Chapter 3
THREE
Chloe
My desk is clear. The whiteboards are sparkling clean, and the chairs are upside down on the students’ desks. Well, all but two of them. I glance at the clock above the door and then check to see if the time differs from that on my phone. It doesn’t. And as the hands creep past my meeting time—the one specifically requested by the mom of one of my students—I decide to make the phone call. I don’t have another option, and having my parents close to fall back on was one of the perks of moving.
“Hey, Dad. Are you busy?” I ask, dropping my head into my hand.
“Not with anything important, sweetie. What do you need?”
I sigh and suck it up. “I have a meeting with a parent, and she’s running late. Can you pick up Jake from after-school childcare? I think this is going to run long, and I can’t be late getting him again. They’re going to start charging me extra, and God knows, he’s already cranky about having to stay after. He’s convinced it’s just for babies.”
“You got parents complaining about their kids’ grades already? You haven’t really been there long enough for that, have you?”
“I don’t think so… maybe? God, I hope not.” Stepping into a classroom midyear isn’t easy, but the job was available, and I needed to make the change. I was finally ready to make the change.
“I’ll grab him. Maybe take him out for a burger or something.” My dad’s warm chuckle wraps itself around me.
This is why I moved here. To be closer to my parents. To have a good man in Jake’s life. And for help.
After confirming the time and hearing a quick, “I love you,” from my father, I scroll through pictures on my phone. Deployments. Reunions. My life with Dallas.
And my heart sits heavy in my chest.
I miss him.
Five years later, almost six, and it still hurts to think about all the things we didn’t get to do. All our hopes and dreams. If he’d lived, he’d be close to his twenty-year mark with the army. In my heart, I know Dallas would never consider retirement at first eligibility, but it would have been an option. A full career with time to do something new with his life, maybe enjoy some time together. Deployments are hard, weighing heavy on the framework of the family. Army life is not for the faint of heart.
“Mrs. Triplett? I’m so sorry I’m late. There was a thing at my office and…” Mrs. Amarre drops her bag to the floor and rifles through it, handing me a tissue. She sits on the edge of her chair, a knowing smile on her face, watching as I dab at the tears I didn’t notice were gathering on my cheeks. “Are you okay?” she asks.
I force a smile and reach across the desk to shake her hand. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was such a mess.”
Her gaze drops to my desk, where a tear rests on the screen of my phone, magnifying Dallas’s easy grin. Sadness, pity, or maybe something almost like understanding softens her eyes. “How long has it been?” she asks in a soothing tone.
My mouth presses into a tight line. This is not the reason she’s here in my classroom. My display of emotion feels unprofessional. “Five, almost six years.”
“Was he active duty? Did you lose him overseas?”
My eyes well up again, and that kind of pisses me off, so I bat away the tears. “He was active, Special Forces. He was stateside, on his way home from the airport post deployment, and he stopped for coffee before our son’s kindergarten graduation. There was a robbery, two teenagers, and… he was stabbed and killed. He was so close and just never made it back to us.”
The words hurt, even now. The shock of that day, of hearing the news, of how I crumbled. The only things that kept me upright through that mess were the fact that Jake needed me and that I had the support of Jack and the rest of Dallas’s team. His brothers.
“Oh, sweetie.”
“Yeah, it sucked.” I force a smile and try to lighten things.
This long after the fact, I thought I’d be better. Not necessarily over the loss of my husband, but certainly not having panic attacks in gas station convenience stores and crying in front of strangers.
Erin Amarre reaches across the desk and pats my hand. “It’s not easy to lose them, no matter how crazy the shit they put us through is. Jesus, the stories I could tell you, but that would require some wine. Maybe a lot of it.” She glances over her shoulder at the clock above the door and then back to me. “Do you have any other meetings tonight? Anywhere you need to be?”
I purse my lips and shake my head. “Just chatting with you and then off to my parents’ house to pick up my son,” I tell her.
She pushes her chair back and stands, throwing her purse over her shoulder. “Good. Let’s get out of here and grab a glass of wine. If nothing else, it’ll make my kid’s crappy math grades easier to handle.”
I hesitate but only for a minute because since moving to Virginia from New York, I haven’t had a single night out. Not even a glass of wine with a friend. Hell, I haven’t really even made any friends here.
With my voice low—because I’m pretty sure the school district wouldn’t be cool with this form of parent meeting—I agree, saying, “So much easier.” I backpedal when I see concern flashing across Mrs. Amarre’s face. “Oh my God, that’s not how I meant for that to come out. Tyler will be fine, but wine is never a bad idea.”
Somehow, between getting caught crying in my classroom and then implying her kid was a terrible student, Erin Amarre and I became friends. We leave formality behind us and climb into our cars to discuss Tyler and his math grades over wine at her house.
I follow Erin as she winds through town, turning into the driveway of a lovely house right on the beach. Since I don’t want to block anyone in, I park on the street between an SUV and a pretty, classic green pickup truck. The polished dark wooden side rails call attention to the beautiful restoration work. This truck is someone’s pride and joy.
