by Dora Hiers
“Sounds like his heart is at war with his brain.” Everlee popped the last inch of the fry in her mouth.
Bristol frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He takes his parental responsibility very seriously, especially now that Trip lives with him full-time. I overheard him recently telling his brother and grandfather that he’s not dating until after Trip graduates.”
“Was he joking?”
Everlee’s low braid jiggled with the shake of her head, a few lines etching her normally smooth forehead. “I don’t think so, Bristol. He’s wanted custody of Trip since before the kid was born, and now that he has him, the man’s determined to make up for lost time.”
That made sense. The invitations…they’d been so casual, more like a couple of friends getting together. Besides, while he might’ve said some awfully nice words, he’d never once tried to kiss her.
Had he? What about that stint in the kitchen? When he’d backed her against the counter and flirted so ruthlessly. Hadn’t he almost kissed her? But he hadn’t. Maybe she wanted him to so badly, she’d just imagined it. Because even then he’d tossed around the friends word.
Her appetite vanished along with any hope she might’ve been nursing about a second chance with Trace, and she abandoned the half-eaten burger. Cramming the trash into the bag, she checked her watch and scooped up the bag of essential oils she’d brought for her friend. “Ugh. Lunch is over already. I’m so sorry to eat and run.”
Everlee, still with half a sandwich on the table and another fry in her hand, waved her away. “Don’t worry. Leave the trash. I’ll get it on my way out.”
She leaned over and curled an arm around her friend’s neck, squeezing gently before releasing her and setting the bag next to an oversized purse.
Everlee peeled back the edges and peeked inside, letting out a tiny squeal. “Oooh. Your latest concoctions?”
She nodded. “Three of them. I think you’ll really like the one for your office.”
“I can’t wait to try them. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome. You’re the best, Evvie.” She reverted to her friend’s childhood nickname. “Thank you for bringing lunch and for not minding that I have to scarf it down.”
“I don’t know how you can eat so fast, girlfriend. I’d have stomach issues for sure. Now go before you’re late, and the principal fires you.”
“Like that’s going to happen.” Before the pandemic, their school had always been short on teachers and staff. But since then, the school ran on skeletal staffing levels. Maximum class sizes meant nothing if you couldn’t secure the number of teachers necessary to maintain the smaller class sizes, and counselors were also at a premium. So many teachers and counselors no longer wanted to immerse themselves in such vast crowds on a daily basis. She’d even heard rumors that the universities were struggling to keep their educational and counseling programs solvent.
Even so, she wasn’t one to take advantage. Thirty minutes for lunch meant thirty minutes for lunch.
She opened the door to the break room, jerking back at the blast of frigid air. The school could definitely save money if they lowered the thermostat, but others complained that it was too warm in their classrooms, so this setting made a good compromise. The reason she always kept a sweater in her office.
Her sandals echoed down the tile hall. When she reached the guidance suite, Trip was standing outside her locked door.
“Hi, Ms. Owens.” He pushed himself away from the wall and handed her his pass.
“Hey, Trip.” She unlocked the door and gestured for him to enter first. “Come on in and have a seat.”
He did just that, stretching his long legs out. His size thirteen or fourteen sneakers disappeared under her desk.
She set the keys and the pass on the desktop and chose the seat next to him. “How’s it going?”
A couple creases etched between his eyebrows, but he nodded. “School’s going well.”
Okay, then. What did that leave? His girlfriend? Home life? She waited for him to continue.
“I’m worried about my dad.”
Alarm stiffened her spine, and she leaned forward, her hand automatically reaching for her keys. “What happened?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, nothing. He’s fine.”
“Then what’s wrong?” She blew out a slow breath of pure relief and eased back in the chair.
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
Awww. “Your dad loves you, Trip. What makes you think you’re a burden to him?”
“Ever since I came to live with him, he rarely goes out anymore except with Uncle Mannix or Uncle Gentry. Sometimes he visits Gramps and Ellie. But mostly he just works and then stays at home all the time. You’re the only other person I’ve seen him with other than family or coworkers.”
“We’re…friends.”
“Yeah. That’s what he said.”
That hurt more than it should.
“But I get the sense it could be more.” Trip twisted in the seat and unleashed the full power of those beautiful eyes on her. Half green, half brown, depending on the light and his mood. So much like his father in every way. “As much as he hates to admit it, I won’t be living with him that long, just a few years. When I go off to college, I don’t want him all lonely and unhappy.”
“What makes you think he’s lonely or unhappy?”
“It’s just a hunch. Like he’s afraid to really live. He comes home from work, fixes dinner, nags at me about doing my homework, then goes to bed. The next morning, he repeats the process. I know my mother hurt him right around the time she got pregnant with me, but I don’t want to see him give up on love because of it.”
Wow. How did this kid get to be so wise at such a young age?
“And I don’t want to be the one who keeps you two apart.”
She gulped. “Trip, you can’t blame yourself for any of this. Your dad is certainly old enough to make his own choices.”
“True. But he’s not making the right choices.”
