He glances at the office door. Then at me. Then, he releases a long sigh and tells me everything.
My blood goes from simmer to full rolling boil in about forty seconds flat, but I keep my face easy, because I know better than to let it show. Rage is a tool, not a leash. O'Rourkes know how to wield power. You don't spend it screaming in a hallway.
When Jamie’s done, I nod once.
"Okay." I stand and straighten my jacket. “Let’s go.”
Jamie blinks up at me. "I'm supposed to wait out here. The principal said."
"Where's the other kid?"
"In there. In the meeting."
I look at the closed door. The other boy is inside with his parents and the principal, giving his version of events, while the fourteen-year-old is benched in the hallway, unable to defend himself.
“Let’s go,” I say again, and this time there's no question it’s an order.
I don't knock.
I swing the door open with a smile in place, and stroll into the office like I own the fucking building.
"Sorry I'm late," I announce to the room. "Traffic was murder."
Five faces swing toward me. A tight-assed principal behind a desk. A country-club couple, a teenager who's holding an ice pack against his cheek like a pussy, and my wife, facing them, a pen in her hand. Her eyes go wide at the sight of me.
"Lorcan,” she breathes.
"Hello, gorgeous." I cross to her, kiss the top of her head, and very gently take the pen out of her hand and set it on the desk. Then I stand beside her chair, one hand on her shoulder, and beam at the room.
"Excuse me." The principal—Galdek, per the nameplate—draws herself up. "This is a private meeting. And Jamie,” she spots him in the doorway. “You were instructed to wait outside."
"Jamie won't be waiting outside.” I say it pleasantly. Sunnily, even. “He’ll be in here facing his accuser.” I nod at the pussy with the ice pack.
"And you are?" the father asks, in the voice men like him use on valets.
"Maeve's husband." I keep smiling. "Now. Somebody catch me up. What exactly is the problem here?"
Galdek folds her hands on the inch-thick folder and gives it to me self-righteously. She mentions an unprovoked attack, witnesses, Jamie's file, his anger issues, and the home situation. Then moves on to the impending five-day suspension, permanent record, and a report to the caseworker. The Whitmores nod along.
I listen cordially to every word. Then I stop smiling.
“I assume you all know,” I say, and my voice drops into a register that makes the room go still. “The reason for the altercation.”
I look at Tyler, and Tyler suddenly finds his ice pack fascinating.
“Puss—I mean,Tylerhere cornered a nine-year-old girl on the playground. Jamie's little sister, Cara. Due to extreme trauma, Cara doesn't speak. So Tyler here decided it would be a good idea to bully her. Call her stupid. Call her a freak. He got his friends laughing. And when she tried to walk away, he grabbed her arm—hard enough to leave marks. Crescent-shaped fingernail marks. I'd be happy to have our family physician photograph and document them within the hour."
The mother's face turns beet red. Her mouth opens and closes. I keep going.
"Jamie saw it happen. He witnessed an older,muchbigger boy tormenting a special-needs little girl—verbally abusing her, physically assaulting her—and Jamie did what any decent person would do. He defended his younger, more vulnerable sister." I turn to Galdek. "So I have questions. Why isn't this school protecting Cara from bullies? Why is Jamie the only child sitting in the hallway while the boy who assaulted a nine-year-old sits in here with his parents and an ice pack? And didone single adult in this building ask Jamie his side of the story before writing up that report?"
Silence.
Galdek's hands are no longer folded so confidently on the folder. Her eyes flick to Tyler, and I watch the color drain out of her face drop by drop, because shedidn'task. Nobody asked. The file made it easy not to.
"That’s—” the father starts, recovering. "Now hold on. Who do you think you are, coming in here?—"
“Who am I? As I said, I’m Maeve’s husband.” I lean closer. “Lorcan O'Rourke."
