by Meg Harding
He hadn’t come here for a trip down memory lane, though.
“About that, I really don’t think Savanah is a bully.” He was convinced there were extenuating circumstances. Like maybe the boy she’d pushed had said something to her first.
Cole’s intense gaze flicked from him to Savanah and back. “I don’t think she is either. I’m going to be candid with you. I think she’s acting out for attention. She’s very stubborn, and she’s not socializing well.” His voice was quiet, carrying no further than the two of them. “In the last week, she’s broken another child’s pencil, she’s pushed a student, and she took another’s lunch. Not to eat it, mind you, but she threw it on the ground. No one wants to play with her. They don’t want to be in her group.”
Zander floundered. He couldn’t admit to Cole he had no clue what he was doing, but at the same time he couldn’t sit back and do nothing while Savanah isolated herself. He curled his hand into a fist against his thigh. “And you’re sure she’s not being provoked?”
“Provoked?” repeated Cole, blinking.
“Yes.” Zander waved his other hand expressively. “They’re not teasing her first?” He got the impression his question was a stupid one going by the exasperation etching its way across Cole’s face.
“I….” Cole sighed. The clicking of the pen as he flicked it was grating on Zander’s nerves. “We have rules. There are standards of behavior. Savanah knows that if there’s a problem, she’s to find an adult and we’ll fix it. Instead she’s disrupting the class. She’s hindering her own learning process. She’s missing lessons.”
“It’s kindergarten,” said Zander, defensiveness rising. Savanah was probably just going through a period of adjustment. “The lessons can’t be that important.”
Cole’s stare seemed to see through him. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. It was only years of being under much more intimidating stares in the military that kept Zander from fidgeting. “Can I ask why you came in, if you didn’t want to listen to what I have to say?”
What was a delicate way to say his kid’s babysitter had put him between a rock and a hard place? “I want to help her.” And that was true. He may not have chosen this, but he wanted to do right by Savanah where he could.
For the first time, Cole looked at him like he wasn’t a bug under a microscope. “I think she should see the school counsellor, or even an outside one. I don’t know what her life was like before she came here. I don’t know how it is when she’s not in this room. But I know what a child acting out usually means. Savanah would, in my opinion, benefit from talking to an unbiased third party. Someone with no obligations other than to listen to her. I would do it, but I can’t constantly fob the other twenty-five students in this class on my assistant while I wait out Savanah’s silent sulks. I’m not equipped to give her the amount of focus—or the kind of focus, for that matter—that she deserves.” Cole’s bright eyes were wide and earnest, the sincerity evident. His tone was firm, yet kind.
None of that made swallowing such sour information easier. Zander was doing so bad at this parenting thing that his daughter’s teacher, her kindergarten teacher, wanted her to see a therapist. Cole had handed him a verbal report card with an F, bolded, in the field of parenting. Which you already knew, Zander. You’re completely lost. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to tug in frustration. If it were anyone else…. Zander absolutely did not want to admit to Cole he knew he was fucking this up.
Pride was a son of a bitch, and if he ever wanted to get anywhere with his daughter, he needed to bury it. He wondered, briefly, if this was how Cole had felt when Zander ended things: defensive and scrambling for the right thing to do. The words felt like acid in his throat, embarrassment burning hot. “Is there anything I can do for her?” He cleared his throat. “Aside from the therapist,” he clarified.
Cole drummed his fingers on the desk. He’d stopped clicking the pen during his short speech. “Savanah told me you’re busy a lot. Working.” He grimaced. “I don’t want to overstep boundaries here.”
That drew an involuntary, inappropriate snort from Zander. They’d crossed boundaries long before this moment. He scratched his jaw, stubble scraping his short nails. “Just say what you’re thinking.” He didn’t mean to let the words slip free, he really didn’t, but they did anyway. “You always were perceptive.”
