Milàn #2
It’s then that his eyes finally move over to me and Rory. The appraising look he sends us has a fair bit of caution in it, but I don’t detect any outright hostility just yet.
Well, give me time. If I know anything about myself, it’s that I’ll probably take care of that shortly.
It takes me by complete surprise when he holds out his hand toward me.
“Jordan Wilsson,” he says. “And this is my son, Theo. You’re Rory’s father?”
Two things. Number one: This guy is way too young to be the parent of a thirteen-year-old. He looks to be in his midtwenties at best.
Number two… Still incredibly hot, which is something I should not obsess over so relentlessly.
“Milàn Corbin. I’m Rory’s legal guardian,” I say before I add, “Brother.” It comes out sounding like an afterthought. I’m willing to bet a lot of money this won’t endear me to Rory. Another fuckup. I suppress a sigh.
“Nice to meet you,” the man says before he turns his attention to the principal. “What happened?”
The principal glances at both Rory and Theo before she looks at Jordan. “There was a problem during recess. As far as we’ve managed to piece it together, Rory and Theodore got into an argument, which then escalated.”
“An argument about what?” I ask.
“That’s part of the issue,” the principal says. “We’re not quite sure. Neither of the boys has been especially forthcoming about… well, anything, really.”
I glance at Jordan just as he looks at me, and for a moment, there’s an impossible, fleeting second, when I feel better. Almost like I’m suddenly not alone in this crap. Like there’s somebody on my side.
The moment is brief, but it stands out like a ray of light in the darkness just because it’s been a long fucking time since I last felt good about anything, let alone myself.
“Theo?” Jordan says. “Anything you want to say?”
The look Theo sends Rory is lightning fast. So fast I’m halfway sure I imagined it. Rory stares defiantly in front of himself. Theo’s throat moves as he swallows, and then he shakes his head and aims his gaze at his hands in his lap.
Since I don’t think I have anything to lose here, I say, “Rory?”
He keeps staring straight ahead for a moment, and I’m pretty sure he’s just going to ignore me, but then he mutters, “I’m not a snitch.”
The principal sighs before she pastes on a smile.
“And that’s what we’ve been dealing with so far here.
” She sends the boys one of those looks some teachers have that’s full of authority.
I try not to bristle, because this is not about me, and she’s only doing her job.
Rory seems immune, even if Theo starts to fidget.
He stays quiet too, though. The principal sighs.
“All right. Leaving aside the details for now, I think we can all agree that violence of any kind is not condoned, no matter the reasons for it.”
I bite back the instant need to argue that point, because I’m honestly not sure if I’d disagree because of my aversion to authority and generalized statements, or if I just want to play devil’s advocate for shits and giggles.
“I’m afraid the school policy in cases like this is a one-week suspension.”
Jesus fuck, they still do those? As a person who was regularly suspended from school, I’m a prime example of why that’s not a punishment that works.
I open my mouth, ready to give the principal a piece of my mind.
It takes sheer effort to shut myself up just because I’m faintly aware I’d most likely make things a hell of a lot worse.
I wouldn’t put it past me to get Rory expelled.
Yeah.
I’m that good.
And Aiden would straight-up murder me if that happened.
“Suspension? With all due respect, that’s a terrible policy.” Jordan crosses his arms over his chest. “How will a suspension help with this situation?”
“Actions have consequences,” the principal says. “The boys broke the rules.”
“Do consequences necessarily equal punishment?” Jordan asks. His tone is mild, but the look in his eyes is one of pure, steely determination.
I feel like I should take notes.
The principal sends him a tight-lipped smile. “Then what do you suggest?”
“Forced proximity,” Jordan says immediately. “They don’t have to like each other. Some people don’t gel. That’s fine. What they do have to do is learn how to cooperate and do it in a civilized manner.”
The principal studies Jordan silently for a few seconds. He looks back. There’s a calm air that surrounds the guy. It’s the demeanor of a rescue worker in a crisis. Everybody calm down. I know what to do. Sit back and relax. I’ve got this.
We’ve already quite securely established that this guy is younger than my thirty-five. He looks young. But there’s something about the way he holds himself. There’s a surety in it; the kind of easy way he fits into his own life that I’ve never felt.
“What do you suggest?” the principal asks Jordan.
He seems startled for a moment, but he gathers himself quickly.
