Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Paisley
O h my God. I slept with my son’s teacher. There, clinging onto a podium for dear life, stands Tom, looking like he’s about to vomit all over the front row.
“Paisley, are you alright?” my ex-husband says, leaning in so that he doesn’t disturb the crowd around us.
“Fine,” I squeak. Judging by the concern in Brendon’s eyes, I’m either not convincing, or I look as green as Tom.
I was relieved when I woke up in Vegas to find my bed empty. Not because I wanted Tom gone but because I knew I’d cave and ask him for more if I had to spend one more second in his presence . After two perfect dates, who wouldn’t want to see him again? But I’m not at a point where that’s possible. I’ve got a new job to think about and a teenager who needs me. A relationship just isn’t on the cards.
Or so I thought. Two weeks on, I still can’t get the stupid goofball out of my head. Dating or not, I’m distracted either way. I might as well have got his number in Vegas and been done with it. At least then, I could put my inability to focus down to all the good sex I’d be having.
And now he’s here at Mason’s school, looking all respectable in a grey suit and nothing like the lost man I met in The Dice & Dine. What do I do now? Do I pretend like we don’t know each other? Do I run and hide in the women’s bathroom?
I hope Brendon’s been listening to Tom’s instructions because I haven’t heard a word. When the audience starts a polite round of applause, I’m none the wiser about what I’m going to do nor where my son needs to go next.
“Right, Mason. Which subject do you want to see first?” Brendon asks when the keen parents around us start pouncing on various teachers.
“How about P.E.? You guys have to meet Mr Grant. He’s so cool.”
“NO!” I shriek, stopping Mason—and a few innocent bystanders—in their tracks.
“Paisley, what’s gotten into you?” Brendon whispers through a fake smile, offering a little wave to anyone watching.
“Sorry, migraine. Can we get some fresh air?”
Mason and Brendon stare at me like I’ve grown an extra head. And I get it. My acting’s not fooling anyone.
“Come on, son,” Brendon says suspiciously. “Let’s go out to the science block. Maybe we can find one of those balls to make your mum’s hair stand on end. I think the shock might be good for her brain.”
We manage to speak to teachers about science, maths, and even food technology without bumping into Mr Grant . It’s not that I don’t want to see Tom again, but an awkward reunion with my ex-husband and teenage son in tow isn’t ideal, especially when Tom doesn’t know they exist. I start to think I’ve gotten away with it until
“Can we do P.E. now, Mum?”
Damn. I have no feasible excuse to get out of this, especially when it’s one of Mason’s favourite subjects.
“Mr Grant looks free now,” Brendon says, steering us back into the school hall. “Let’s catch him while he’s quiet.”
It takes Brendon tugging my hand to get my feet moving towards Tom’s table at the far side of the room. Behind the stand is a giant inflatable goal with a row of footballs lined up in front of it. I swear if Mason asks me to take a shot, I’ll puncture the ball with one of my stilettos.
“Hi, sir,” Mason says brightly.
Oh my God. He calls him sir. I might just have to crawl into a hole and die.
“Mason, I’m glad you stopped by.” Tom reaches out to bump Mason’s fist.
“Hi,” Brendon says, thrusting his hand out. “We’re Mason’s mum and dad, Dr and Dr Scott. We’ve heard a lot about you. Mason’s talked non-stop about your football club this last year.” Way to make it sound like we’re still married, Bren.
It’s obvious that Tom knows I’m here because he won’t look at me. God knows what’s running through his mind. What a twist of fate. The man who took me under his wing and drew me out of my comfort zone in Vegas now probably thinks I’m a big fat liar who lies.
We stand there for five torturous minutes, talking about the different elements of the course. There’s even a sports psychology module that I’m dying to hear more about, but I don’t get to ask, considering Tom’s giving me the cold shoulder, and I’ve lost the use of my tongue.
“Well, I think that answers all our questions,” Brendon says, oblivious to the fact that I’ve actually said squat. “Thanks for talking with us. We’ll let you get back to your other students.”
“No problem. Mason, see you Monday.” Then Tom turns to face me for the first time. If I look hard enough, I can see the accusation in his eyes. “ Mum, Dad, nice to meet you.”
I feel like a scolded child. I want to shout, ‘I’m divorced’ at the top of my lungs. But that isn’t how you want your child to find out that you know his P.E. teacher a bit too well.
And as Mason drags me out of the hall—likely so I don’t get the chance to speak to his history teacher—I risk one last look at Tom. My stomach sinks. His judgment is almost tangible, a scathing reaction to what he thinks has happened between us.
Christ, what a mess.
Knowing I need to fix this, I kiss goodbye to Mason and send him off for his weekend at Brendon’s. Then, I sit in my car and wait.
I need to speak to Tom. I just hope he still wants to listen.