It was impossible to miss Cole’s minute twitch away from him. Cole ducked his head and his fingers curled into a fist. The control it took to unclench was obvious. But when he glanced at Zander, his gaze was clear. “Make her a priority. Make her feel like she is one. Help her with homework. Ask her about her day. Chatter through her silence till she gets the idea you’re trying.” He leaned forward. “Children, Mr. Brooks, are lots of work and most people don’t know what they’re doing.” Trust Cole to go to the heart of the issue. “When you get it right, you’ll know. I think this is a good place to leave things for now.”
Though it was left unsaid, Zander clearly heard, “You’re dismissed.”
Zander was excellent at compartmentalizing. At compressing things into boxes where he didn’t have to deal with them until he wanted to. Shoving this new, older version of Cole—and all the feelings he came with—away with the year’s old boxes of memories fighting for freedom wasn’t easy. And he knew none of it would stay down for long.
He just needed it to stay down long enough for him to figure out how to get his head on straight when it came to parenting.
One life crisis at a time.
Savanah sang along to the radio on the ride home, quietly and mostly under her breath at first but gradually louder as Zander didn’t discourage her. When they were home, Savanah curled up on the couch watching some bizarre cartoon, Zander sat beside her and tentatively put an arm over her shoulders. The both of them were tense as he pulled her against his side.
“Daddy?” she asked after a long moment.
I have been doing such a bad job. Should he start with an apology? A promise that he’d try harder from now on? He doubted the words would mean anything to her. They’d be empty until he’d proven himself. “Catch me up on this show. Why’s that person sticking out of a cactus?”
The longer she talked—and the more he questioned—the less tense she became.
When she hadn’t said anything for a few minutes, Zander glanced down to find her asleep, her head pillowed on his arm and her face peaceful.
It was a small step forward.
Chapter 3
Zander was on shift, eating breakfast blearily in the station kitchen, when Kevin plopped into the seat opposite and began to slurp a protein shake. Zander’s right eye twitched. He had a thing about listening to people eat or drink and the crew knew it. Which meant Kevin was doing it on purpose to irritate him.
From experience, Zander was aware of the fruitlessness of ignorance. “What?”
Kevin smirked around his straw, and then pulled off with an exaggerated, satisfied sigh. He tilted the cup toward Zander. “Wanna try it?”
“Not even a little.” Zander was fine with his reheated chicken parm from last night’s dinner. “Can you say what you’re going to say? It’s too early for me to deal with your face.” Kevin was the kind of guy who loved mornings and made everyone else want to punch his face in. Zander felt about things before ten in the morning the way he felt about people driving under the speed limit.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re like Oscar the grouch?” asked Kevin sunnily. “I can even see a physical resemblance.”
“My unit used to call me Sunshine.” Zander wasn’t joking. The men and women he’d served with had found the nickname hilarious. A sergeant had called him it once and it’d stuck like fucking gorilla glue. The evil grin Kevin shot him made him instantly regret sharing such information. Now he had to roll with it…. “I’ve been told it’s because of my winning disposition.”
Kevin snickered, causing a short coughing fit as he’d been in the middle of a
slurp. When he regained his breath, he flicked the top of his straw and sent a goopy drop of green liquid to land on the edge of Zander’s plate. “It’s because of your disposition all right. I’m skeptical about the winning part.” He set his shake on the tabletop, his elbows following as he tilted forward. There was a glint in his eye and a settling in his expression that Zander knew meant Kevin was going to try and pry personal information from him.
Would it be undignified to run?
He was doing a quick mental scroll through his possible options and coming up with none that wouldn’t end with endless teasing from the crew. Zander sighed, violently stabbing his fork into the chicken. Ever since Zander had joined the station, Kevin had been on his ass about becoming friends. Not casual friends who saw each other and talked about trivial things, but ones that shared their feelings and shit. It was like people sensed Zander was allergic to feelings and flocked to him, determined to be the person who fixed the broken man. “Spit it out.”