Jordan turns his attention to Rory. “How do you feel about soccer, Rory?”
The kid scoffs, refuses to meet anybody’s eyes, but eventually shrugs.
Jordan gives me a questioning look. How the hell am I supposed to say that I have no idea what Rory likes? That so far, his only preferred activities seem to be rolling his eyes, scoffing, pretending I don’t exist, and having the occasional run-in with the law.
“Who doesn’t like soccer?” I force a tight, hopefully polite smile and say an additional, quiet prayer that a vague statement will miraculously work as an answer.
“Great,” Jordan says. If he’s surprised by my clear lack of knowledge about my little brother’s interests, he doesn’t show it.
Instead, he smiles, all friendly and easygoing.
The air of competence that already surrounds him like a cloud intensifies, wrapping itself around me until I’m lulled into some strange sense of security where the responsibility of dealing with this mess has been, at least temporarily, taken off my shoulders.
“I volunteer for our neighborhood boys’ team. We practice twice a week and there’s an occasional game on the weekend. Rory’s welcome to join us, and we can always use more volunteers to help with practices.”
Just like that?
What’s the catch?
We can always use more volunteers.
There it is.
I’m pretty sure Rory would prefer detention, suspension, or any other kind of punishment-related ion to spending time with me.
I’m pretty much the sorriest excuse for a parental figure there is, and Aiden isn’t much better.
You’d think between the two of us we’d be able to combine our limited skills into one semi-decent guardian, but no.
It’s like the blind leading the blind and doing it shockingly badly.
I mentally curse that moment of weakness in Gerard’s house. One second of Aiden tugging at my tiny heartstring, the only one I have left, and I folded like a cheap lawn chair.
And now, instead of doing the smart thing and bailing, I’m on my third month of purgatory with no end in sight, because I’m just proud and stubborn enough that I can’t give up. Giving up would mean defeat. It’d mean losing. I’ve never been good at that.
I know shit all about soccer.
Agreeing will get you out of here.
I square my shoulders.
“Sign us up,” I say.
Rory snaps his head toward me, eyes wide, chin jutting forward. It’s one of those very rare occasions when he doesn’t look sulky. Instead, he goes with surprise that swiftly transforms into defiance.
I stare him down.
Say a word, and you’re on your own, kid.
His jaw tightens, and he slumps back into his seat.
It’s my first taste of any kind of success in months. A drop of water in a desert.
I’ll take it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me?
” Jordan asks his son, ruffling his hair once we’ve been dismissed and are all standing awkwardly in the hallway.
After the soccer team plan was approved, this is where we all ended up.
The hallway is quiet, but I can hear the murmur of voices from behind the classroom doors.
Jordan swipes his thumb over Theo’s bruised cheekbone gently, and the kid winces. I glance at Rory. He’s staring at his feet. There’s no sign of a forthcoming apology. Should I try and draw it out of him?
Not sure they make pliers strong enough for that, so instead I stuff my hands into my pockets and pretend doing that makes me productive.
Theo shakes his head at his father. “I’ve got the math test. I’d rather just take it now with everybody else.”
Jordan looks like he wants to argue, but he dismisses that instinct in a flash. “Okay. I’ll see you later, then. We can order in tonight. I think it’s your turn to pick.”
Theo nods, shoulders his bag, and walks off.
I look at Rory. What do I say?
“I—”
“Whatever.” He cuts me off and stalks away.
I’d like to say I have some pride left, but that thing jumped ship a long time ago, so instead of holding my head up high and pretending I know what I’m doing—my go-to method of plowing my way through life—I slump against the nearest wall, tilt my head back, close my eyes, clutch the back of my neck, and blow out a big breath.
These have genuinely been the longest three months of my life, and I can’t even begin to describe how much I don’t want to be here.
“It could have been worse.” Jordan’s voice is filled with sympathy mixed with a healthy dose of mirth.
I open one eye and peer at him. “I think you’re lying, but sure, I’ll bite. How?”
“Well,” he says thoughtfully, “nobody set anything on fire. Nobody stabbed themselves in the eye with an icepick. Nobody got kicked in the ribs by a hippo. Nobody accidentally shot themselves when a bullet ricocheted. Nobody split their nipple in two on a protruding nail in the wall.”
I stare at him. “What the hell?” I look around the hallway and lower my voice. “What kind of school is this?”