Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Jif chewed her lip as she watched Miles talk to the kids. When Emma had asked about his cane, she thought the conversation couldn’t get worse. She’d done the SEL and disability units with the kids, but somehow in the moment, that kind of learning never stuck.
Then, he’d delved into the very thing she’d been trying to help the kids avoid: thinking about the incident that had them all so on edge.
But, somehow, instead of the tightly wound tension they’d displayed since coming back to school, they relaxed.
Talking about how they felt hadn’t made things worse, it had helped.
Had Miles known that would happen? And how had he managed it in spite of his growly demeanor and curt responses?
And what had Abby been thinking, sending this grump into a classroom full of traumatized children? They needed sunshine, and he brought nothing but storm clouds, complete with rumbling, thunderous voice and flashing blue-gray eyes.
Too bad, too, because even the baggy, long-sleeved tee and heavy denim jeans didn’t quite hide his physique. Injured he may be, but you’d never be able to tell from his body. His very tall, fit body. With exactly the kind of dark, thick hair she loved to run her nails through...
She caught the clock on the wall in her peripheral vision and winced. “Sorry, guys, it’s almost time for dismissal. Please clean up your desks, put away your work, and grab your backpacks. Don’t forget tomorrow is Friday; your homework packets are due.”
She turned to Miles. “If you can get out in the next five minutes, you’re probably okay, but between the buses and pickup line, you’ll be stuck in the parking lot for a while if you take longer.”
He glanced at his leg, stretched out to one side, then to the dog, still on his back, eyes half-lidded as Danny snuck in a few last cuddles. “I might as well stay until things clear out, if you don’t mind.”
Jif ignored the fluttering in her chest at the idea of being alone in the classroom with him. “Sure.”
Hannah bounced in her seat. “Ms. Pritchard, my backpack is packed. Can I say goodbye to Nix?”
Jif knew exactly how this would go. Once one came over, they’d all flood the carpet, even the ones who weren’t ready, and they’d never make it to their bus lines.
Still, Hannah’s eyes pleaded. “Yeah, if you’re all packed up, you can come say goodbye, then line up by the door. Danny, go get your stuff, okay, buddy?”
Jif policed the kids as they said their goodbyes and had a tense moment when Elias asked, “You’ll come back, right?”
She widened her eyes in warning.
“We’ll see. Gotta talk to your teacher.”
We’ll see. Barely a maybe. They’d be disappointed if he didn’t return, but he hadn’t lied to them.
Too many people made pie-crust promises to children—easily made, easily broken—without realizing the cost. They might be kids, but they understood the concept of trust. And betraying it.
As she shuffled them to the classroom door, she couldn’t decide whether she wanted Miles to come back or not.
When he’d first come in, Abby’s final text the night before had made a lot more sense.
Be nice.
I’m always nice.
You are. Be patient.
She hadn’t known what to make of the comment until he’d limped slowly into her classroom, leaning on a cane, clearly in pain, but still there, ready to help her kids even though they were all complete strangers to him.
Still, it had been tense until he’d asked for a chair.
His flash of vulnerability triggered an echo of her mother’s voice in her head.
A good hostess always offers a seat.
As the kids filed into the hallway, she shuffled around the classroom, straightening chairs and putting away supplies.
In the corner, Miles continued to sit quietly, eyes tracking her movements and hand slowly sliding down the length of the Dalmatian’s back, now leaning against his good leg.
Her hands shook as she packed her shoulder bag, and she pressed them together, interlacing her fingers until the tremors eased.
Finally, with nothing left to do, she pulled kid’s chair from their desk and set it next to Miles. “Can I pet him?”
Wordlessly, he nudged the dog toward her.
“Hi, Nix. Hi, baby,” she crooned as she rubbed his floppy ears, tracing the tiny spots dotting the fine white fur of his muzzle, then switching to long strokes down his back, like Miles had done.
With each sweep, her chest unwound a little more, and she eventually took a deep breath, not realizing until she exhaled how tightly she’d held her whole body.
Beside her, Miles watched but remained quiet.
The silence echoed both eerily and peacefully at the same time.
She pressed her cheek to the top of Nix’s head, and the dog’s tail wagged, thwapping Miles’s bad leg.
Jerking upright, her cheeks flared with heat. “I’m so sorry.”
The words were too loud in the still room, and she winced.
“Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt on the outside,” he reassured her, his grumbly voice low and surprisingly comforting, for all his tough demeanor.