She hid her smile behind her hand. Hadn’t Trace voiced very nearly the same words?
“He’s only thinking about today. Not three years or even ten years from now.”
“What if he is, and being alone is what he wants?” Oh, for the love! Had she just asked a teenager for intel on his father? Shame pricked her but not enough to take the question back.
“My mom and dad had me when they were still in high school, Ms. Owens. He’s not as old as some of my friends’ parents. I don’t want him to be alone anymore.”
“Have you spoken with him about your feelings?”
“Yes. It feels like I’m talking to a brick wall.”
She blinked. So sure that it was usually the parents who talked like this, the remark from a teenager caught her off-guard. “How about if I set up a conference, and we can all discuss it together?”
Studying the empty hole where his legs disappeared under her desk, he appeared to be considering that for a few seconds. Finally, he shook his head, slowly turning toward her, his steady gaze pinning her in place. “Nah. I don’t think that will work, Ms. Owens. But I wouldn’t mind if you spoke with him about it.”
“Me?” Her palm fluttered up to cover the wild thumping of her heart.
“Yes. I know he would listen to you.” Trip rose to his full six foot plus height, towering over her in the chair, not bothering to hide the grin widening across his face.
“But—”
“Thanks, Ms. Owens. Talking with you always makes me feel better.” He scooped his pass from the desk and vanished out the door, his heavy footsteps pounding down the hallway in a half jog, leaving the words stuck in her throat.
Not that she had any more words. Other than what a bad idea this was.
Why did she get the impression that she’d just been played?
9
Prickles of unease skittered up Trace’s spine as he waited for Bristol to collect him from the guidance waiting area. He leaned forward
in the hard chair, elbows on his knees, sifting through every conversation with Trip from the last few days and coming up short.
Had he done or said something horrible? Something that would prompt her to request a meeting on such short notice. Surely, it had something to do with Trip, right? Otherwise, she wouldn’t have asked to meet in her office.
He blew out a frustrated breath and scrubbed at his face. Could the day get any worse? He’d spent most of the morning tracking down their rep for the countertop manufacturer only to learn that their kitchen and bathroom slabs were still another ten days out, pushing back two of their projects. Not only did delays cost money and time, but they forced him to reschedule subs after them, shuffling the completion date even further.
Neither buyer had been happy. Even after his gentle reminder of their initial consult. He’d sat in on that meeting, heard his brother warn them about how construction often got off schedule. But that nudge hadn’t appeased either of them. Nor had the fact that they were still a few days ahead of their projected date of completion.
Mannix would know how to handle this. Surely, he’d dealt with this very situation in all his years as VP over the construction end of Tomlinson Investment Properties.
He dug his phone from his pocket and texted his brother. Hey. Did you ever have trouble with countertop delays? Just got word this morning that all the slabs for two of our properties are running ten days behind.
The receptionist called a name. “Mr. Tomlinson?”
“Yes?”
“You can go on back. Ms. Owens is ready for you now.”
“Thanks.” He launched to his feet and shoved his phone in his pocket, nerves ricocheting in his gut like bullets. Sweat beaded along his spine as his boots tromped against the hall tile. Rubbing his jaw, excitement and anguish took turns warring with his legs, his stride slowing then speeding up.
Over the last few days, after Trip had gone up to his room for the night, he’d thought of nothing—no, make that no one else. Just Bristol.
Bristol and her beautiful smile. Her kind and generous spirit. Her gentle way with his son and the way she so easily fit in with his loud and boisterous family. The way she made him feel. Alive. Vibrant. Excited about the future.
He reached her office and stood in the doorway, soaking in her presence like a lonely man marooned on a deserted island for far too long.
Keys clacking at a rapid pace, her attention focused on the screen, two vertical lines etched between her brows. She hadn’t seen him yet. Her long hair was knotted on top of her head, exposing a long and slender neck. A taupe sweater covered her shoulders and arms, hiding the sleeves of a V-neck silk blouse. A long chain dangled from her neck, tinkling whenever it bounced against the desk. Hints of peach and melon, lavender and lemon, drifted from the office, a blend of her usual fragrance and whatever oils swirled out of that diffuser. Fresh and earthy. Summery.
He dragged in a couple lungs full, waiting for her to look up, but not really wanting the moment to end.
Finally, her fingers paused, and her head swiveled toward the door. Her eyes widened, and her sharp intake of breath broke the silence. From delight? Or reluctance over whatever she had to say? Her voice came out quiet. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
She waved him in. “Give me a minute to close out of this file.” She moved the mouse and clicked a couple times. “There.”
He remained by the door, his fingers curled around the knob. “Want the door open or closed?”
“Closed.” She clamped her jaw.
Uh oh. This couldn’t be good.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Probably Mannix responding to his text. Ignoring his brother was easy compared to his gut doing a freefall to the tips of his boots. He practically fell into the chair in front of her desk.