I follow Erin inside the quiet house, where she pauses just long enough to grab a bottle of wine from the fridge and two long-stem glasses.
Erin leads me out on to her deck overlooking the ocean. It’s cool, almost cold, outside, but the setting sun dancing on the water and the low rumble of the waves make it so there is no place I’d rather be.
“You pour, and I’ll go grab us some snacks,” Erin says, handing me glasses and the wine bottle. “I have a feeling I’m going to need sustenance to get through the bad news.”
She slips through the sliding glass door, and I set up our drinks.
It’s comfortable out here on the deck. Waves rumble softly in the distance, and saltwater scents the air. I wonder where everyone is. With all those cars out front, it looked like there should be people here.
Erin returns a few minutes later with a cutting board piled high with cheese, crackers, a variety of sausages and meats, and a pile of grapes.
My stomach growls at the sight, and I lean forward in my seat to pluck a piece of prosciutto and some cheese from the board.
With her glass clutched between her palms, Erin rests against the railing and surveys the beach before pausing on a group of guys throwing a ball. “Okay. Looks like they’re good for a minute. How underwater on his grades is Tyler? Are we looking at summer school? Is he going to get held back?” She scoots between two patio chairs and lowers herself halfway down before standing again. “He’s not going to graduate, is he?”
A laugh huffs its way out of me. “Not necessarily. He can pull up his grade easy enough, but he needs to actually do the work and practice the problems, and then the tests will be a piece of cake.”
She quirks a brow at me, finally taking her seat.
“Seriously. I can work with him if you have concerns, but he’s just got to put in a little effort. That’s all.” I shrug and savor the wine. White, crisp. It’s a nice change from the full-bodied reds I usually go for. “He’s a smart kid. He just needs?—”
“Focus? Yeah. I’m going to talk to his coach and see if he can help motivate Tyler.” She rolls her eyes and glances back down the beach.
The trio are jogging toward us, tossing an oversize football back and forth between them.
I think about the school newsletter I skimmed through this morning, scrambling to remember what sports were mentioned.
“Tyler’s on the baseball team?” That doesn’t feel right, but it’s the only boys sport I remember reading about.
“No, rugby, and it’s not sponsored by the school. Best decision ever though, suggesting he try it,” she says before standing to lean over the railing of the deck. She cups her hands around her mouth and yells, “Clark, what’s the ruling on grades and playing time?”
Feet thunder up the steps, shaking the deck. I pluck another chunk of cheese and a cracker from the board and pop them into my mouth.
“Grades determine field time. Extra suicides for anything below a B.”
The voice delivering the edict skates through me, teasing recognition in the back of my brain, and a shiver runs down my spine. It’s familiar, but why? Deep. Smooth.
“Tyler, you heard what Coach said. And Mrs. Triplett is here, too, so there’s no weaseling your way out of math homework. You need to study, practice, and kick ass on your tests. Right, Chloe?” Erin lays it out there for everyone.
A groan filters up the stairs before Tyler lumbers onto the deck. The poor kid has senioritis just like every single other second-semester high school senior.
“Yes, ma’am,” Tyler says.
He’s a good kid, and he’s bright. He just needs to put in the time.
“Hey, Ms. T,” he says, politely addressing me with the shortened name most of the boys in class prefer.
“Hi, Tyler.” I smile encouragingly at him.
“Blake, Clark, this is Chloe. Tyler’s math teacher and the woman in charge of whether he plays or not.”
Erin seamlessly switches from hard-ass to loving mom and tips her wineglass at her son. It’s funny because while Tyler might be her eighteen-year-old baby, Erin has to take a step back and tilt her head to make eye contact with him. He already towers over her.
Tyler shifts his weight and opens his mouth but stalls. Poor kid looks like he wants to melt through the boards of the deck and disappear. At his first opportunity, he does exactly that, slinking through the patio doors and away from all discussion of his grades.
“The only person responsible for his playing time is Tyler.” Blake offers me his hand. “Mrs. Triplett, it’s good to meet you.”
I shake his hand and wash down my cheese with a quick swallow of wine. “Please, Chloe is fine.” Though he didn’t say it, there is no doubt in my mind that this is Tyler’s father. The resemblance is unquestionable.
The air sizzles around me, almost uncomfortably, but when I take in the man behind Blake Amarre, I’m met with deep chocolate eyes. My cheeks heat as recognition washes over me because the last time I looked into those deep brown eyes, I was flat on my back.
The beautiful man who caught me in my literal fall from grace as we arrived in town is standing before me. My heart kicks into overdrive, and I almost feel light-headed as he approaches. Tall, broad, and with a confident bearing that sends chills down my spine.
“Hi,” I say, trying to ignore the zing of warmth spreading from our clasped hands.
The gravelly chuckle he emits doesn’t help with the task.
“Miles Kent. You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.” He does a full once-over, smiling broadly at the confusion painted across my face. Shooting a look at Erin, he clarifies, “Clark is just a nickname.”
He accepts a beer from Blake, tilting the bottle to his lips. Each long, thirsty pull sets his throat bobbing as he swallows. His dark stubble hints at a beard in progress. Wind tousles his thick brown hair.
