by Kayla, Mia
Perplexed, I plopped down on a kitchen chair, forearms resting on my knees. I rubbed my eyes, thankful for once that no one was home.
“Sarah, where can you be?” I closed my eyes and went through a slew of scenarios, one where she’d left her phone here, but someone had kidnapped her from the house. Or she’d left her phone here and hitchhiked to Las Vegas where she married the tall boy to spite me.
I knew both scenarios were impossible, but still, it drove me fucking insane.
With my eyes closed, memories bombarded me, like the first time I’d held her. She was the first baby in our family. I held her at the hospital, was afraid she’d break. She was beautiful with a blush of color on her cheeks and her little tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. I’d never known I’d grow to love another person so much and want to spoil them so completely.
Then, holding her over the tub of holy water to get baptized. I was her godfather, and I had never been honored with such a title before. Vice president of finance was nothing compared to godfather to my Sarah.
Then, my whole family—my mother and father and Brad and her parents—all seeing her off to go to kindergarten. Some grandparents were in attendance to drop off their kindergarteners, but Brad and I were the only uncles. We had been the largest family there on the first day of school.
And dancing with her on the day of her father-daughter dance Charles accompanied her to. I’d gone to the house to see her off, to see her in her frilly purple dress. She’d asked me if I wanted a dance and stepped on my feet as we floated across the living room.
I remembered carrying her in my arms when we were at her mother’s funeral, holding her when she cried, and promising her I wouldn’t let her go until she stopped crying. In that moment, I promised myself that nothing would happen to Sarah and Mary. That I would protect them like their father protected them and love them with a fatherly love because I didn’t have children of my own.
She’d been seven. It was so much easier then.
Why is it, the older she got, the weaker I felt our connection was getting?
I tapped my knuckles on the counter, thinking, waiting, and thinking some more.
Then, I lifted my head because a thought had come to me. I jolted to a standing position and pushed back the chair.
I knew exactly where she’d gone.
* * *
I walked out the back door, past the pool and the guest house, to the end of our land where a tree house was perched in the middle of two branches.
Brad and I had gifted Sarah a state-of-the-art tree house. We’d hired one of the guys from Tree House Masters to complete it, and it had cost thousands of dollars to build—with its own reading nook and mini kitchen, furnished with curtains and blinds.
Sarah’s face on her fifth birthday had been worth the money spent. Brad and I had both held her hands and skipped—yes, skipped—to the backyard to show her our gift.
I could see her shadow through the windows of the tree house nestled into the massive oak. When she turned to the door, I stopped.
The door creaked open, and Sarah carefully descended the ladder. When she turned around, she staggered to a stop, her eyes going lax and a heavy frown forming on her face.
The unbearable need to make it right between us had me meeting her where the mulch met the concrete. “Sarah …”
“It’s fine.” She raised a hand and walked past me, and I followed.
She was annoying me with her fines when everything was far from fine. Where is my honest and straightforward niece? Where did she go?
“I know it’s not fine. I’m sorry.” My voice thickened with emotion, but she ignored me, and her pace picked up into almost a sprint. “I was worried, okay?” I tried to reason with her. “I know how guys are, and … you’re just too young.”
I almost knocked into her when she stopped to turn my way.
“Too young to what, Uncle Mason?” Her jaw tightened, and her eyes blazed with fury. “To hang out with friends? Friends who were boys—because that’s what they were.”
I flinched. “Well, your plans might have been innocent, but I know how boys are, what they think, how hormonal they are,” I pled my case, but that brought more fire behind her eyes. That heat turned into an inferno. “That Tall Guy, he likes you,” I stated, knowing I’d read that boy right.
She lifted her hands. “So? What if Liam does?”
So that was Liam.
“I’m not going to kiss him or do anything with him. I just wanted to hang out.” She lowered her head and the lines in her jaw turned prominent. “What do you think was going to happen?” Her voice turned whisper soft.
She swiped at her face, tears cascading down, and my stomach clenched. She looked up at the sun setting, but her tears kept falling, like rain on an angel’s face.
“I’m sorry. I went too far.” Did I think I had gone too far? Who knew? All I knew was that I’d hurt her, and I needed to make things right.
“I’m so embarrassed. Everyone is talking.” She swiped at her eyes again and shook her head, squeezing her eyes tightly. “Macy and Caroline aren’t going to say anything, but”—she sniffled and pushed her Converse shoes into the mulch—“the guys are already calling you the crazy uncle.”
I snorted a laugh. “Good. Maybe they’ll stay away.”
I had meant it to be funny, but she met my eyes and glared.
“It’s not funny. This is my life, Uncle Mason.” She pressed both hands into her chest. “My. Life. And you are the crazy uncle. I can’t believe you did that. It’s like you don’t know me at all.”
She ran past the pool and guest house, all the way to the main house, leaving me dumbfounded.
I stood there, staring at the main house, at the door she walked through.
My chest ached, and I gritted my teeth. This sucked. What am I going to do now? I didn’t understand teenagers, let alone teenage girls.
“You don’t understand teenagers like I do. I teach them for a living. I should know.”