She leaned back in her chair, tapping the eraser of a pencil against the desktop, looking everywhere but at him. A lump worked its way down her throat. “I don’t know how to—”
“Just spit it out, Bristol. What did I do wrong? Or is Trip in trouble?” But that didn’t jive. If that was the case, he’d be meeting with the principal or assistant principal. Not the counselor. Had to be something he did or said. But blast if he knew what it was.
“Trip came to see me.”
He nodded. Waited her out, his breath banking in his lungs, his gut churning.
“He’s worried about you, Trace.”
“Worried about…me?” Shock made him blink once. Twice. Everything loosened up with his sigh. He’d been so anxious about this meeting, and now Bristol was telling him that Trip— “Why is he worried about me?”
With a huff, she dropped the pencil on the desk. “He thinks he’s a burden, Trace. That he’s tying you down because you never go out with anyone except your family. He’s afraid that you’re not…happy.”
“Happy?” He bolted off the chair and stalked to the window behind her desk, shaking his head. “My son could never be a burden. Do you know how long I waited to get custody?”
“Since his birth?”
“Even before that.” He stared out toward the football stadium in the distance, raking fingers through his hair. “Pretty much the day after his mother turned down my marriage proposal.” When his dreams of a wonderful little family went up in smoke.
The legs of her chair screeched against the tile floor, and the leather squeaked with the loss of her weight. She appeared next to him at the window but remained mute.
“Gramps got one of the best attorneys in town. But, even then, the best we could work out was a decent visitation schedule.” If one called every other weekend and a month in the summer decent.
Besides. He didn’t want decent. He wanted every day with his son. He wanted to help with middle of the night feedings. He wanted to hear his first word, see the first step, hold his hand on the first day of school.
He’d missed out on so many firsts. Regret rumbled through him, robbing him of words, of breath. One night. One night of mind-numbing grief over the deaths of his parents and sister had altered the course of his entire life. If only he hadn’t gone to see Kendra that night. If only he’d turned around and got back in his truck when she told him that her parents weren’t home. If only he’d been…stronger.
Had that whimper gargled out of his throat?
When a hand pressed gently against his back and fingers curled around his shoulder, he knew it had to be from him.
He squeezed his eyes closed, scrunching his cheeks at the pricks of moisture that clung to his lashes. Lord, I can’t carry this load anymore. Turning my grief over the accident into blame pointed at my mom and sister. The guilt over getting Kendra pregnant and then anger when she refused to marry me. Holding all women accountable for the actions of a few. It’s too heavy for me to carry anymore. Please heal me. Forgive me for all of it. And help Trip to forgive me too.
****
She’d seen plenty of grown men and women sobbing over their children, but this? It was too much.
The tears he tried to hide with a quick swipe of his sleeve. The hunched shoulders. The good-sized lump that crawled up and down his throat. The voice that refused to work. The cough that covered up a sniffle. The chest that lifted with every ragged breath. The torture that shimmered from his eyes when he finally turned to face her.
The sight of the broken man shredded her heart. Why had she ever agreed to Trip’s request? He should’ve been the one to tell his father how he felt, so that he could see the truth.
“I love my son more than life. He could never be a burden.”
“Talk to him, Trace. Tell him that. Actually, why don’t I call him in—”
Fingers locked around her arm, stopping her from reaching for the phone. Pools of melting emeralds pleaded with her. “Not now. Please. I will talk to him later.”
“Promise?”
“You have my word.” That big clump was still wriggling up and down his throat, and a tic pulsed in his jaw.
The man was barely hold
ing it together. Calling Trip into the office would unshackle the years of grief and guilt Trace had carried, but at what price?
She debated. Wasn’t it her job to identify issues that affected student performance and then to collaborate with parents to help those students succeed? Had she done her job by meeting individually with parent and student?
No! She needed to do more. So much more. She should call Trip to her office and make sure the pair had that talk. Did Trace realize how cathartic and healing such a conversation would be?
If Bristol could’ve had that kind of heavy conversation with her mother before the cancer stole her life, her mother might’ve made provisions for Bristol other than leaving her with a stepfather who had no room in his home or his heart for a teenage girl. Wasn’t that one of the very reasons she’d become a high school counselor? To help others forced into similar situations. To help them see that they had choices, good choices, not just the bad ones. That they shouldn’t accept what they thought was the best of the worst.
She’d done exactly what her student had asked of her. Anything more and she’d cross the boundary between personal and professional.
She nodded and stared out the window in silence, dread seeping into her bones.
Trip didn’t want his father to be alone. But the thought of Trace sharing his life with someone else made her heart ache.
“Hey.” He tugged at her arm, turning her around to face him.
She couldn’t look at him, though. Instead, she focused on scratching at a spot on the tile floor with her sandal.
He nudged her chin up with his knuckles, then when she lifted her lashes, skimmed her jaw before dropping his arm and sliding his hands in his pockets. “Thank you for caring so much.”
Caring? She loved him. Had never stopped.
She swallowed hard. Refused to let those three words slip from her lips like the last time.
He walked to the door and opened it but stopped and turned around, his fingers still latched around the knob. “Do you have any plans for the Fourth of July?”
