Assigned (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 3)

by Paris Wynters

  “Riley?”

  “Sorry.” I let out a shaky breath. “You think it will be okay? Like there won’t be any bad repercussions with the custody battle?”

  “Honestly, I think I’m screwed either way.”

  My heel bounces against the wood floor. Ugh, this shouldn’t be so hard. I hate being stuck in the middle. “Sure. It’s about Mason at the end of the day.”

  “Thank you. I’ll text you the address and time.”

  Lucas hangs up and I turn my attention back to the laptop. The module has paused and is waiting for me to answer a question. At least the answer is clear as day for anyone with a bit of common sense.

  After I answer, I save my place and get up from the couch. Time to get ready since the elementary school is about forty minutes away. Plus, Mason will be waiting since he’s staying with us for the week. Guess this is what life being married to someone in Special Forces is like. It’s not like Inara, Tara, and Marge didn’t warn me. Expect the unexpected.

  My phone dings. The address pops up in the alert on the screen. Let’s see how long the ride is going to be. After a few quick taps with my finger, my pulse picks up speed.

  Of course, there’s traffic. Murphy’s freakin’ Law. I have to be there in a little over an hour and the phone says it’s going to take that long to get there.

  Dropping the phone back down onto the couch, I head upstairs to quickly change, fix my hair, and brush my teeth. No way do I want to be the person with bad breath at this meeting.

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  What does a person wear to one of these things?

  I grab a pair of dark blue jeans and a button-down peach shirt. Next, fix hair. Ponytail should do. Spritz some perfume. Apply some lip gloss and mascara and I’m all set. Presentable. Neat. Not trying too hard.

  I grab my phone, purse, and keys, then race to the car, just so I can sit in bumper-to-bumper traffic twenty minutes later with my hand going from tapping the steering wheel to hitting it as my anxiety rises. Where are all these people going, anyway? Can’t they see I need to get somewhere?

  Eventually the traffic subsides and my heart slows as the car picks up speed. I do some deep breathing and end up pulling into the parking lot with a few minutes to spare. The brick building in front of me is multi-storied. Behind it is a huge field with a playground, a basketball court, and a baseball field along with lots of wide-open grassy areas to run around in.

  I stop for a second. Kids don’t know how good they have it. Or at least I didn’t when I was their age. Things used to be so easy back then. The only worries were report cards and friends, and friends could be made by trading lunch snacks, far easier than when you’re an adult.

  I pull on the wood doors to the school, but they’re locked. On my right is a doorbell and I press the button. There is a buzz a few seconds later and I pull the door and walk inside. A few short steps into the building and I’m met by a young woman with a bored expression on her face sitting behind a desk.

  “How can I help you?”

  “Uh, I’m here for a parent-teacher conference for Mason Craiger.”

  “Do you know what teacher you’re supposed to see?” She opens a log book on her desk.

  I pull out my phone. Crap. Lucas didn’t give me that info. “No, I’m sorry I don—”

  “Riley!!”

  I spin around to find Mason running toward me. He gives me a big hug, his arms circling my waist. I lean down to plant a kiss on top of his head and inhale the smell of new-mown grass and little boy shampoo. “Hey, there. Dad sent me because he got stuck at work.”

  “Ma’am, who’s the teacher you’re seeing?” The woman behind the desk asks again, sounding unimpressed with my lack of knowledge and Mason’s happiness at seeing me.

  Mason looks at the lady. “Mrs. Shapiro, ma’am.”

  The woman nods. “May I have your license? Please sign in. It will be room 201. Second floor.” She turns the log book around so I can sign my name, then add my address and phone number.

  My license too? Security is a hell of a lot different than when I went to school. This wasn’t the time to argue, though. I hand the woman what she asks for and fill out the sign-in sheet. Once complete, she hands me a sticker badge with my name on it. “You can pick up your license on the way out.”

