Chapter 24 Brighton #2
“That’s what I would like to know,” her teacher says. “I’ve sent notes home and haven’t received replies until today, when I sent the emails.”
Riona looks over at her finally, and I can feel the worry rolling off her shoulders.
“What’s his name, Daisy?” I ask carefully. Nothing. I turn to the teacher and glare, “What’s the student's name?”
“Garth Robertson,” he finally breaks.
“Has Garth laid a hand on Daisy?” I ask carefully. I see his eyes flicker between Riona and me, his fingers shaking against the notebook open on his table. He has. I don’t get a reply, though; it’s like I’m not even in the room.
“And have you spoken to Mr. Robertson’s family?” Riona asks, turning away from our daughter.
“Uh…” the teacher stumbles, and I shake my head.
She’s going to eat you alive, you spineless coward.
“Right,” Riona pushes up off her chair and braces herself on the desk with both hands, as she leans in toward the man, and he leans back to keep the distance.
“Here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to take my daughter home because it’s clear that you and this school have zero policies in place to protect her from bullies like Mr. Robertson. ”
“Ms. Cody…” he stutters and looks to me for help, but I just stare at him. You’re on your own.
“What you’re going to do,” she begins, “is write up a formal email to Mr. Robertson’s parents and let them know that I want to have a meeting with them present to discuss exactly what’s going on and how we can move forward in a manner that benefits both students.
And you’re going to do it the second I leave this office, because if I don’t hear back from you by the end of the day, I will have Mr. Black return tomorrow and stand over your desk until it’s finished. ”
“Will Mr. Black be at the meeting?” The teacher asks, and Riona glares. “I need to know whether or not to wa—” he stutters, the word warn ripe on his trembling bottom lip. “Whether or not to include him in the email.”
“Mr. Black will not be at the meeting.” Riona is cold about the delivery because it’s not for the teacher; it’s a warning for me. To stay far, far away from the school and from them. “Daisy, go get your things from your locker, please.”
She doesn’t even flinch, still silent in all of this as she rises from her seat and starts out of the classroom. I don’t hesitate to follow her as Riona digs her card from her purse and lectures the teacher on calling her directly instead of passing notes.
“Daisy,” I call out, keeping a slow pace behind her as she walks through the school to her locker. “Daisy,” I say again. “Come on, Squish.” I use the stupid nickname her aunt gave her the day she was born, but it makes her stop and look up at me. “You alright?” I ask after a second.
She inhales slowly, shakes her head as she steps in my direction, and it takes everything in me not to crumble as she tucks herself into me for a long hug.
I wrap my arms around her and squeeze, only letting go when she gently pushes on me for release.
But I don’t let her get far, I tuck my hand around the back of her head and stare down at her.
“You gotta talk to us,” I say to her quietly, and open my mouth to pry more when a throat is cleared to our left.
Rhea stands in the doorway—black jeans, old band tee knotted at her stomach. It’s always startling to see her in teacher mode. The tags around her neck click as she steps forward into the hallway and closes the door to her class behind her.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” She asks, and I go to respond only to realize she’s talking to Daisy. Of course she is, you oversized chipmunk.
“I’m good, Ms. Drake,” Daisy says quietly, and I let go of her and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. Her eyes finally meet mine, and I can see the worry there, clawing at her better judgment to keep quiet, but she’s growing just as attached as I am.
Shit.
“Why did they call your Dad then?” She pushes Daisy, who shakes her head and sighs.
“Garth,” Daisy and Rhea groan at the same time for clearly very different reasons.
“If I weren’t your teacher, I’d give that kid a swirly,” Rhea grumbles. The smirk that forms on my lips dies just as fast as the loud clicking of Riona’s heels cuts down the hall toward us.
“Run,” I mouth. Rhea’s brows knit in confusion as she turns to see why I said it.
“Mom,” Daisy says as she comes to a slow pace, no doubt ready to bark orders at all of us, “this is Ms. Drake. My art teacher.” Riona turns to Rhea and offers her a smile I’ve never seen in my life.