“So, they call you Clark, and your last name is Kent. Really? Do you moonlight as Superman?” I ask.
He could totally pass for the superhero. From what I can see, he’s certainly got the body for it. His long-sleeved shirt clings to a solid chest, straining to contain his biceps. And he seems to have found the damsel-in-distress angle in me.
I would love to push his dark hair back from his face, leaving just one sexy curl twisting against his forehead. Another flush of heat singes its way up my chest as my thoughts startle me.
I tried to date a couple years ago, but it was awful. Guilt fought with disinterest, and I decided I wasn’t ready yet. I resigned myself to just… not.
Like he can see my thoughts, Miles runs his fingers through his hair. “Could always be worse. I’d have hated hearing Lover Boy whispered in my ear over comms, dick deep in a shitstorm with another guy’s hand wrapped around my shoulder.” He gives a chin lift to Blake, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Dry. Sarcastic. He speaks my language.
Erin snorts a laugh, and Blake shrugs, saying, “I got no problem with my call sign. I’m secure in my masculinity. You still questioning yours, Clark?”
“Wait, wait, wait. Back up a minute,” Erin interrupts, looking back and forth between Miles and me. “You two have met? When did this happen?” She settles into Blake, where he’s sprawled on the outdoor love seat next to her.
“Uh, I… Well?—”
“Chloe was overcome by her mere proximity to me and fell helplessly into my arms.” Miles raises his hand and bows his head in false modesty as he slings his absolutely perfect bullshit version of what happened. “I’m just glad I was there to catch her, soften her fall, and revive her from that fainting spell. I’m used to it,” he adds, cocky smirk firmly in place. Catching my shocked expression, he winks and lifts his drink to Blake. “Top that, Lover Boy.”
“Oh my God,” I mumble and then go on to explain what really happened when we met. Maybe gloss over is a better description than explain because I sure as hell don’t go into details about why I passed out in a convenience store. No one needs to hear about the crazy new teacher’s panic attacks.
“Was it low blood sugar?” Erin asks, jumping to her feet. She pushes the charcuterie board toward me. “Blake, go start the grill, so we can get Chloe fed. We don’t need her fainting again.”
Blake lights the grill and then follows his wife inside, leaving me alone with Miles.
Miles reaches across me to pluck a selection of cheese and sausage from the board. Muscles bunch and flex beneath a long-sleeved black shirt that seems to be molded to every dip and ridge across his torso and shoulders. “So, tell me, Chloe Triplett, what’s your story?” He settles into the seat across from me. Leaning back, he props his ankle on the opposite knee. He slouches low in his seat and drops his snacks in a pile on the flat plane of his stomach before choosing a chunk of cheese and popping it into his mouth.
“My story?” Lord have mercy, I’ve already shared it once tonight with Erin. I’m not sure I want to do it again.
“Mmhmm. What brings you to Virginia Beach? Where’s your little sidekick, and do you always drop like a ton of bricks at the gas station?” He sucks a smear of creamy brie from his thumb and waits for my response.
Nope. Not ready to share. I’ve just met the man—officially met him. And while dating hasn’t actually worked out for me since Dallas died, I’m aware enough to know that a conversation about anxiety and losing the love of my life isn’t a great way to test the waters.
And, if I’m being honest with myself, that whole slew of questions was a bit forward.
“I wanted to be closer to my parents. They were sweet enough to take Jake for a bit since I was meeting with Erin, though I should probably go soon and get him.” I set my wineglass down and scoot to the edge of my seat, my skirt sliding up higher on my thighs. I shift and tug at the hem.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Erin’s got it in her head to feed you, so you’re going to have to eat before you’re allowed to go,” Miles says. “It’s easier not to fight it.”
I hike an eyebrow that gets judiciously ignored.
He pops a stack of cheese slices into his mouth and tips his beer bottle at me to continue talking.
The ocean breeze whips my hair across my face, tickling at my lips. I gather the wild, dark curls to one side and twist it into a loose braid, tucking the ends into the collar of my shirt. It’s not a permanent fix, but it’ll do to temporarily tame the mess.
I dig my phone from where it sits in the depths of my tote and check the time. I really should go. “I teach high school math at Cox, my parents live inland, and you’ve met Jake. Oh, and Bronson. You had the pleasure of meeting my dog as well. That’s it. That’s all there is,” I tell him, rifling back through my purse for keys. I desperately need to clean this bag out.
My phone buzzes in my hand with a text from my mom.
“Everything okay?” Miles asks.
“It is.” I nod slowly as I read. “My parents fed my kiddo an early dinner and are grabbing some ice cream on their way to bring him home for the night.” I tap out a response that I’ll be home soon, only to be met with my mother’s standard, No rush.
I close the Messages app and let my gaze linger on my locked screen. The last picture we ever took together—Dallas, Jake, and me. Bronson is photobombing us over Dallas’s shoulder.
It was just before another deployment—“a playdate in the sand,” Dallas said.
We had our whole lives left to live. Until his was cut short and my heart was left in tatters.