I groaned.
Although I hated to admit it, I needed help.
My brothers weren’t going to help me because I wasn’t about to tell them what I’d done.
Gabriella Elise Coratina Escavez Cruz had started this. Now, she was going to help me finish it.
Chapter 6
Mason
The next day, after school, I waited until the buses had left and I was sure Sarah was no longer on the school grounds. Then, I stepped out of my car and took in Preston Elite Academy and its surroundings, bringing me back to years ago when my brothers and I had gone here. The playground had been updated with a pad of black rubber mats and wood chips surrounding a swing set, complete with a jungle gym, a tube maze, slides, and monkey bars. It had doubled in size since I was here last.
I remembered a time when some kid had given me a brutal wedgie, and I could hardly walk back to class. Brad had pinned that kid on the ground, pummeling him even though the boy was older. And Charles, he’d held back the people who tried to stop the fight—like the manager of a fight club. At times, it felt like nothing had changed even though I helped run a million-dollar company.
I’d walked Sarah to her first day of kindergarten here and would watch her walk the stage at graduation soon. It was crazy to think how time had passed so quickly. How did I get here?
Then, I remembered. Gabby Cruz—that was how.
I exhaled a heavy sigh and rubbed at my temple, noting a pending headache.
She’d done this, and she would tell me how to fix it.
Entering the school, I stepped into the office. There was a desk with a nameplate that said Mrs. Uberknacker and a stack of business cards. Behind it, an older woman with peppered hair pulled back in a tight ponytail was sorting through some papers.
“Can I help you?”
I couldn’t believe I was here, but since Charles and Brad couldn’t give me advice, considering they would never know about the predicament I was in, this was my next course of action. “C
an you point me to Miss Cruz’s room?”
“Down the hall, first door to the right.” Her head was nose deep in the stack of files, and she didn’t lift her head to look at me.
I could have been a serial killer with a gun pointed to her head for all she knew. I’d have to talk to someone about protocol and security around this place.
I walked down the hall, noting the shiny linoleum floor. A janitor on the far end threw me a dissatisfied look as he pushed the mop across the walkway.
When I passed him and reached her door, I paused, leaning back to make sure I had the right room.
And then I heard, “Mike, stop calling me. I don’t understand what you don’t get.” Then, a slew of unintelligible Spanish words left her mouth.
Right room all right.
More Spanish fell from her mouth, and there was this sudden need within me to know what she was saying. I didn’t know if it was just my personality and how I had to know everything or a curiosity to know what was making her so upset. Her tone was harsh, words strong and heavy.
I peered into the room where Gabby faced the windows, one hand on her hip, her back stick straight. Her floor-length skirt hugged her hips, and the silk shirt she was wearing accentuated her skinny frame but full chest.
I swallowed.
She was attractive; I’d give her that.
She pulled the phone from her ear and yelled louder, directly at it.
Well, well, well. This woman fought on the playground and outside of the playground, too, and she looked damn fine doing it.
Her hands were clenched into fists and her chin was held high. “How can you sit there and lie to me again and again? Don’t call me ever. I mean it. Te odio tanto!” She chucked her phone across the room, and the cell skittered across the floor, breaking into multiple pieces. “I hate him!” She kicked the cabinet so hard that I swore I’d heard a crack. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” She hopped on one foot and reached for her ankle, almost toppling over in the process.
Immediately, I rushed toward her, and when I steadied her arm with my hand, she jerked back.
“Mason?”
She remembered my name, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at her. I had a strong awareness of my own heart beating louder, faster, harder.
She was wearing a shimmery pink lip color and some eye makeup that made her hazel eyes pop. She’d been bare-faced and beautiful at the mall, but now … hell, she looked stunning.
“Yeah.” I shook my head to get my bearings.
She looked dazed and confused. Me? I kept looking at her lips.
I needed my head checked and stat. How could I possibly be attracted to a woman who was the source of all my current problems? I’d officially lost it.
I blinked and averted my gaze. “Why don’t you sit down?” I said, clearing my throat.
I ushered her to the chair behind her desk, and when she sat down, she winced.
“Ouch.” She closed her eyes and massaged her ankle. “Sarah left already.”
Sarah?
For some reason, I’d gone blank.
Shit. Yeah, that’s why I’m here.
I ignored her and bent down, needing to examine her ankle. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes flipped open to meet mine. “Yeah. Yeah.” She used her arms to lift herself higher on the chair using the armrests and winced again. She was far from okay.
“Just stay still,” I instructed her. “Can I take a look at your ankle?”
She grimaced, and her eyes fell shut. “No, but can you get my phone?”
Stubborn little thing, wasn’t she? But I already knew this. Stubborn. Concerned. Feisty.
Beautiful …
That last thought popped into my head without warning.
She wanted her phone—too bad it was in multiple pieces across the room.
“Yeah, I think you’ll need a new phone.” My fingers hovered over the hem of her skirt. “It might be sprained or broken. Can I just take a peek?”
She moaned and rubbed at her temple, angry with herself. “I’m such an idiot. I hardly ever lose my temper.”