“I’ve heard so much about you.” Riona extends her hand, and Rhea shakes. “Ms. Cody, Daisy’s mother.” The recognition flickers across her face, and she tries to hide it, but Riona is too quick. “Yes. That Cody.”
“Small town,” Rhea manages to get out, but it’s very clear that she wants to ask a hundred inappropriate questions.
“Very,” Riona says, her voice tighter than before. She turns back to Daisy, looking her up and down, “Have everything?” She asks, and Daisy nods.
“It’s my week, Riona.” I try to swallow the possessive growl in my voice, but it’s silenced with one sharp, vicious look.
“I’ll bring her by the Hollow tonight. I’d like to have a conversation with her.” Riona lowers her voice to keep the conversation private, and Rhea does her best to avoid it completely.
As if this isn’t awkward enough, being read to filth by my ex with her watching. You’re pathetic, and she sees that now.
“Is this not a conversation we should all be having, together?” I say.
“You lost that privilege years ago, Bright.” Death blow.
“Yeah, put the gun down, Riona. I get it,” I swallow. “I’ll see you tonight,” I say to Daisy as Riona wraps an arm around her and leads her from the school. It’s another two minutes before Rhea finds her voice again.
“What was that about?” She asks, and I run my hand through my hair as I turn too fast and end up practically chest to chest with her. I expect her to flinch or jump at my sudden movement and our closeness, but she doesn’t move; she just stares up at me, waiting for an explanation.
“Brighton,” she says.
“Sorry,” I grumble. “I don’t know. Daisy won’t talk, and her homeroom teacher’s tiptoeing around that Garth kid.” I put my arm out in the direction we came and sigh.
“Mr. Dickson,” Rhea rolls her eyes.
“Mr. Disson,” I correct with a small laugh.
“Dickson,” she emphasizes. “Garth Robertson is a shitty little fuckwit with a god complex.”
“Where have I heard that name before?” I ask her, trying to keep my cool.
“He’s a Robertson,” she says, like that should explain everything. “Hockey legend turned Mayor of Harbor.”
“He’s Ricky Robertson’s kid?” I scoff and shake my head. “I used to fucking pummel that asshole in high school,” I say, and her smile grows, “you’re being liberal calling him a legend.”
“He’s Harbor royalty,” Rhea laughs, and I realize she had been mocking him the whole time.
“And so is his spoiled son. His girlfriend has decided that Daisy is her new chew toy, no clue why, they’re good at sneaking around and playing nice.
But Garth and the hockey team have taken it upon themselves to start crap with Daisy’s best friend when no one is looking. ”
“Lori?” I ask, and she nods with pride that I know who she's talking about. It stings, having them all think I'm standing on the outside of their circle, but I know my Daisy.
“I’m pretty sure something happened with Lori and Garth over summer break, and now it’s a sore spot for the girlfriend.” Rhea shrugs.
“How is Daisy involved in all this shit?” I ask, confused as to why she’s the one in trouble and not the shit head.
Rhea stares at me with her eyebrow cocked, “Have you met any of the people in Daisy’s life?”
“What?” I scoff.
“She was raised by wolves, Brighton. She’s involved because if they were picking on Lori, it would have ticked her off. And Daisy has thicker skin. She fights back for her friend.” Rhea explains and waits for it to sink in. Raised by wolves. Boone, Kaia, Riona. Fucking pack animals.
“So she’s in trouble for standing up for Lori?” I say in disbelief.
“Yup, and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it…” she trails off.
“When I asked you yesterday if you knew anything was going on?”
“I only had speculation. I figured that Mr. Dickson had already brought you into the loop. I’m sorry, Brighton.”
“It’s fine.” It comes out rougher than I mean it to. “I’m sorry. This is just…”
“I get it.” She stops me. “I have to get back to class,” she says as a smirk curls on her face, and I know she’s up to something because her cheeks are pink and her eyes are glassy with mischief. She pops the door to her class open, and the sounds of chatter and laughter pour out.
“Hey, Hellcat,” I call before she disappears. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“No promises,” she hums at me as I turn to walk away, and the echo of her students teasing her about her visitor blankets my heavy, angry footsteps.