26. Zach
26
ZACH
C ole wasn’t lying when he said the work he needed me to do at the school was light duty. I hung up a few posters. I moved some small boxes from one office to another. When kids spilled some milk in the lunchroom, I mopped it up while they were at recess.
The job gave me what I was looking for—something to do. Autopilot tasks that required no real concentration and somewhere I wouldn’t be bothered by too many nosy people in town. The kids were nosy. No matter who it was, they would stop and ask me a question. Any question on mind, it seemed, but I didn’t care. I remembered that fascination with everything and wanting to learn as much as I could about the most random points of interest.
Even though I stayed busy with my hands and kept moving, I didn’t stop thinking about Blake. About George, even. And most of all, what would follow.
I couldn’t see myself working here with light-duty maintenance at the school for good, but I didn’t automatically cringe at the thought of staying in town. Places were familiar enough that they offered a sense of normalcy, not boredom. At Grandma Jenny’s house, I had privacy and space in that attached apartment. If I were to stay, I’d look for a house, and that was where I caught myself from following all the runaway ideas popping up. A house? That was a lot of maintenance. A lasting tie to a place that I couldn’t give up on. I wouldn’t be able to change my mind once I signed into a mortgage agreement.
Yet, as I thought back to hanging out with George, spotting small odds and ends around Blake’s family house that needed fixing, I knew I could take care of many of the chores and needs. I was handy. I had experience with tools and was able to do the grunt work of manual labor on a project.
It would be the most serious message that I was settling down, claiming land or a house, and I worried that I wasn’t there yet. That it would be too big of a step to take now.
I walked down the hall, spotting a teacher bringing someone out of her classroom.
“I don’t care what you say,” Brent said, scowling and jerking out of the teacher’s reach. He shoved at her, but she sidestepped his hand. Following out behind her was another boy.
George.
“Don’t be mean to Ms. Erin,” he told Brent.
“I’m not listening to you, bastard boy.”
Ms. Erin gasped. “Brent! I said that is enough! To the principal now. Both of you.”
“Bastard boy. Bastard boy,” Brent taunted as he strode down the hall like a five-year-old punk.
My fury grew and boiled over. I was about to snap, and I knew I had no authority here.
“Miss, I can escort them so you don’t have to leave your classroom.”
She turned, sighing at the sight of me. It seemed like she was so stressed, she’d smile weakly like that at the sight of any adult coming near and taking over. “Zachary? Yes, that’s you. I heard that you were filling in for Mr. Benson. Oh, thank you. Please, if you don’t mind…”
I tipped my chin for Brent and George to follow me. Not for a second did I take my glare off Brent. He sulked, mumbling under his breath as we walked to Cole’s office.
“Bast—”
“Don’t,” I warned. With that one-word order, I dared him to say it again.
“He is. George doesn’t have a daddy. He’s gonna look like a loser at our family presentation day. His tree is so empty, and it means nobody loves him.” He sneered at him. “Not even his daddy wanted him.” He laughed, trill and mean.
I stopped right in front of the entrance to the front office. Stooping and crouching until I was at eye level with the kid, I tried to keep a good hold on my temper. “Hey, Brent. Who is your daddy?”
His smug expression fell. From gleeful hatred to a stunned humiliation, he stared up at me wordlessly.
I raised my brows, daring him to answer me. Unless Reagan ever claimed someone was his father, he didn’t know who his daddy was.
“I…”
“Think about that before you try to bother him again,” I scolded before I stood up and opened the door. “Ms. Ameena?”
A stand-in receptionist, not Sara, sat at the desk. “She’s off today.”
“Aha. Then can you please show this young man to Principal Ameena’s office?”
“Sure, sure.” The older woman stood. “Young man?” She tilted her head to the side. “I thought George Myer was expected to report to the principal too.”
I stepped forward, blocking George from her sight. “Nope. Ms. Erin said just Brent.”
She nodded, narrowing her eyes at Brent as he trudged inside.
Maybe it was a low blow to remind Brent that he was also fatherless, but if that was what it took to knock him off his bullying pedestal and give him a taste of Karma, fine. I’d go to hell for it and not care with George relaxing and smiling.
“Come on, I’ll walk you back.”
He fell into step beside me as we moved away from the front office door as it closed. “How come you lied? Lying is bad.”
I shrugged. “Hey, even the good guys lie sometimes. If it’s for a greater good, then oh, well.”
“That sounds complicated.”
“Oh, it is.” I patted his back. “Go on back to your class, kiddo. And just know that I bet your dad would love you very much.”
He nodded soberly. “I would love him too. Almost as much as I love Mama, I think.”
“She loves you too, George. I can tell.”
With a stronger smile, he waved and turned to hurry back to his classroom.
I got a text from another number from the school line, indicating that I was needed to tidy up a messy area near the doors that led out to where recess lines formed. After I finished with that, I headed back down the hall until someone stopped me again.
“Zach?” Click-clacking heels followed the shout. “Zach.”
I turned, finding Reagan storming up to me. For the first time since I’d flown home, she wasn’t giving me a sugary smile or a seductive smirk. She glowered, furious and intent on telling me why.
“I just left from Cole’s office, and my son told me?—”
I cut her off, scowling right back down at her as she got into my face. “That another boy was loveless because he didn’t have a father.”
She scoffed. “Which is true. Blake can’t keep a man to love her or her son.”
I gritted my teeth. “Then it’s true for Brent, too, huh? Who’d you fuck to have him?”
