Nick #2
Before I know it, my body is pushed up against a brick wall, my face pressed to the brick. “Hey-hey-hey! Easy there, fella’—”
“Are you seriously going to point a finger gun at me, boy? At a cop?” He yells in my ear before patting me down. “Spread ‘em.”
“Nick?”
Officer Friendly freezes. We both watch as Chelsea Santiago stares at us curiously.
“Chels,” my voice croaks. “Hey! Little help?”
She steps closer, crossing her arms. “What the heck are you doing here, Crawford? And what did you do to piss off Darrell?”
I glance over to the cop. “I take it you’re Darrell?”
A sardonic smile crawls across his face. “You know this clown, Mrs. Santiago?”
“Unfortunately,” she says, boredom in her tone that melts into a laugh. “He’s a good friend of Julian’s.”
“And yours!” I finish, but they ignore me entirely, continuing their conversation as though I’m not currently being frisked against a wall.
“How is Mr. Santiago?”
“He’s doing well.”
“Does he still have that deer stand?”
“He does! He’s planning a trip with—”
“Me,” I mumble, my face still pushed up against the wall. “Your husband is planning a trip with Ramsdale and me. Now, do you mind asking Darrell to let me breathe?”
Chelsea and the officer share a glance. She pulls out her cellphone. “Would you mind if I … y’know?” She pantomimes taking a camera.
“Go right ahead, ma’am.” Darrell poses, leaning more of his weight into me.
“Chelsea …” I growl as she snaps a photo.
She snorts, unable to control her giggles.
“Okay, okay … Darrell, this is Nick Crawford. He really is a good friend of mine. He’s not a criminal, but if he’s pissed you off, it’s probably justified.
” She steps closer. “But … I don’t know what he would be here.
” She eyes me suspiciously. “Did my husband send you?”
Darrell pulls me away from the wall, keeping a hand on my shoulder. “He said he’s here to pick up his son.”
“Oh!” Chelsea’s gasps. “Julian told me the exciting news …. Dad.” She singsongs the word. “Wait … is your son a student?”
I nod, rubbing at the back of my neck now that Darrell has finally released me from police custody. “He is. He’s in kindergarten.”
Chelsea hums with excitement. “What’s his name?”
“Grady Stone.”
“You’re Grady’s father? Nick …” She croons, pressing a hand to her chest. “He is just the sweetest thing.”
“I thought so, too, but—” I shrug—“apparently he got into a fight today, which is why I’m here, picking him up.”
She wrinkles up her face. “That doesn’t sound like him at all. Maybe you can talk with his teacher—oh, you are going to love her. She—”
“We’re all set, Mrs. Santiago!” A woman in scrubs emerges from a large, glass-walled office, holding the door open for two little girls.
Chelsea twirls around. “Ah, perfect. Did y’all get your bandaids?” The little girls nod as Chelsea gestures for them to follow her. “Let’s get back to lunch then.” She points to me. “You. We’ll catch up later.”
I give her a wave.
With a heavy sigh, Darrell finally returns my driver's license before slapping a neon green visitor sticker onto my chest with considerably more force than necessary. “There.”
“Thank you, Darrell,” I snark. “I’m assuming that’s the front office?”
He offers a tight smile as I carefully step away.
The office buzzes with energy as staff members carry out their duties amid a steady stream of hushed conversations and ringing phones.
Blue-and-white accents are woven throughout the space, from the banners hanging overhead to the painted tiger mascot displayed on the walls, while colorful student artwork brightens nearly every available surface.
I approach the desk, the secretary brightening to my presence. “Hey, there—”
“Hey, yourself.” She giggles, a lilt to her words as her eyes drop across my body. “Can I help you? With something?”
I blink, casually glancing around the space. “Um, yeah, I’m here to pick up Grady Stone.”
“Oh. You’re Dad! We are so happy to finally meet you.”
Shit. I haven’t discussed with Tiffany yet if and when we’re going to tell Grady.
The secretary continues, becoming more serious. “If you don’t mind waiting a minute. Mr. Torres, the VP, wants to chat with you and his teacher, Ms. Harrison.”
Double shit. I don’t want to talk to grown-ups. Nobody warned me about this.
“Great.” I offer a grin. Tucking my hands into my pockets, I meander around the space. My attention catches on a bulletin board, crowded with flyers, district newsletters, and a weekly cafeteria menu.
“Nick!” Grady hurdles toward me, throwing his arms around my leg.
“Well, hey there, partner!” I bend down, resting a hand on his back. “I heard you were having a rough day.”
He stills. Fidgeting with his glasses, he hangs his head. “I-I got in trouble, but I-I wasn’t trying to be bad.”
“I know. It’s going to be okay. We’ll talk about it, alright?” I squat down, sitting on my heels before wrapping him in a tight embrace, holding him close. As he begins to fist my shirt, a breath catches somewhere behind my ribs, forcing me to swallow around the sudden lump in my throat.
Sometimes we just need to be held.
Maybe we have time to create the in-between.
“Mr. Crawford?”
I freeze.
That voice—that heavenly voice—that settles under my skin like warm sunshine and honey. A voice that somehow calms me and unravels me at the same time.
It can’t be.
Standing to my full height, I slowly pivot, and instantly, my gaze collides with hers. Her dark eyes widen in surprise, framed by wavy hair that spills past her shoulders, a small braid tucked neatly behind one ear.
I exhale heavily.
“You.”