Fierce-Chance (Fierce Matchmaking #20)

Prologue

“Chance Drummond, please report to the principal’s office. Chance Drummond, please report to the principal’s office.”

“Dude,” Nico said. “This is what you get for cutting class. They announce it to the entire school.”

He sighed. Jesus fucking Christ. If it wasn’t one thing, then it was another.

What the hell did he do now? Aside from cutting class because he hated Spanish.

Why did he need to learn another language?

It’s not as if he was going to Mexico for anything.

The same with art class. Hated that too and wasn’t going to be creating anything to make money when he could barely draw a stick figure.

The only reason he went to that class was because there was a hot chick in there who was way out of his league, but she actually talked to him.

Could be none of her friends were in the class and she didn’t want to be alone.

Didn’t matter to him. It was entertaining enough to keep him showing up.

He heaved himself up from the ground where he was sitting with Nico after putting out his cigarette.

If he wanted to go to class, he’d be six minutes late right now.

Not a big deal. He could say he was taking a dump.

Yeah, that’s what he’d do if they gave him crap about being late.

He’d blame it on the shitty lunches that were served.

But they didn’t need to broadcast his damn name like that. He should just ditch for the day and pretend he never heard it. He was close to doing it, but then his grandmother would get a call at home and he didn’t want to add to her stress.

He whipped the door open, popped a piece of gum in his mouth, then strutted down the hall toward the principal’s office. There was a seat in there with his name on it. Been that way for the entire four years he’d attended this school.

He knew he had a target on his back because of where he came from rather than his actions.

If he was going to get shit on by people, might as well give them a reason for it.

And...there was the hot chick from art class passing him in the hall, her smile bright, her ponytail swinging while she held her books in her arms in front of her.

“What did you do this time?” Jocelyn McCarthy asked him.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Just existing seems to do it.”

She laughed, shook her head, that milk chocolate ponytail swishing even faster, then rolled her eyes. “Maybe thinking like that is the problem. Good luck.”

Yeah, luck. Not anything he’d had in his life.

He saluted her and kept walking. Might as well get this over with.

He got to the administrative wing, opened the glass door, the secretary sitting there pointed to his favorite chair and he planted his ass in it as if the indentations were made for him.

Fifteen minutes later. “Chance, come in.”

If they thought him sitting there all that time would make him squirm, they had another thing coming.

He didn’t pull his phone out like most did.

Only leaned against the wall and took a quick catnap.

He worked late last night, then came home and did a bunch of chores while his grandmother was at work.

Then she wouldn’t have to do them and could sleep in today.

He didn’t wait to be told to have another seat so sat like he always did for this broken record episode.

“Do you know why you were called here?” Principal Woodrow asked.

“Nope.” He crossed his arms, stretched his legs in front of him, and leaned back again. His usual pose.

Principal Woodrow held his stare. “A student snapped a picture of you smoking weed on the grounds.”

“No,” he said. “Didn’t happen.”

The picture was pulled out of a folder and shoved across the desk for Chance to see.

It was printed at the school, blown up and kind of grainy, but it was him in his hangout spot with Nico, only he was alone.

Yesterday’s clothing, and yes, that was a joint in his hand, but it wasn’t filled with weed. Not even tobacco.

“This says otherwise.”

He shoved the picture back. “It’s not what it seems.”

“It looks to me as if you’re smoking a joint,” Principal Woodrow said. “Which is illegal.”

“I can argue all I want and you’re not going to believe me anyway, so why bother?”

“I’ve got all the proof I need,” Principal Woodrow said firmly. “You’re suspended for five days. You need to get your act together if you want to graduate in a few months.”

“I’m passing everything,” he said.

“Barely.”

“But I am. Why do you care? You’ll pass me just to get me out of your hair. We both know it. Are we done? Can I start my suspension now?”

Principal Woodrow stared at him, then sighed. “You know, Chance, it’s not too late to turn things around.”

He shrugged, stood up, turned and left. He didn’t need another lecture from someone who didn’t give a shit about him.

He went to his locker, grabbed his books and left. Despite what the principal thought of him, he was going to do his homework for the week and not blow it off as a vacation. He’d even pick up a few extra shifts at his job.

He wanted out of this hellhole as much as they wanted him gone. That meant not falling behind.

The minute he was in his beat-up Camaro that he’d brought to life himself, he revved the engine, lifted his foot from the brake and smoked his tires, speeding out of the parking lot.

“What are you doing home?” his grandmother asked him ten minutes later.

“Got suspended for a week,” he said, throwing his books on the table in the small kitchen of their apartment.

His grandmother heaved enough air to fill her lungs. “What did you do this time?”

“Nothing more than normal. Got accused of something that wasn’t true. I’m done trying to argue my case to deaf ears.”

“Now what? Let’s go talk in the living room before I have to go to work.”

“Did you eat yet?” he asked. “I can cook you something.”

“It’s my job to cook for you,” his grandmother said.

Rhea Drummond had been taking care of him since the day he was born to her sixteen-year-old daughter. Then four years ago, his grandmother was the only person in his life.

“You wait on enough people in your job.”

His grandmother had been a waitress, bartender, and cook for her entire life. Doing whatever was requested of her in the pub she worked for.

“Fine, you can cook while you talk. What happened?” she snapped.

“Some asshole snapped a picture of me smoking lavender on the grounds. Looks like a joint, so must be a joint, right?”

“Chance! If I knew you were going to bring them to school, I wouldn’t have let you try it.”

He shrugged. “It works. I just needed to chill for the afternoon.” No way was he going to admit to his grandmother that he was feeling more anxious than normal.

He couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was the looming graduation and what the hell he was going to do with his life. College sure the fuck wasn’t happening.

“I know it works. I use them all the time to help me sleep, but I can see where someone thought it was something else. I’ll go down to the school and get this taken care of tomorrow.”

“No,” he said. “It won’t make a difference and you know it.”

Maybe if it were his first offense, but they’d suspended him once a year for four years. Twice it’d been for fights. The other time, he didn’t even remember. All his trips to the principal’s office were blurring together.

“If it weren’t for the fact that you had less than two months left of high school, I’d overrule you. Can we just get through without any more incidents?”

“I’ll try. I almost made it, Grandma.”

He pulled sausage patties out of the fridge and got a pan, then turned the oven on, poured fries on a sheet pan and threw them in before the temp was even ready.

Twenty minutes of silence later while he prepared their early dinner, he put both plates on the table.

He knew damn well she was erecting the lecture in her head. Most likely going to be a skyscraper at this point.

She picked up the sandwich and took a bite. He did the same.

“Chance.”

“Here it comes,” he said. “What time does your shift start?”

“Don’t be a wiseass.”

“Get it from my grandma.”

She sighed again. “I start in an hour. Just hear me out. You’ve got the drive to make something of yourself.” She held her hand up when he opened his mouth. “Stop. I’m talking. You’re going to listen.”

He nodded his head. He wouldn’t disrespect the only family he had. Maybe he’d done it earlier in his life, but once it was only the two of them, fear of being abandoned overrode it all.

She was all he had.

“Go on.”

“You never let anyone see the real you. I know it’s there. I know you want something better for yourself.”

“And for you.”

“Then put your actions where your words are. Stop feeling sorry for yourself by always saying people expect shit from you and letting them believe what isn’t true.”

He continued to eat and took the scolding on the chin like always. “What do you want me to do?”

“Make something of yourself,” she said firmly. “Like you and I both know you can do. Do it your way, not the way you think it has to be done. Until you can accept that, you’ll continue with this cycle.”

That was the last thing he wanted, but didn’t know how to get out of his own way.