Each word is another knife to the chest. My hands clench into fists, and I have to make a conscious effort to relax them. Rhys shouldn’t have to hear those words once, let alone twice.
Rhys keeps quiet; he nods, staring at his lap.
“Good,” Hughes says. “You’ll both stay here with me while your parents speak with your teachers about next steps.”
Julie and Ford Beeman sweep out first with Jordan’s teacher. And I follow Faye out of the principal’s office.
She closes his door behind us, then turns to face me, arms crossed, expression stern.
Uh-oh. I know that look.
I’m about to get reamed.
Or, as Remy would call it, spanked.
15
FAYE
I lead Ryder down the hallway away from the principal’s office.
He’s extra dusty today. As if he rode straight off the range and into my school. And he’s wearing cowboy chaps, or a shorter, fringed version of the classic ones. The leather covers his thighs, buckled over worn-out denim with the fringes reaching the tops of his mud-caked boots.
He smells terrible.
Horse and sweat and leather and earth, a combination that should make me wrinkle my nose and step back. Instead, I want to lean in. Breathe him in and find out how worse that stink gets closer to the skin.
I need an exorcism. I’m a lust bomb ready to go off. But right now, he doesn’t need that. He needs to have a hard conversation with his son’s teacher, one that he won’t like.
I rein in whatever free-range thoughts my brain is having and focus on the difficult topic we need to discuss.
I stop outside my classroom and hold the door open for Ryder. He pushes in, going to stand by the first row of desks. His attitude couldn’t be more different from when he showed up last week, all charm and stolen cookies. His hands are on his hips, set in a defensive stance, and his scowl is formidable.
I’ve barely closed the door when Ryder goes on the attack, talking before I can speak.
“The other kid had it coming.” His voice is guarded. “You heard what he said about Rhys’s mother. And he threw the first punch. My son was defending himself.”
“Teaching Rhys it’s okay to hit someone back as long as they attack first is not the best message to send.” I keep my voice level, professional, even though part of me wants to agree with him. That Jordan kid was cruel. “But that’s not what I want to talk about.”
Confusion flickers across his face. “Then what?”
I take a breath, knowing I’m about to poke the Papa Bear. “Have you ever talked to your son about his mother?”
Ryder’s entire body goes still, shoulders squaring like he’s preparing for a fight. His jaw clenches so tight the muscle jumps beneath the skin. Those twilight eyes darken to midnight.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The question is clipped, dangerous.
“It’s a hard topic, I know. But you and Rhys need to talk about it now that he’s old enough to have questions.” I stay gentle but firm. “Rhys can see that most of his schoolmates have mothers. It is normal for him to wonder why he doesn’t, where his mother is, and what happened.”
“And what am I supposed to tell him?” His words come scraped raw. “That his mother wanted nothing to do with him? That she didn’t even have the decency to stick around long enough for him to remember her face?” He points at the door in rage. “Because what the kid said is true, she abandoned him like he meant nothing.”
He’s angry, yes. But Ryder’s hurt runs deeper than his fury, hollowing him from the inside out. Every muscle in his body is drawn tight against the weight of what he can’t change—what he couldn’t save. I can only imagine how powerless he must feel in the face of this thing that was done to his kid, and that he has no control over. I feel just as impotent now, looking at him, unable to take that pain away.
“I don’t know how to answer those questions,” he continues, running a hand through his dusty hair. “How do I explain to a seven-year-old that sometimes people leave? How do I make him see it’s not his fault for being a crybaby and what that little shit told him isn’t true?”
“Have you thought about asking for help?” I suggest carefully. “From a professional?”
Ryder’s head snaps up, his eyes blazing. “Are you suggesting I send my son to a shrink?”