She slitted her eyes. “That’s none of your business.”
“You know what I’m making my business?” I threatened. “The way your son parades around this place like he owns it.”
“He does!” Reagan lifted her chin higher, defiant and sassy. “Don’t you remember how much control the Francis family has in this town?”
I leaned closer, thankful we were near the front doors and not by classrooms where our argument could distract classes in session. “I don’t give a fuck, Reagan. I don’t care what your last name is. All I know is you’re going to tell your brat of a child to stop bullying George and all the other kids who’ve had to put up with him. I’ve only been here a week or so and I, like all the other students and staff, can’t fucking stand him.”
“How dare?—”
I pointed in her face. “No. How dare you. How dare you raise a bully like that and expect to get away with it every time.” I shook my head. “Not on my watch.”
“Not on your watch?” She rolled her eyes. “You’ll only be here for a little bit before you take off again. You have no authority here.”
“Nor do you. You’re nothing but a mean, spiteful woman who can’t handle a rejection.” I walked forward, making her backpedal. “You think you’re invincible just because your family had some bigshots in this town, but you’re nothing, Reagan. You mean nothing. And if you don’t stop encouraging bullying and teach your son how to behave with respect and manners, you will regret it.”
She gaped at me. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m telling you that you had better parent your son so that he never bothers George Myer again.”
She shoved at me, fury written on her tense face. “What’s it to you, huh? Why should you care?” Scowling more, she huffed. “Did she put you up to this? She can’t stand up for herself—ever!—and she asked you to handle this situation?”
“No.” Blake said it, rushing up from the front doors where she was buzzed in. They must have already called her, and I wanted to spare her the hassle. Standing up for George shouldn’t have been an issue like this, but Reagan just had to stir the pot.
“No,” Blake repeated as she hurried closer, alarmed and angry. “I didn’t ask him to do or say anything.”
Reagan turned her ire toward her. “So pathetic, Blake. Really classy. You can’t teach your boy how to be nice to my son”—she jabbed her finger at her own chest—“so you have to ask him to fight your fights.”
“I’m not asking anyone to fight. I want no more fighting. At all.” She held her hands up in surrender, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Oh, so it’s okay for Zach to just threaten me and imply that I’m a shitty parent?” She shook her head. “Well, fuck you.” She turned to me and pointed. “And you.” As she turned to walk out, she stopped next to Blake and smiled. “You know that interview you just had? My uncle is the head of that department. You can kiss that job goodbye.” She stalked off, leaving me frowning after her while Blake stared at me.
“You…” She pressed her lips together. “Dammit.” I saw the horror on her face, no doubt from the parting words Reagan had thrown at her. I hadn’t known Blake was looking for another job, but I had been paying attention when she mentioned money woes.
Fuck. I screwed this all up. I had no business butting in and causing more trouble for her. “Blake, I’m…”
She shook her head and lifted her hand to cut me off. “Where is George?”
“Back in his classroom.”
“So I wasted more work time driving here for nothing. Great. No, not for nothing. For her to screw my chances of getting another job.” Not giving a look or a parting word, she stormed off.
I stared at her as she walked back out of the school. She became smaller and smaller until she pushed the bar on the door to shove it open. It whooshed shut, hiding me from her.
Shit.
I ran my hand through my hair, frustrated that my “good deed” of protecting George had backfired into making Blake mad at me. I tried damned hard to rein in my temper and not go off on Reagan like I had, but it wasn’t easy to look evil in the eye and be calm or collected.
After I left the school and headed home, I tried to wrangle my frustration into a controllable force. I couldn’t go around mad at everyone else when I was upset with myself for inserting myself in her life and wanting to help her and George. It wasn’t right of me to want to take back anything I said to Brent or Reagan, either. They deserved it.
“What’s wrong with you?” Amanda asked when she found me nursing a beer in the kitchen, scowling at the wall. She sat across from me, alarmed by my mood. Her brows shot up high, and she waited me out until I replied.
“I… butted into something I might not have had any right to get involved in.”
She blinked. “Um… Which means…?”
I launched into it, explaining how I’d tried to help George today, concluding with Blake being mad. Her expressions changed through the summary. She scowled when I told her what Brent said. She grinned when I explained how I got George off the hook and how I gave Brent and Reagan what they deserved. In the end, though, she frowned. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Blake interviewed for the job, then? She talked about it, but I didn’t think she’d actually do it.”
“She says she needs money. More income.”
Amanda opened her eyes wide. “She told you that?”
“We’ve been, uh, spending time together,” I said. “And I hate seeing her suffer like this.”
“Have you told her that? That you care? Or are you just, you know, fuck buddies? Friends with benefits?”
I opened and closed my mouth. For one thing, it was weird to talk to her about this. But more importantly, I didn’t know what to say. I shouldn’t have to tell Blake I cared about her, her and George. I showed her that I did when I stayed with him last night and made sure she rested.
And when I had to think deeper about it, I realized that it wasn’t a matter of my deciding whether I cared about her as much as it was about the fact that I acknowledged it.
I cared. I had always cared, in a remote way before and after we slept together at Kevin’s funeral. But this magic that connected us since I returned, it was undeniable.
Amanda cleared her throat, still waiting for an actual reply. I scowled at her. “It’s not just sex between us.” According to me, it wasn’t.
How could it be nothing more than scratching an itch when she had the power to make me feel so whole again?