Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
“Do you remember Spencer Bell?” I ask my brother as I pop a piece of cucumber into my mouth while he prepares a salad for dinner. A salad. I swear that’s as weird as the tea the other night, but I guess he does take his health seriously, being a firefighter and all.
“No?” he says it like a question as he swats my hand away from grabbing another veggie. “Should I?”
I shrug. “We went to school with him. He was in my class, but it was a small school. So I thought maybe you would.”
It’s clear my brother is thinking hard, and it’s pretty comical. “I don’t know. Doesn’t ring a bell. Why?”
I shrug, looking over at my son, who’s watching YouTube on the television in the living room, and then look back at Bowen. “Ran into him yesterday.”
Bowen laughs and then moves to the stove to stir the pasta he’s making for dinner.
I have to say working at the firehouse has been good for my brother.
Apparently, he likes to cook meals there, and it’s carried over to home, now that Elijah and I live here with him.
“Yeah, it’s a small town, man. That’s going to happen a lot.
Hell, I lucked out and actually get to work with my best friend. He lives two blocks from me.”
To say Will and Bowen are codependent as fuck would be an understatement, and they always have been. Even after Will got married. I just shake my head at my brother. “Yeah well, Spencer is Elijah’s teacher.”
“Oh.” He puts the spoon down and turns to look at me. “Guess that’s bound to happen too. Were you friends?”
I shake my head, thinking about the kid I grew up with. He was quiet, and to be honest, I didn’t recognize him at first, but there was something in his expression that was familiar to me. “Not really. He was one of the smart kids, I think.”
He snorts. “You definitely weren’t friends with him then.”
I toss a cucumber piece at my brother, and he catches it in his mouth without fail. “As if you can talk.”
“Nope,” he says, swallowing the bite of cucumber. “Never did get along with the nerds.”
I bristle at that. Where I was kind of a loner and a total shithead in school, my big brother was a shithead in his own right. The big, boisterous, loud-mouthed jock. “He’s not a nerd.”
Bowen’s right eyebrow lifts in question, and I clear my throat, realizing I probably need to chill. I’m not sure why seeing Spencer jolted me so much yesterday, but it was his attitude toward me that really got to me. “Why are we talking about him so much?”
I roll my eyes and grab the bowl of salad, walking to the small table and placing it in the middle. “He’s Elijah’s new teacher. Why wouldn’t I talk about him?”
Bowen grabs plates out of the cabinet and starts dishing pasta out onto them. “I don’t know. But you’re acting weird.”
“Elijah, dinner,” I call to my son as I walk over to Bowen, taking two of the plates from him. “I’m not acting weird. It was just strange. It was like he hated me.”
“Hated you?” Bowen seems genuinely surprised by that. “Did you do something to him? Oh shit.” His eyes widen. “Did I?”
I actually hadn’t thought about that—but I mean, it would make sense. Like I said, Bowen was a total shithead in high school. “I don’t know, did you?”
He frowns as we make our way over to the table, and I place a plate in front of Elijah, who must have been hungry because he immediately digs in. “What does he look like?”
I think about the man I met yesterday—he’s not as tall as I am, but he’s definitely grown since the last time I saw him.
He’s not a massive guy, but he’s bulked up too—all lean and gangly muscle.
His hair is the same light-brown shade, but he’s let it grow out a little.
His eyes are chocolate-brown with little specs of gold.
Phew . I don’t know why the hell I noticed that.
He still wears glasses, but somehow, it was like he grew into them, and they highlight his features instead of hiding them.
“He looks different now,” I say as I take a seat across from my son with my own plate in front of me. “But in high school, he was pretty small and skinny. Large black-rimmed glasses and brown hair and eyes.”
Bowen takes a seat, deep in thought. “I don’t think I did anything to him. I wasn’t a bully.”
I give him a long look as if to say that’s bullshit —though I don’t think he really was. He was obnoxious, but I don’t think he ever relentlessly teased anyone or tried to make anyone’s life hell. “Well, he’s not a fan of me,” I say, taking a bite.
Elijah is in his own little world, so I do my best to get his attention. “You ready for school tomorrow, buddy?”
He just shrugs his shoulders, his face not giving much away.
“Of course you are! First grade is a blast,” Bowen says, squeezing my son’s shoulder. “Well, that’s if your teacher doesn’t take out his hatred of your dad on you.”
I punch Bowen in the shoulder. “Shut. Up.”
But Elijah just snickers, and for once, he’s smiling. He does love his uncle and his antics. Why? I don’t know. “Thanks a lot, Dad.”