“You’re no fun.” Kevin spun his wedding ring around his finger. “Maria mentioned you met Savanah’s teacher a few weeks ago. You know, Kelly had him when she was in kindergarten. She loved him to pieces. He’s the kind of guy who goes above and beyond for the job. Good intentions all the way, he really cares. I know it’s not always easy to take advice, but you need to remember it’s not criticism.”
Zander blinked, genuinely confused as to where this was going. “I don’t think he was criticizing me.” It had felt like it, had even rang in his head as a critique at first. But Zander knew it wasn’t. Once he got past the embarrassment, the shame that came with needing help and asking for it, he was able to see Cole’s words for what they were: honest and well-intentioned. They were imprinted, heavy and raw in his brain. The sense of failure Zander associated with them was entirely on him.
He was his own worst enemy, and he knew it. There was safety in it.
Kevin leaned back, tipping the chair legs in a way Zander remembered doing as a child. He looked thoughtful, brows furrowed and all. “Then why have you been so broody?”
“According to you, I always am.” Zander would go to his grave before he explained the muddled mess between Cole and he. They were young and they were stupid. And Zander had known better.
“This is different.” The chair legs thumped to the tile floor. “You’re a serious guy. Little talk, rare half-assed smile, bare minimum of the mingling. You don’t join in on jokes. My wife watches your kid, and I can list all the things I know fact-wise about you on my fingers. You’re always working. If there’s something to be done, you’re doing it. Now, instead of the blank face you like so much, you’re scowling. I’ve caught you staring into space multiple times. You’re ‘leave me alone’ vibe has intensified by ten.” Kevin spread his hands in a so-there gesture.
This was hitting way too close to home. Zander needed to steer this elsewhere. Once upon a time, he’d been better at concealing his emotions. “Obviously the leave me alone vibe isn’t working, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Kevin jabbed a finger against the tabletop. He was an expressive guy, his body always doing something to accompany his words. “You’ve been here, what? Four months? Four and a half? It doesn’t matter. Everyone here is waiting for you to un-turtle yourself—”
“Un-turtle,” repeated Zander, bemused. “What does that even mean?”
“Come out of your shell.” Kevin waved a hand dismissively. “It’s beside the point. We’re not asking for you to bare your soul or anything, but if you’ve got problems—if you need help—you can ask. Most of us are parents. If you’d stick around long enough to have a proper chat with us, maybe you could stop beating yourself up about what a shitty job you think you’re doing. It’s difficult to hear from a teacher that your kid isn’t doing well. Most of us have been there. Stop internalizing. Hell, we’ll cover for you, switch shifts. We’ve all done it before for field trips or things like career day.”
Zander’s chest felt suspiciously tight. Figuring out what exactly was shortening his breathing and overwhelming him was a task he didn’t think he could do. He had been raised to be independent. No one was supposed to handle his problems but him, and men certainly didn’t whine to others about their failings. His father—god rest his soul—had firmly instilled these beliefs in him. Whenever Zander had made a mistake, his father would outline everything he’d done wrong in excruciating detail. He’d tell Zander, “In the process of tearing yourself down, you find all the flaws. All the things that are weak and ineffective. Then you fix them before anyone sees. This is how you survive.”
The scream of the station alarm sliced through his confusion, loud and abrupt, cutting off any further conversation. Zander had never been so grateful to know that something was on fire. It was a shame it hadn’t started twenty-minutes earlier. With his heart racing, he moved from the table to his locker on autopilot, gladly escaping into work mode. He was aware of Kevin beside him, pulling on his waders and tugging on his jacket, but there wasn’t time to talk. Zander may have only been doing this for four months, but between training and this, his body knew what to do. The motions of dressing and lifting equipment, slinging himself into the truck, all of it was ingrained. At times like these, Zander ran on adrenaline and instinct. It was the mindset he’d found worked the best for him in the marines, and he didn’t see the need to change things now.