  I nod and then Mason grabs my hand and pulls me off down the hall. The school is big and spread-out, with wide, locker-lined hallways. Posters and student work and pictures of kids playing sports and performing in a play cover the walls. Some of the kids look huge.

  “How old are those kids?” I ask, pointing to one that looks like he might have the start of a mustache.

  Mason laughs. “Sixth graders.”

  We walk up the staircase and down the hall toward the back of the building. Then Mason turns into classroom 201. The room is bright and faces the field I’d seen behind the school. Rays of sunlight stream into the room through the massive windows. The desks are arranged in groups of six. Against the back wall is a library of books and at the front, in the center, a big whiteboard is mounted on the wall. Off to the side is the teacher’s desk. A dark-haired woman in her fifties is seated behind it, looking through a stack of blue folders.

  Schools definitely have changed.

  “Mrs. Shapiro, this is my stepmom,” Mason says.

  I freeze. What did he just call me? The woman in front of me smiles and I have to force myself to move forward.

  Stepmom.

  I know that’s what I am legally, but a piece of paper wouldn’t mean anything if Mason didn’t think of me that way. The word pierces my heart, flooding my chest with a warmth I’ve never felt. Yeah, this day has been full of surprises. Good ones, for a change.

  Mrs. Shapiro stands up and extends her hand. “Good afternoon. Mrs. Craiger, is it?”

  “Yes.” I shake the teacher’s hand, then take a seat. “Lucas couldn’t make it, but we wanted to make sure someone was here for Mason.”

  “Yes, Ms. Ellis did inform me that Mason would be staying with his father for the week.” Mrs. Shapiro sits back down.

  Ellis? Oh, must be Lisa’s surname.

  “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here.” Mrs. Shapiro opens a blue file folder and pulls out examples of Mason’s work. “Mason, why don’t you go work on your writing project on the computer?”

  He nods and heads off to an area of the classroom that has five desktops. This school has everything.

  “As you can see, your stepson is quite an exceptional young man. His scores are excellent and he’s a good writer. His Lexile scores are above grade level and he doesn’t have any issues with math.”

  I look over the work. Mason is smart. Takes after his father. “This is great news. I’m sure my husband will be proud of him.” I know I am. I look over to where he’s sitting at the computer, absorbed in whatever project he’s working on.

  “Mason does have a problem, though.” Mrs. Shapiro leans back in her chair and narrows her eyes a bit. “With his classmates. The school administration and I had hoped it would get better, but it has not.”

  That doesn’t sound good. “What kind of problem?”

  Mrs. Shapiro presses her lips together until they’re not much more than a straight line and then says, “Mason has been getting into fights with the other students.”

  “Physically?” Definitely not good and possibly above my pay grade here.

  Mrs. Shapiro nods her head. “We have had some altercations during recess. Ms. Ellis has been called a few times and the principal has spoken with her, but Mason isn’t getting any better. The other day, he overreacted to something another student said and disrupted the entire lesson.” The look on her face tells me she’s still pissed about it.

  My head tilts sideways the slightest bit and I recall what Mason told me that day we played video games with his friend, about how he was being teased in ways that were truly cruel. My stomach sinks. He didn’t tell his mother. He only told me. He’s got no one else in his corner.
>
  Which means, now it’s time to keep the vow I made and stand up for my stepson. “Mrs. Shapiro, have you spoken to the other students involved in these altercations?”

  She looks taken aback. “What do you mean? Mason is always the instigator. The other children know the classroom rules and that we expect them to be respectful.”

  Can she really not know what’s happening in her own classroom? Or does she just not care? I definitely am not going to stand for the implication that Mason isn’t respectful. “It’s my understanding that the other students are not being respectful to Mason. Are you aware of the things they say to him?”

  Mrs. Shapiro straightens in her chair while fidgeting with the file folder. “Yes, I’ve heard that they accuse Mason of fabricating.”

