in due time…” she said, sniffing. He knew she was stalling, waiting for the labor. And if he wasn’t preoccupied with dotting every i and crossing every t, he’d have enjoyed watching her try to bide time until the lawyer could get there and save the day. “I haven’t talked to my son yet and he has rights—”

  “Let’s talk about those rights,” the principal interrupted. “Mr. Rusk?”

  He kept his feelings stuffed and his face neutral as he began to explain to Alex and Holly their rights and what would happen next. Expulsion. His absences. His grades. The weapon.

  “If you just tell us the truth and let us know where you got the weapon and what your intended use—” Joel and a few other people had tried. Everyone wanted him to advocate for himself and explain the letter and discuss the situation, but the child sat mute, trembling with anger.

  “Can I talk to Alex alone?” Joel began to suggest, but that was when the lawyer entered and the meeting ended.

  Brian Jenkins was dressed in a designer t-shirt and a pair of black pants. He had on sunglasses, although Joel was convinced it was raining outside. He slid into the conference room without regard for anyone and loudly announced himself.

  “I’m Brian Jenkins.” His voice was so familiar and as he began to say he was Holly’s lawyer, Joel placed it immediately. He was the best divorce lawyer in town. His ads ran on all the local sports show broadcasts. He looked a little bit like a sleazeball, but he was good. And good was good. “I’m Holly’s lawyer on retainer. And I’m aware that we have eleven days until a hearing must be scheduled. I demand a hearing then, access to all of Alex’s records and a list of the kids you’re bringing in as witnesses.”

  Holly’s shoulders relaxed and Joel disguised a satisfied smirk.

  Brian turned to the officers. “Where are you taking him?” he asked.

  “The Donald Cooper Center right downtown would be my guess,” one of the men said.

  Holly burst into tears.

  She’d kept her cool until that moment, but then she’d lost it. The sleazy lawyer got to be the one to go in and envelop her, and Joel resisted the urge to turn to her and hug her, too. For the first time since they walked into the room, Joel saw Alex waver. The young man’s eyes lifted to his mother, watered, and then retreated. One of the officers tugged him gently to his feet and led him out of the room, another asked Holly to stay and answer questions. She accepted weakly and watched as Alex drifted out of sight.

  The room exhaled and shifted and the school officials departed. Joel stood up, too, and reached out to shake her hand. She examined his outstretched palm with confusion and then shook it limply.

  “Good to see you again,” he whispered, his mouth dry.

  “Next time I hope it’s under better circumstances,” Holly replied with a weak glance toward the police officer waiting to talk. Brian stood behind her and he dabbed at his forehead with a tissue, and soon he couldn’t think of any additional reasons to stay. Joel exited and walked past their school resource officer waiting with Alex, and he passed them by with a solemn head nod, his part done.
>
  Down the next hall, the principal caught up to him.

  “Jefferies said some kids showed a post from yesterday. Alex had this girl pushed up against a car and he was angry, whispering in her face, pointing his finger into her chest. You think we prevented something tragic here today? Think our Ms. Gregor might’ve caught a break when she chose to read that letter. Cruelty that saved her life.”

  “I don’t know,” Joel responded. He paused outside the main office doors. “He had straight As up until two weeks ago, everyone described him as gentle, kind.”

  “Brutal,” the principal mumbled. Then he clapped Joel on the shoulder and sniffed, “This one is gonna go to court, too. I can see lawsuit written all over this thing.” The man hung his head, not upset, only annoyed—it was a big school, subpoenas were common. Joel had been to court three times last month alone, although this was his first firearm discovery and it happened to be Holly Bloom’s son.

  Joel shook his head to no one in particular.

  He believed Holly when she said she didn’t know about Alex’s gun at the house. He knew that no-contact family alert usually meant one parent was in the habit of making bad choices, so it was easy to jump to the next available conclusion.

  “I wish I knew what made him turn like that,” Joel mused almost to himself. “There are only a few things that can get a kid that riled up…”

  The principal laughed, “Jesus, do you work with teens? There are a few hundred thousand things that could rile a kid up. Girls, money, parents, cheating on tests, paying someone to do your homework, looked at you wrong, made fun of your socks—”

  “I get it.”

  “Whatever, dude,” the principal tried, brushing the whole encounter off immediately. “That’s out of our hands now. Alex Gamarra isn’t coming back, if teachers start to get wind and want answers, we’ll do a stand up meeting and give basics. No one was ever in danger. Gun is confiscated and with police. Child will not be back at school. That’s our official statement. Let it go. We did all we could. Doesn’t matter what they say. We did all we could.”