I grin over at my son, relieved to see him happy. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Suuure,” Bowen says and then winks at Elijah, who giggles again, and something settles in my chest, seeing the joy there.
I was worried I’d messed that up for good, but the little glimpses my son shows me—it gives me hope. Though Bowen could have a point. What if Spencer really does have some sort of vendetta against Bowen or me? Would he really take it out on Elijah?
I still have that sinking feeling in my gut, thinking about Spencer possibly taking out whatever problem he has with me on my son, and I can’t seem to shake it, even as I park my car in the school’s lot and help Elijah out of the back seat.
He’s dressed in shorts and a t-shirt he picked out with Bowen and me for his first day, his hair all gelled and styled—like Uncle Bowen—and his backpack on his shoulders. The kid is cute as hell.
The thought of anyone being cruel to him sends hot rage through my system as we walk up to his new school. “You ready for this?” I ask him, trying to keep my own nerves out of it.
“Yeah. It’s just school, Dad. I’ve been to school.
” I grin because he’s so unbothered and clearly thinks I’m crazy.
Becoming a parent for sure made me crazy in ways I never saw coming, but I wouldn’t change it for anything.
Not even becoming a father at eighteen. Because I wound up with the world’s greatest kid.
The school allows the parents to walk the kids into their classroom on the first day—so I take full advantage of that.
When we get to his locker, he leaves his bag in there, and I kneel down, my hands on his shoulders and part of me not wanting to let him go.
I look into his eyes. “Okay, so Uncle Bowen will pick you up because I start my first shift at the firehouse today.” He flinches at that, and part of me dies, hating that I have him so worried.
I squeeze his shoulders gently but want his attention.
“Hey, it’s safe. I promise you I’ll always come back to you.
” A promise I probably shouldn’t make—because honestly, no one can ever make that promise.
Life doesn’t work that way. I can promise I’ll always fight like hell to come back to him though.
He nods, his chin wobbling slightly, but he quells it. Like father, like son. “Okay, Dad.”
I smile at him, seeing only the best parts of me in him, even if he barely looks like me at all.
He’s mine. And I hope he knows just how much that means to me.
“Uncle Bowen will pick you up and feed you. Hopefully, not junk...” I tease and finally get a small smile out of my kid.
“He’ll put you to bed and then take you to school, but I’ll be here to pick you up tomorrow after school. Okay?”
“Okay,” he says, and he does look a little happier now. Thank God. “Okay, I love you, buddy.”
I hug him tight, and his grip is strong when he hugs me back. “Love you too, Dad.”
I release him, standing up to my full height, and he walks past Spencer, who greets him happily and directs him to his desk before his eyes settle on me. There’s that coldness again. “Can I speak to you for a moment?” I ask.
His eyes sweep the halls at all the other students walking in, his mouth in a firm frown, but he gives me a quick nod. “Of course, Mr. Mitchell.”
I don’t know why the formality irritates me, but it does.
We walk a little left of the door but not far enough where he can’t keep an eye on the students, so I just get right to it.
“Look, I don’t know if I did something to you in school.
..” I grip the back of my neck with my hand, letting my fingers dig into the skin because I’m nervous.
I’m not really one for a confrontation—never have been.
But when it comes to my kid, I’ll do it if I need to. “Or if my idiot brother did.”
Spencer crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw clenched tight. “What are you talking about?”
“You clearly don’t like me,” I sputter, dropping my hand from my neck. “And that’s fine, but I can’t just sit back and let you take it out on my kid. I need to know you aren’t going to do that or I’ll request a new teacher right now.”
I see the spark of anger in his eyes before he moves slightly closer to me, leaning in and keeping his voice low. “You really think I would ever harm a child because of the past, or for any reason?”
I have to fight actually shrinking back, feeling a little sheepish because it does feel silly, accusing him of that. “I just need to know he’ll be safe here.”
His eyes darken, and his brow furrows. He’s standing so close to me, I can smell his woodsy scent and the minty smell of his toothpaste. My stomach clenches almost violently. “I would never hurt a child in any way. Ever. No matter how I feel about his father .”
I look into his eyes, shaken, and not sure by what exactly, but I can’t seem to move or pull my eyes off his. I stand there, frozen, my knees weak as he stares me down.
“Am I clear?”
I nod my head stupidly. “Yes.”
“Good. Have a good day, Mr. Mitchell.” He brushes past me, and I swear I feel the brief touch everywhere, a spark shooting through every nerve.
What the hell was that about?