  Fabricating? Is that what she calls it? But that tells me she does know and isn’t doing anything to help Mason, and that is one hundred percent unacceptable to me. “Mrs. Shapiro, they claim he’s lying about his father’s service. They say that Lucas actually abandoned Mason. Lucas is in the military and leaves for long periods of time to protect our country. We don’t always know where he’s going or how long he’ll be gone because of security concerns. You are aware of this, correct?” I pin her with a stare, eyes narrowed to make sure she understands I’m not some pushover.

  “Ms. Ellis mentioned it.”

  I sit back and cross my arms in front of my chest. “Well, what are you doing to protect Mason? Because from the bits he mentions to me, it isn’t much. Do you have other students whose parents are in the military? Any services you offer those children?”

  Mrs. Shapiro squirms and avoids eye contact. “There are a few students. We do have them meet with the counselor if there is a problem. She has even met with Mason a few times.”

  “Good. That’s a start.” I lean forward. “But helping Mason is only half the problem. What are you doing about the other kids?”

  “Mrs. Craiger, I assure you we’re not putting all the blame on Mason.” Mrs. Shapiro leans forward, too, but I’m not backing down.

  “Sure sounds that way to me.”

  She stands up and huffs. “Maybe it’s better if I speak with Ms. Ellis once she gets back.”

  “You go do that.” I grab my purse and stand. “Hey, Mason. Save what you’re doing and let’s get out of here.”

  He looks over his shoulder and nods. Then looks at his teacher, who is all flustered, then back to me. A shit-eating grin spreads across his face. Poor kid needs someone fighting for him, and I’m happy to be that someone.

  Once Mason logs off and grabs his book bag, we head toward the door. Before we walk out, I stop and turn to look back at his teacher. “Oh, I was just thinking. It might be a good idea for me, my husband, and Lisa to meet with the principal. Maybe even the school board to discuss the matter further. I’m sure they would be interested in how children of military personnel are being treated in your classroom.”

  Mrs. Shapiro’s mouth falls agape. I offer a little wave, then exit. No one is going to mess with my family and expect me to idly stand by.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lucas

  It’s been over a week since I eavesdropped on Riley talking to Mason’s teacher. I still can’t get over the way Riley stood up for Mason. At the last minute, our training op was canceled. I hightailed it to the school, hoping to get there in time to be at the conference. Heard Riley’s raised voice from down the hall. My first instinct had been to run in there and back her up, but then I remembered what she’d said about her parents treating her like she couldn’t take care of herself. In there with Mrs. Shapiro, Riley had sounded strong and confident and able to take on the world. Wouldn’t want to take that from her for anything.

  Plus, it sounded like she knew some things about my son I wasn’t aware of myself.

  So, I stepped inside the empty classroom next door and listened instead. Listened to how she’d totally told the teacher off. The part that bothers me is I’m not sure I would have done the same. Mason hadn’t shared what had been going on with me. He hadn’t trusted me with that information. Without having all the information, maybe I would’ve sided with Mrs. Shapiro.

  And that breaks my heart.

  I lift the glass of water in my hand and take a sip, looking out the living room window. No matter how hard I try to concentrate on something else, like the landscapers across the street, I can’t help but further analyze the situation. The more I do, the more I realize how out of touch I am with Mason. With his life. And that means second-guessing myself as a father.

  If only I could be more like Riley. She doesn’t know Mason that well, but she acted more like a parent in that moment than I ever have. Glad I got to see it too.

  “You okay?”

  Riley’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn around to face her where she stands in the doorway. “Um, yeah.”

  “You don’t look completely okay.” She studies me, concentrating on my face. “Wanna talk about it?”

  I walk over and place a kiss on her forehead and wrap my arms around her, inhaling the lilac scent of her shampoo. One thing about my wife, she’s perceptive. Always has been. Maybe that’s why Mason felt comfortable telling her about what his classmates had been saying. Also, growing up together meant she knew all my expressions. Most of them, anyway. Not much I can hide from her when she catches me off guard. “Well, I, uh, heard the way you handled Mrs. Shapiro.”

