Chapter 13 #2
The insinuation sends panic coursing through me, and my vision tunnels, the edges darkening as I struggle to maintain composure.
“The Wright Pack considers her family,” I explain, the words tumbling out too fast. “Quinn wanted her opinion on colors.”
“Of course.” Carson’s brow puckers in concern. “But you should keep in mind that Pinecrest isn’t like where we used to live. In small communities, people notice things and form impressions. As educators, we’re held to certain standards.”
“There’s nothing but professionalism between us,” I insist, the lie turning my burgeoning hopes of a fresh start to ash in my mouth.
Carson studies me, his head tilted. “Perhaps. But you might want to be more circumspect, given how quick parents are to gossip. And some of them can be so nosy. I’d hate for them to dig into your history.”
The veiled reference to Westbrook steals the air from my lungs. Carson never crosses the line into threats. He doesn’t have to. He just presses where it already hurts and waits for a reaction.
“Emily Wilson is a family friend of the Wright Pack, and an upstanding citizen in Pinecrest,” I repeat, each word measured. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
A satisfied smile spreads across Carson’s face at my dismissal of Emily, and I resist the urge to take it back and defend what’s been growing between us.
“I was disappointed to miss you at the celebration party,” he says, reclaiming control of our conversation. “Blake Wright mentioned you were present but left before I had a chance to say hello.”
My fingers twitch at my side. “It was a long day, and I needed to prep for Quinn’s first day at school.”
“Of course, the child comes first,” he agrees. “That’s what I always respected about your teaching style, Leif. Your dedication to your students.”
The compliment slides under my skin like a splinter. At Westbrook, his method had always been to give criticism wrapped in praise, expectations disguised as observations.
“Westbrook lost a rising star when you up and vanished,” Carson continues, taking on a chastising quality. “If you had spoken to me about your concerns, I would have been able to lay your worries to rest.”
Lies. And I won’t let him gaslight me into questioning whether I did everything within my power to stop what was happening before I reported him to the Westbrook school board.
“We’d already said everything there was to say.” I shove my hands into my pockets to hide my clenching fists. “But it appears you’ve managed to advance your career, regardless.”
“Yes, Westbrook was more than happy to find me a position better suited to my years of experience.”
Because it was better for them to move Carson outside their district than to have a blemish on their record by actually investigating my accusations. I should have known better and just left quietly.
He shifts his weight, his posture relaxing as mine tenses. “Watching you with Quinn this past week, I can’t help but think your talents and education are being underutilized.”
He doesn’t say “wasted” or “squandered,” but his meaning is clear in the careful selection of a gentler term and the slight pause that follows.
“I’m where I need to be,” I reply. “Quinn requires one-on-one attention during this transition.”
“Transitions are temporary by definition, Leif. What comes next for you? You’ve kept yourself so…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Contained.”
The assessment strikes too close to home. My life since fleeing Westbrook has been precisely that. Contained. Limited. Small.
“I haven’t given it much thought,” I lie.
“You should.” Carson steps closer, as if sharing a confidence. “Pinecrest Academy values involvement, visibility, and growth. We’re always on the lookout for educators who can contribute to our community beyond the classroom.”
My mouth goes dry as I recognize the recruitment pitch embedded in his words. Carson isn’t simply threatening my current position. He’s attempting to draw me back into his orbit, to establish control by offering a path that leads right back to him.
“The Wright Pack hired me for Quinn,” I counter, taking a half-step backward to reclaim space between us. “The job is more than fulfilling.”
“For now,” Carson agrees with an easy shrug. “But children grow. Needs change. The question becomes whether you’re growing alongside them or remaining static.”
The criticism hits its mark. Am I growing? No, I’ve been hiding.
“Well, I shouldn’t keep you. I have a staff meeting in ten minutes.” He extends his hand. “It’s good to reconnect, Leif. We should catch up properly sometime.”
As I reflexively accept his handshake, the contact sends revulsion through me that I struggle to mask.
His grip lingers a beat too long, his fingertips skimming my pulse before he releases me. “Think about what I said. Your potential has always been exceptional. It would be a shame to see it limited to babysitting duties, wouldn’t it?”
Without waiting for my response, he turns and walks back up the steps, pausing at the top to greet a group of teachers entering the building.
They welcome him with open arms, already won over by his charm and position.
The doors close behind them, leaving me alone on the sidewalk, the morning sunshine cold on my skin.
I force myself to move, each step requiring conscious effort as I cross the parking lot to my waiting car.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out on autopilot to find a text message.
Emily
Are we still on for tomorrow?
My stomach twists into knots. If I continue seeing Emily, I risk Quinn’s accommodations, her stability, and her hard-won progress. If I pull away from Emily, I surrender to Carson’s control, proving that his tactics still work, and he can still dictate the boundaries of my life.
The decision settles in my chest like a stone. I can’t afford to want this. Not Emily, not the woodworking lessons, not the possibility of building something permanent.
Not when the cost might be Quinn’s security.