I blinked up at her, but her eyes were still closed. Is this woman serious? She had called the cops on me only days before and then this.
“Tell that to the phone you chucked across the room.”
She laughed, and it was the sweetest sound, which made me smile. Then, I gritted my teeth. What is wrong with me? This woman is the enemy, remember? She’d caused the rift between Sarah and me, and I was only here, determined to make her fix it.
My head pounded with a full-on migraine. I’d blame the migraine for my inability to think clearly around her.
I lifted the hem of her skirt and lightly lifted her ankle. “I’m going to slip off your shoe.”
She tilted her head, pointed at me, and a heavy smile formed on her face. “You’re totally on bended knee right now.”
I frowned. That was the oddest thing to say at this particular moment. “I would never propose at a school,” I scoffed.
“Is that so?” She lifted an eyebrow. “And why not?”
“Because …” I paused, wondering how the hell her brain worked. “The way I’m going to propose to my future wife has been planned for as long as I can remember. Dinner, candlelight …”
Even before Janice, I had known how I was going to propose to my future wife. I’d witnessed my parents and their perfect love and known I very much wanted that for myself. Though I couldn’t picture her face, I knew how I would carry out the perfect proposal. It would be at a restaurant significant to us. Maybe I’d fly us somewhere—Paris, Milan, London. Either way it’d be over a sophisticated dinner, expensive wine, and on bended knee.
“Interesting,” she simply said.
My proposal would be far from interesting. It would be flawless and exceptionally done. I placed her shoe on the floor, taking note of her pink toes. Her toes were adorable. Weird ’cause I had an aversion to toes. I had never liked Janice’s feet; her long, finger-like toes freaked me out. Half the time, I’d preferred she wore socks when we were having sex.
Feet were dirty and weirdly not proportional. My big toe should be on a five-hundred-pound giant, given its size. But not Gabby’s. They were cute and pretty and oddly sexy.
Then, my focus drifted to her ankle, the swollen red spot. My fingers slid up her slender foot, past her heel to her ankle.
“Shit!” she yelped.
Yeah. At the minimum, sprained.
I let her skirt fall to the floor and stood. “You need to go to the hospital. I’ll drive you.”
She gripped the armrest and scrunched her face. “No. It’s fine. I’ve done this before.”
I tipped my chin and threw her a look. “You’ve kicked a cabinet so hard that you’ve sprained your ankle?” The girl who rarely lost her temper?
Her eyes widened, doe-eyed and beautiful.
It was my turn to laugh. “You have.” The realization had me leaning forward, wanting to know the last time she’d lost her temper to the point of spraining her ankle.
This woman fascinated me in the most frustrating way. I wanted to know more about her, and I had no idea why.
I exhaled.
The migraine. It’s the migraine’s fault.
She waved a hand, dismissing her comment, as though losing her temper and kicking cabinets were normal for her. “So, that’s how I know it’s fine.”
She lifted her chin, daring me to say something, but I kept my mouth shut.
There would be no winners in this situation.
I stood and straightened my shirt. “I really think you should get it checked out. I’ll call the principal.”
“No.” She fiercely shook her head. “Let’s not do that. I’m already the gossip of the school.”
She grabbed my bicep to stop me, and what did I do in response? I flexed my muscle. Why? Who the hell knew? I had officially turned into Brad and was now thinking with my dick.
It’s over. I’m coming down with somethi
ng; I’m sure of it.
“Mason, why are you here?” she finally asked.
I dropped on the seat in front of her desk. I felt at odds now that I was here, and I had no clue why. “Parent-teacher conferences for Sarah.” Shit. That came out of nowhere. Well, now, I had turned into a liar too.
She lifted a curious eyebrow. “You’re not on my calendar today.”
“I-I … there was a change of plans,” I stuttered.
Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s Mr. Brisken or Sarah’s stepmom?”
I knew Charles had a meeting later in the week. It was on our joint calendar. I smiled smugly. “Technically, I am Mr. Brisken. Plus, Charles and Becky are busy this week, so they told me to come in their place.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. I’d have to tell Charles and mention that I went to parent-teacher so he wouldn’t show up a second time later this week.
She sighed. “All righty then.” She waved a hand and limped to the cabinets by her desk.
I stood to assist her, but she eyed me with contempt, as though if I tried to help her, she’d knee me in the balls.
“Where is her file? I swear I had it somewhere a minute ago.”
Her discombobulated desk was contributing to the pounding in my head. There was shit everywhere—pencils, erasers, worksheets, files, coffee mug, purse, books, stapler under some papers. No wonder she couldn’t find anything.
I’d thought teachers were supposed to be organized. My fingers itched to straighten up her desk myself.
I saw a picture frame with her and her students and another one of her and who I would assume was her family—two younger females and an older woman who looked just like her.
She hobbled back to her desk, hopping on one foot.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” I was afraid she’d topple over.
She completely ignored my question and sorted through a stack of papers on her desk.
On the far corner of her desk, I read a flyer that piqued my interest. Speed-dating—Ram Restaurant on Saturday.
Well, well, well. So, Gabby is single. I smiled. And then I internally groaned. What is my problem?