  Riley steps back and meets my gaze, hands against my chest. “You were there? Why didn’t you come in?” A faint pink stains her cheeks.

  “Seemed like you had everything under control.” And then some.

  She places her hands on her hips and I miss the contact with her instantly. “Then why didn’t you meet up with us after?”

  I rub the back of my neck. Not sure what to say. There were so many reasons I’d ducked into the classroom next door. “Because you and Mason seemed to be bonding and I didn’t want to intrude.”

  Riley purses her lips into a pretty pink O, gaze still locked with mine. “I guess that makes sense. Still, you could’ve told me later on that day instead of waiting a week.”

  “True. But I also needed to figure out how to diffuse the situation when Lisa finds out.” I wasn’t sure Lisa was going to be as impressed and thrilled about how Riley handled the situation as Mason and I were.

  “Has she said anything?” she asks.

  “No.” Which means my ex-wife hadn’t spoken to the teacher yet, nor has my son mentioned what happened. There also haven’t been any more reports of Mason acting out in school. Wouldn’t be surprised if Mason senses some tension between his mother and Riley. He’s a perceptive one too. Probably doesn’t want to stir the pot.

  Riley returns to me and runs a finger down my chest, and a line of heat follows her touch. “Well, thank you for giving me the opportunity to bond with your son. I’m crazy about him.”

  I press my lips to her ear and give her a light kiss. “And thank you for defending him. You were a great mom in there.”

  “Really?” The pink stain is back on her cheeks and her voice lilts a bit higher. The look in her eyes speaks of both joy and uncertainty. I can tell how much pride she takes in the idea of being a good mom to Mason. I can’t imagine anything that would make me love her more.

  “Yes,” I say and hope she understands how much I mean it.

  Riley nuzzles into me, standing up on her toes to place a kiss on my cheek, but she doesn’t stop there. Soon lips and teeth graze over my neck. I pull away the slightest bit. “Where’s this coming from?”

  “Just feeling confident, and all that praise deserves a nice reward.” There’s a fire in her eyes that I recognize, and my breath quickens in response. She takes the glass from my hand and sets it down on the coffee table. I love that fire. Love the way she stands tall, like nothing could stop her.

  With a palm on my chest, she backs me up to the couch, then pushes me down. Holding my gaze, she lowers herself down in front of me
until she’s on her knees, fingernails scratching hard enough for me to feel it on my thighs through my jeans.

  “Fuck, Riley . . .”

  I hold her hair back from her face to get a better view of that fresh pink rosiness of her cheeks that is getting more and more intense with every passing second.

  She undoes my belt and rips the leather from my belt loops. Every single fiber in my body wants to pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, then haul ass to the bedroom. My bedroom. I want to drop her onto the bed, get her under me, and growl about how beautiful she is as she comes.

  But this is Riley, and one thing I know from our past is that once she has her mind set on something, there is no changing it. Not that I’m about to complain.

  She nuzzles into my hard-on from outside my pants. Her eyes flutter shut as she increases the pressure, driving her cheekbone into the sensitive underside, compressing the shaft and pressing against my balls with her chin. Using her tongue, she traces around the outline of my cock, paying special attention to the ridge and the head.

  Looking up again, she keeps her eyes locked with mine, as if to make sure I’m watching. She licks her lips, opens her mouth, and then she takes my jean-clad shaft between her teeth and very lightly bites down on my cock.

  “Holy fucking hell,” I growl as my head falls back so I’m looking up at the ceiling. The desire in that bite felt incredible. Her teeth put the right pressure in all the right places, doing exactly the thing I didn’t know I needed until right this minute.

  She does it again, lower this time, sending a surge of fire through my spine. When I hiss and my hips buck, she stops. But only to unfasten the button of my jeans and pull down the zipper. I swallow hard and watch her. My heart pounds in my chest. In my throat. In my cock. Everywhere.

  She licks up the underside of the shaft and positions my hands on the couch cushion, keeping them wide on either side of me. “Those stay there. We clear?”