Chapter Two #2
Jules visibly pales. “Nurse’s office?” Her voice cracks. She presses both hands against her head, hazelnut eyes locking onto mine, stormy and wild. “Do you think he’s hurt?”
“I don’t know.” And that’s the truth. But the uncertainty sits heavy between us.
Jules exhales sharply and turns away, pacing a tight circle.
“This is all my fault.” She chokes on her words. “I should have had breakfast with him. I should have said goodbye to him. I should have—”
“Jules,” I say her name quietly.
She stops and swallows hard. “What?”
I hesitate. Then open my arms. “Come here.”
For a moment, she doesn’t move. Something in my chest pulls tight. Then, finally, she steps forward. She presses her forehead against my chest, arms tentatively wrapping around my waist.
God, she smells the same. Coffee beans. Vanilla. Hope .
My fingers slide into her curls, careful not to disturb the flowers.
“I feel like a bad mom,” she whispers.
I pull her closer. “This is not your fault.”
Her breath hitches. “But if I’d just—”
“We don’t even know what happened yet.”
Her grip tightens. Then, softer this time. “If anyone hurt him…” She doesn’t finish the thought. She doesn’t have to.
I smother a smirk against the top of her head. “I know.”
Because no one messes with her kid.
With our kid.
The door creaks open. Tate rushes in, his sneakers squeaking against the tile. The second he sees us—Jules and me, still wrapped up in each other—he instantly lights up.
“Mom!” His face is full of relief as Jules pulls away from me, dropping to her knees in front of him.
Her hands cup his cheeks, her thumbs brushing against a darkening bruise beneath his left eye. Her breath shudders. “What happened?”
“Lance Yeardley punched me.”
A woman clears her throat. I look up to see a brunette in a tailored cream suit standing near the door. She holds out a hand. “I’m Georgie Whitney, the assistant principal.”
I shake it, but Jules doesn’t move. Her arms tighten around Tate, pulling him against her.
Georgie motions for us to sit. “The boys exchanged some words,” she continues. “Then, Lance punched Tate.”
Jules pulls back, scanning Tate’s face with wide, frantic eyes. “Why did you get into a fight?”
Tate shifts on his feet, his fingers curling into the hem of his shirt.
“He said I always forget where I leave my stuff because you and Dad don’t live together.” It comes out small, fragile. “He said you guys hate each other and that’s why you got divorced.”
Something inside me twists. Someone said that to him?
Jules’ breath falters.
I swallow hard. “What stuff are you forgetting, bud?”
Tate bites his lip. “My backpack. And my homework.”
Jules’ brows pull together. “Where’s your homework?”
Tate won’t meet her eyes. “I left it at the coffee shop.”
An ache unfurls behind my ribs. He’s six. And already carrying the weight of our mistakes.
“I tried telling Miss Greta,” Tate continues, “but Lance started making fun of me. So, I called him some mean names.”
Jules lets out a slow, measured breath. “Tate.” She runs her hands up and down his arms. “That’s not a reason to be mean to anyone.”
His lower lip wobbles.
I clear my throat and look at Georgie. “Is Tate in trouble?”
She leans against the desk, folding her hands. “We think it would be best if he stayed home for a few days and returned to school on Monday. It won’t go on his record, but he did cause a scene and—”
Jules straightens, eyes flashing. “What about Lance?”
Georgie nods. “He has been suspended for three days. It will go on his record. We don’t condone physical violence at Sacred Heart.”
Jules blinks, like she wasn’t expecting that answer. But then she looks at our son. At the ugly black-and-purple bloom spreading over his cheekbone. Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Then, finally, “He hurt my son.”
Georgie gives her a sympathetic frown. “I know. But Tate said some very hurtful things, too. Sometimes words can do just as much damage as fists, Mrs. Banks.”
Jules flinches. Like the words cut straight through her.
A thick silence settles between us.
Jules presses a hand to the side of her face. “I’d like to take my son home now.”
Georgie clears her throat, reaching for a business card. “If you have any questions, or need to talk, please don’t hesitate to give me a call.”
Jules takes it without a word. Her fingers tremble.
I press my car keys into her hand. “I’ll be a minute.”
Her wet, glossed-over eyes meet mine. She doesn’t argue. Just laces her fingers through Tate’s and walks out the door.
Once they’re gone, I shove a hand into my pocket. “I’m sorry Tate acted out.”
Georgie tilts her head. “It happens more often than you’d think.”
“Jules and I… we try so hard to give him as normal a life as possible.” I exhale, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “But going between houses, things get lost.”
Her gaze softens. “Of course.” She hesitates, then folds her arms. “Can I offer a suggestion?”
I nod.
“Tate has made it very clear to his teacher that he craves family time with both his parents.” Her voice is gentle, but the words hit like a sledgehammer.
“I know that’s not always easy when parents are divorced, but it might benefit him to do something every once in a while with Mom and Dad together. ”
I feel a lump form in my throat. Tate wants more time with both of us. And we’re too wrapped up in our own shit to see it.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Georgie gives me a tight-lipped smile and motions toward the door. “If you need anything, I’m always here to help.”
I thank her before heading outside.
When I reach my car, Jules is leaning against the driver’s side door, her shoulders trembling. Tears streak down her face as Tate watches from the backseat.
She doesn’t even notice me until my arms wrap around her. She buries her face in my chest, fingers hooking around my shoulders like she needs something to hold onto.
Her breath shakes. “S-someone hit him.” The words come out in a choked whisper, her body practically folding into mine. “Someone hit him.”
I press my lips to the top of her head, pulling her closer.
I wish I could fix this.
I wish I could take the pain from her. From Tate.
But I don’t know how.
So I just hold her.
And don’t let go.