Once they’d cleared the station and the alarm was no longer causing ear bleeds, details began to crystalize. There’d been an accident on the freeway, a side swipe that had sent the other car careening into the barrier and ended in a small pile-up. No one was on scene yet, and the state of those involved was currently unknown.
Zander’s focus redirected from possible fire scenarios to what he might encounter at the scene. He liked to have an idea of what he needed to do beforehand, a plan to go into the situation with. Truth be told, he hated dealing with car accidents. The sight of twisted and bent metal always sent a stabbing jolt of pain through his temple. It always felt like he was there for the clean up. The tragedy had already come and gone, and he was left to pick up the pieces. With a fire, he could at least try to make a difference. He could prevent further disaster.
He didn’t envy Kevin the task of weaving through morning traffic. Rush hour was always hectic, and with everyone heading to work, no one wanted to get out of the way. Zander held onto the handle over the door while Kevin honked and cursed his way through crowded intersections, bumped the truck over several curbs, and finally eked past and onto the side of the packed freeway.
The northbound lanes were a parking lot. The morning was heavily fogged, the red of hundreds of brake lights barely shining through. It had rained the night before, steadily from nearly midnight on, and the cloud coverage had never broken. The sides of the freeway were slick with run off, puddles forming in the grass.
“What mile marker are we looking for?” Kevin’s tone was brisk, and his expression fixed as he brought the truck up the emergency lane. Normally laid back and full of good humor, Kevin was deadly serious on the job. He might have driven Zander crazy and been too nosy for his own good, but if it ever came down to Zander needing someone to rescue him from a burning building, he’d pick Kevin in a heartbeat. Of course Kevin would probably never let him live it down, which would be a whole other problem.
Mark Hopkins rattled off the pertinent information from his position behind them, and not even a minute later the wreck came into view.
Zander took everything in with a practiced eye. A silver RAV4 was crunched between the median barrier and the tail end of a once white Buick that had seen better days. The Buick’s bumper was held in place with duct tape, and the side facing the road featured a substantial dent in the back passenger door. Three cars trailed behind the initial mess. An older Honda model had its front end tucked into the back of the RAV4, and its ass end edging into the fast lane. A tan truck had t-boned the Honda, and one of those hamster cars had gotten the trucks
bed. No flashing lights greeted them. “We’re first on the scene.” Which meant they’d be playing the role of paramedics until the ambulance arrived.
“Jesus Christ,” said Mark on a low exhale. “Talk about a clusterfuck.”
Zander thought that might be too nice of a word for it. Five cars involved, and yet only three people stood clustered by the rail, all of them nearest the RAV4.
“Welcome to Florida,” said Kevin dryly, “the state where no one knows how to drive in the rain.” The set of his lips was grim as he slowed the fire truck to a stop behind the hamster mobile. “Who wants to have the honor of moving traffic till the cops get here?”
Like the children they often reverted to being, hands flew up to touch noses with record speed. Tanner Jenson, a twenty-four-year-old rookie even newer to the crew than Zander, was the last to touch his nose. “Dammit,” he muttered.
“Sorry, bud,” said Kevin, swinging his door open and then hopping down. “Better luck next time.”
Zander drew a deep breath in, and then followed Kevin’s lead. He jogged toward the center of the accident, used to moving fluidly with the weight of his gear. It was muggy outside, too humid and the air clung to him. His boots squelched against the wet tarmac. Kevin was already checking with the two women and one man out of their vehicles, and as Zander approached, he jerked his head at the RAV4 and his thumb at the Honda. Zander went to the SUV, knowing that Mark—following close behind him—would see to the person in the Honda.
In the distance, Zander could hear sirens, the sound of fast approaching police and, hopefully, ambulances. He’d been well versed in first-aid before becoming a firefighter, his time in the military had made sure of that, but it wasn’t what he felt most comfortable with. He wasn’t a fan of lives potentially, literally, being in his hands.
