Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Ky
Too late. You’re already mine.
Yeah, suffice to say, I’m falling hard and fast for one Colt Madden.
“Is your boyfriend okay?” My head jerks up, and I realize that the break between periods is over, my next class having already filed in as I mooned over the words he sent me.
“Sorry, what?”
“Your boyfriend,” Adrian says. “Didn’t he get hurt?”
“He didn’t get hurt,” Simon mutters. “Someone hurt him. My dad says the ass—” His eyes come to mine and he winces. “Er…my dad says the player who hurt him may get arrested.”
I fucking hope so.
But that’s yet to be determined.
“Colt is doing much better. He’ll be out for a month or so, but he’s fine. Now. Let’s get down to more fun things, namely history.”
Good-natured groans fill the air but I don’t acknowledge them, just fire up the projector and start telling my story. Today it’s about the fall of Rome and as it often does, the drama and stories of bravery and battles and corruption and love keep my kids entertained until the bell rings.
“Remember to keep working on your projects. They’re due on Friday,” I call as they hurry to pack up and rush out the door.
“Ms. C?”
I look up from my attendance (I’m terrible about remembering to put it in on time) to see Adrian standing in front of my desk. “What’s up, bud?”
“Will you give this to Colt?” he says, dropping the folded paper onto the surface. “I made it for him.”
Get Well Soon is inscribed on the front, along with a hand-drawn picture of a hockey player.
“This is really good, Adrian.”
He shrugs. “So will you give it to him?”
I nod. “Of course.”
“Thanks, Ms. C,” he says, grabbing his bag and running out of the room.
And God, that does my heart good—to have him here, to see him happy, to see him running.
I carefully tuck the card away, and then my next class is shuffling in, and I’m resetting my slides, preparing to talk about Rome again and all of its idiosyncrasies.
Which has me smiling and snagging my phone.
Kylie: How often do you think about the Roman Empire?
Colt: *almost immediately* I don’t know, like a couple of times a week.
Colt: Is this official research, Teach?
Kylie: Maaaaybe.
Colt: If so, apparently I’m the weird one. Because “real men” think about it daily…if not hourly.
I snort.
Kylie: Good to know.
I slip my cell away as the bell rings, get down to business with a class that doesn’t have the wonderfulness of Adrian and Simon and Lara, but is still filled with amazing students who both challenge me and brighten my day.
Then the final bell has gone and I’m packing up, intent on getting back to Colt.
Only before I get to make a break for it, there’s a knock at my classroom door.
For a second, I hope it’s Colt (though I’ll be pissed if it is him since he’s in absolutely no shape to be driving). But it’s only for a second because then I see Holly’s eyes through the window.
Muttering a curse, I snag my backpack and toss it over my shoulder as I move to the door. I flick off the lights, pull it open, and step through to meet Holly in the hall.
“Hey,” I say.
“Have a minute?” she asks.
“Want to walk with me to my car?” I close the door. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. If it’ll take longer than that, I’m happy to schedule something.”
Happy may be a stretch.
But I’m also not going to stay late just to kiss her ass.
She pauses as I wait then sighs softly. “Let’s walk out to your car.”
I nod and start moving, not missing that it takes a second for her to start following me. “We need to talk.”
“About Adrian?” I ask. “He’s such a pleasure to have back in class. Mrs. Smythe and Mr. Rodriguez both mentioned the same thing to me in the staff room at lunch today.”
“Yes, yes, that’s great,” she says. “Though, his parents aren’t happy with the district.”
No fucking shit, I want to say.
Instead, I just wait.
“They’re talking about pulling their donation.”
Tell me that my boss wasn’t so damned stupid as to mess with the sick kid of someone who donates enough money to the district that they’ll care if they pull their donation.
Still, I don’t talk. I just wait.
And walk.
“I might have mentioned to the superintendent that you could bring them back around.”
Dread—and disgust—wash over me in a cold wave of sensation.
But I don’t speak.
Not yet.
Though, right now it’s because I might say something unforgivable, something that’ll cause me to lose my job.
We push through the front doors of school as she asks, “So, can you?”
“Can I what?”
Another sigh, this one so aggrieved it piques my temper. “So can you talk to Adrian’s parents? Make it clear how much we’re relying on their very generous donation to keep essential programs running.”
I need wine.
And reality TV.
And maybe an orgasm.
“I’m not sure that it’s my place,” I begin.
“Please, Kylie. I need you to be a team player right now.”
“I understand, but this is seriously inappropriate, Holly, and I—”
“Their donation pays for library and counselor hours,” she snaps. “Do you seriously want those to be reduced for your students?”
Because the district only funds a limited amount of those hours per school.
I rub at the throb in my temple.
Then nod.
“I’ll talk to them.”
“Good. I’ll expect a positive update in the next couple of days.”
Then, without a thank you or another glance, she spins on her heel and takes off back for the school.
Leaving me with an unenviable task I don’t want to undertake.
And the distinct notion that this isn’t going to end well.