Like her kids, it made no sense, but she relaxed all the same.
Abby would have the correct words, but Jif didn’t. Instead, she let the quiet settle back between them.
Slowly, the shaking in her hands ebbed away.
After a few minutes, he shifted, tucking his leg back under him and reaching for his cane. “We should go.”
Jif’s breath caught, and her chest constricted again as his words shattered the tentative peace.
“Yeah, it should be clear by now.” She paused. “Will you come back? The kids really responded to you. And they liked Nix.”
He cleared his throat and glanced at the dog. “Sure. When?”
Tomorrow. Every day.
“Next week?”
His eyes flicked to her as she croaked the words through a tight chest.
“How about Wednesday?”
“Okay, that should work.” Her even voice belied her profound relief.
He limped across her classroom, leaning heavily on his cane, and Jif followed, slipping the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
“I’ll walk with you.”
“I’m slow.” He didn’t meet her eyes.
“I don’t mind.” Anything to maintain her grasp on the thread of comfort unfurling while she sat quietly beside him, petting Nix.
Slow might have overstated his pace, but Nix stuck close to Miles’s side, so Jif matched their shuffling steps.
She itched to fill the silence, no longer peaceful between them. “What did happen?”
His eyes flicked sideways at her, and he scowled.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to answer.” Jif chewed her lip. “You probably already know, but a truck hit a power pole out front last week. We’re all a little unnerved, still. You coming, I think it means a lot to the kids.”
To me.
His face cleared. “You don’t have to make it all about the kids. It impacted you, too.”
He hadn’t yet strung quite so many words together, and she paused as she processed them. “At school, I do.”
“I suppose so.” After a few more shuffling steps, he huffed. “I fell through the floorboards during a call.”
“A call?”
“I’m a firefighter. I was retrieving a kid in an upstairs bedroom, but the fire spread weird.
” His forehead scrunched as he spoke. “Still not sure why. I had him, but the hall floor collapsed during egress. My leg went all the way through, and I couldn’t catch myself.
Tore my rotator cuff and shattered my femur.
Fractured my tibia and pelvis, too. Shredded the muscles and nerves in my thigh trying to pull free and get out. ”
When his expression turned to a dark scowl, Jif smoothed away the horror on her face. “Wow. I can’t imagine...”
“My partner grabbed the kid, then came back for me. If not for him, I’m not sure I would have made it out in time.”
He’d come far closer to dying than she had, but he spoke about the experience with a casual nonchalance she couldn’t match.
Jif swallowed hard, searching for words. “How long has it been?”
His hand strayed to Nix’s head. “It happened in mid-November. I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas in an acute care facility.”
“Is that how you met Abby? Did she visit you?”
“No, I’ve known Abby for years. She spent nine months with my district before her husband died.” He cleared his throat. “Her first husband.”
Jif had heard the story, though she’d never met Will before his untimely death, so her first loyalty would always be to Abby’s current husband. “Scott’s great.”
“I know.” He nodded easy agreement. Too easy.
“He is,” she insisted.
“Is that how you met her?”
“My brother plays on the Raptors with Scott.” Her pride in her brother colored her voice, as it always did when she talked about him.
He pressed his lips together, lines feathering the corners of his mouth. “Figures.”
His dismissive words pricked, deflating her ego. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She pushed the spike of irritation down, and for the first time in a week, it quelled easily. She tossed her head. “Whatever. It’s fine.”
She’d leave him to his slow shuffle, but she wasn’t a cruel person.
“Is it?”
She didn’t have an answer.
“It’d be okay if you said no. You’re allowed to be angry.”
That was... not what she expected. Of course, she couldn’t be angry, or scared, or anything else, other than happy, content, bubbly, and sweet. People didn’t like the uglier emotions, so she kept them tucked away. “Even at you?”
He half-shrugged. “Yes. I insulted you.”
A lick of flame curled up her spine. “Fine, then I’m angry. You don’t know me.”
His eyes flicked sideways at her. “You’re right. Which is why I shouldn’t have said it. I really am sorry.”
His words quenched the nascent fire, but rather than forcing herself to accept the apology and quash her irritation, the feeling faded away, their equilibrium restored.
Huh.
They reached the parking lot, and he gestured left. “I’m over here.”
“I’m there.” She pointed in the other direction.
“See you Wednesday.”
He turned, but Jif paused, watching for a long moment as he shuffled slowly away.
Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough.