by Ava Claire
I tucked the visor back in place and slipped from the car. With my briefcase in hand, I smoothed the front of my pencil skirt and buttoned my blazer. My blonde and honey brown strands were pulled into a bun that sat at the nape of my neck. I strode across the parking lot, the sound of kids playing on a playground just out of sight lassoing my heart. For some of those kids, the kids the program would benefit, school was the only place where they could be kids. The bell rang and they went from a playground to a battlefield. There were no toy soldiers, no Nerf guns, only real ones that had the power to snuff out their dreams—whether they were the ones taking the bullets or being coaxed into firing them.
From the outside, Morgan looked like a non-descript elementary school that one would find in the suburbs or a city anywhere in the country. Inside was a different story. The door opened to a security guard that looked like he ate testosterone for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The metal detector looked just as imposing, like some hell gate that I imagined must be terrifying for the children who walked through those doors every day.
There was a pigtailed girl in a pair of overalls and a cotton candy pink polo in front of me. Some mothering instinct I didn’t know I had made me want to crouch down and tell her it would all be okay, but she bounded forward, shrugging off her glittering backpack so it could go through a separate X-ray machine, and stepped right up to the man. I waited for him to crack a grin or do something reassuring like give her a high five. It was a school, not a prison, after all. He just raised an expectant brow, and the girl stepped her legs apart and put her hands behind her head while he took a metal detector wand and passed it over her body. She passed inspection, walked through the second scanner with nary a beep, then grabbed her backpack and skipped down the hall.
“Miss?” A guttural sound wrenched my attention from where she’d been before her dark pigtails went flying. I came face to face with the guard.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, my face darkening. I pushed my briefcase down the conveyor belt, a nervous chuckle falling from my lips as I stood there awkwardly. “Haven’t gone through anything this thorough since my last flight.”
My joke pinged right off his hardened face. “You can keep your jacket and shoes on, but I need to wand you.”
“O-Of course,” I stuttered dumbly, copying the little girl’s stance, lacing my fingers and looking up at the ceiling as he made sure I wasn’t a security threat.
He grunted an ‘all clear’ and I briefly made eye contact before my gaze dropped to a nametag that read ‘Abel.’ It was some sort of sick irony that a man that looked ready to draw blood and take someone out if the occasion called for it shared a name with someone so gentle. I gave the final stage, the big mama metal detector, the evil eye and walked through. I half expected the thing to go off, shouting that I was some bleeding heart liberal that wanted to turn it into scrap metal. It didn’t make a peep.
On the other side, I raised my chin and snatched my briefcase from the conveyor belt. “Just so you know, I’m here because I want to make things like this-” I pointed an angry finger at the metal detector. “-obsolete and unnecessary.”
Abel’s salt and pepper brow arched past where I’m sure his hairline would have been if he wasn’t bald. “You think I like patting down six year olds, lady? I wish my job wasn’t necessary too, but last year, some kid brought a gun in his backpack and thought it would be a good idea to shoot his classmate because he wouldn’t hand over his sneakers.” His eyes simmered like coals. “You have a good day now.”
He’d turned his back, thoroughly putting me in my place, but I lingered there, my heart, my soul officially in the pit of my stomach. I studied sociology in school, understood the cycle of violence and poverty and how access to programs and resources had the power to change lives. There was no debating that we had a long way to go. Metal detectors and security guards would be obsolete when we made a better, kinder, and more fair world, not when I shamed the people who were just cogs in the machine. He was the first line of defense in the very war I was fighting. He wasn’t the problem.
I smoothed a hand over my hair and apologized. “I’m sorry.”
The door swung open and Abel went back to work, a cluster of boys waiting for their turn through the metal detector.
Get your game face on, Cat. It was the nudge I needed to get me down the hall. My heels clicked on the floor as I walked past construction paper and poster boards tacked to the walls, covering various subjects from science to family trips that tiny hands recreated with crayon.
A group of boys in various comic book inspired t-shirts rushed past me into the office, the door practically shutting right in my face. A stern elderly woman with white hair did not approve. Her lipsticked mouth became a thin line and without a word, the last boy in rushed back to hold the door for me. They erupted in a chorus of apologies and conducted their business, each taking custody of boxes of books and barreling out of the office as quickly as they barreled in.
The receptionist and I exhaled in unison and she beckoned me to the desk.
“I don’t know where they get all that energy, but I’d like a handful of it,” I chuckled.
“You and me both,” she huffed, scooting her chair closer. The stern look she’d given the boys was a distant memory when a smile spread across her friendly face. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”
“I have a meeting with Principal Waters,” I explained, adjusting the strap of my briefcase. “I’m with Backpacks for Change?”
The friendliness on her face transformed into gratitude almost instantly. I was out of sorts as she moved with a speed and agility that seemed impossible for her age and wrapped her arms on me.
All I’d said was ‘I’m with Backpacks for Change’ and she was hugging me like we were already friends.
When we separated, my chest tightened when I saw tears glistening in her brown eyes.
“That your organization is helping our school, our kids...we are just so grateful,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “A lot of these kids are used to disappointment and people giving up on them. They deserve something good.”
I put a hand on her shoulder and nodded. “Damn straight.” My hand shot to my mouth when I realized I’d just cussed in front of an elder, a woman that was reminding me more and more of my grandmother. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, my face mimicking the color of my briefcase.
She didn’t say a word, stalking back to her desk. I heard a drawer zip open and when she returned to view, she perched a jar filled with coins on the ledge.
“Usually cussing costs you, but you’re new here, so I’ll let it slide.”
Freaking out a little, I swung my briefcase onto my thigh and rummaged through the front pocket for some change, but her laugh drew my attention back to her.
“You’re fine, darlin’,” she chuckled. “Around here, you’ve gotta keep your wits about you, have a hell of a sense of humor, and cuss when the occasion calls for it.” She tucked the jar out of sight and turned her attention to the computer on the desk. “Let me get you all signed up, then I’ll walk you over to the conference room. I’m Mrs. Lenoir.” Her fingertips flew across the keyboard.
“I’m Catherine Wilkes,” I said softly, still getting comfortable. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” The printer behind her hummed and spit out my nametag. She handed it over and pulled a cardigan over her shoulders. “Right this way.”
I took in the energy of the school and tried to not be too Pollyanna just because the work and the classes we passed with their doors still open looked so cheery and inviting. I knew beneath all that, weaved in between the smiles, finger painting, stories, and teachers who did their best, kids fell through the cracks. That’s where Backpacks for Change came in. We were dedicated to doing more than supplementing kids in need with access to school supplies, clothing, and even backpacks. We wanted to help bridge the gap and inspire and educate through immersive after-school programs, workshops, and field trips. We wanted t
o invest in the kids who needed it the most.
After a second hug from Mrs. Lenoir, I took the few moments of having the conference room to myself to unload my briefcase, passing out glossy folders filled with glossy information. I poured myself a glass of water, avoiding the coffee because the caffeine would make me even more jittery. A few minutes before nine, the principal, a few representatives from the teaching staff, and the school board filed in. Each introduced themselves to me with an air of importance that made me cringe on the inside, but I shook every hand politely and waited for them to help themselves to coffee and doughnuts and conversation. I didn’t clear my throat or raise my voice over the chatter when the clock ticked past 9 AM. I didn’t say a word until a teacher, Ms. Clinton, pointed at the digital display and announced it was ten minutes past nine and we should get started. They settled in their comfy seats with their piping hot cups of whatever and turned their attention to me.
“We’re all pretty lucky, aren’t we?” I began, folding my hands on top of the podium. “That we get to come into this safe, secure conference room, with its shiny, clean whiteboard and the fully stocked bar in the corner.”
That got some uncomfortable chuckles.
“And we can be where we’re supposed to be, ready to do what we’re supposed to do, eleven minutes past when we’re supposed to get started...and there are no consequences,” I continued, ignoring the raised eyebrows and pursed lips. “The kids that my organization want to help? One misstep can cost their lives.” I paused to let that sink in. “They don’t always go home to clean tables. They may even go home to empty cupboards and wake up and go to school with empty stomachs. We all have so much, and we’re letting the most vulnerable among us go without. My organization is trying to change that.”
I guided them through the folder and watched as their annoyance, their embarrassment changed into something else. Things were grim, but all hope wasn’t lost.
When I finished the presentation, I shook hands all around the table and even got a few hugs, everyone excited about how Backpacks for Change could help their students.
I gathered my things and pointed toward the exit, feeling like I was on the right path, ready to do good work. To really make an impact.
I turned a corner and a deep, authoritative voice made me stop in my tracks. If it were female, I’d probably keep going, shrugging it off as a teacher having a moment with a student. But I paused and listened.
“Tell me what happened.”
I bit my lip when I heard a sniffle and the unsure, high-pitched voice of a young boy followed.
“Kevin Hartman told everyone that I wear the same underwear every day.” The boy’s voice cracked on the last word and I wanted to swoop in, scoop him up, and take him to a place far away where no bullies existed and you could have ice cream, with sprinkles, until your teeth rotted.
The boy sniffled again, this one longer, and I pictured him pulling his sleeve across his nose. “So I hit him.”
“And it felt good, right?” the deep voice followed.
I frowned, in part because teaching a kid that violence is the answer is actually a problematic approach. And...there was something about that voice...
The boy must have been nodding enthusiastically, because the man laughed and an invisible hand wrapped around my throat and squeezed.
It was him.
I launched into action. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him teach some poor kid that fighting was something positive.
“But then I bet it felt pretty sucky?” Lincoln asked.
I froze, but I stole a look around the corner and saw the two of them. Lincoln was in a suit. A freaking vision in dark gray with the jacket slung over his shoulder. He was crouched down to the boy’s level. The little boy was in a dingy white shirt, his skinny arms sticking out of the sleeves like twigs. His jeans swallowed him whole, and I could tell from the stubborn jut of his bottom lip that this wasn’t the first time he and Kevin Hartman had tangoed.
Finally, the boy shook his head no.
“Let me tell you a little secret about Kevin Hartman.” Lincoln beckoned the kid to come closer like he was about to tell him something confidential. “Kevin Hartman is afraid of you.”
That made the boy rear back. “Nuh uh!”
“Yeah huh,” Lincoln nodded sagely. “Bullies pick the biggest, baddest, strongest people, and they try to take them down a notch because something is broken inside them.”
I squeezed the strap of my bag, emotion swirling in my chest. As much shit as I gave Lincoln, I knew the thing that set him apart from his dickhead friends was that he was no bully. And they were always on their best behavior in his presence.
The kid stood a little taller, his voice a little stronger. “Whoa.”
“Whoa is right,” Lincoln said solemnly. He reached out and gave the boy a pat on the shoulder. “So you keep being awesome, Tyler. And call him on his sh-” Lincoln cleared his throat and glanced to his right. A teacher’s head appeared at the doorway.
Jealousy flared when I saw the hearts beating in her eyes and the bluebirds fluttering around her head. She was just watching, but it was pretty clear that she was also swooning.
“Call him on his crap,” Lincoln finished, rising to his feet.
The boy did a little salute. “Yes sir.” He darted back in the classroom and the teacher, all brunette and virginal and Mother Theresa with the whole teacher thing, took a step in Lincoln’s direction.
I took that opportunity to cough. Loudly.
Lincoln wheeled to face me, and I smiled at the teacher over his shoulder. She got the picture and ducked back in the classroom.
And what picture does the teacher get? There was never any doubt that Lincoln Carraway was a standup guy and great with kids. That doesn’t change the fact that he left you at the altar.
That voice that usually kept me grounded was getting harder and harder to listen to. Especially with my heart drumming in my ears and lust flooding me with all kinds of thoughts. Like how he looked even hotter in a suit in person than he did in the GQ spread that I bought during a moment of weakness. And how badly I wanted to peel every layer of clothing from his body and do something crazy. Something sexy. Like hike up my skirt and let him slide inside me up against the building. Outside. Away from the children, of course.
My naughty thoughts must have been scribbled all over my face, because one side of his mouth lifted into the smirk that always did me in. That was the smirk that made me skip class and steal away for an afternoon of him and me learning every nook and cranny on each other’s bodies. Learning every octave of each other’s moans. How to take each other to the edge...and beyond.
Like he hit some invisible force field that our past wouldn’t let him cross, he stopped a few feet from me and waited.
“I missed your presentation.” Sadness edged his voice.
I propped a hand on my hip. “I don’t remember sending you an invitation.”
His smirk became a full-on smile, and I knew what he was thinking. Something along the lines of, ‘I don’t need an invite, babe.’
Babe.
God, I missed him calling me that.
I shivered, the chill reminding me that I was doing the very thing I wasn’t supposed to be doing. I was here to give the students of Morgan Elementary hope, not Lincoln.
I sniffed and regretted it because he was close enough that I knew he was wearing a cologne that made it even harder to behave myself. It was something woodsy that reminded me of home, wrapped up in something that was all Lincoln. Sexy, alluring, and...fuckable.
I needed to get out of there, and I needed to get out of there like, yesterday.
“I gotta go.” I kicked myself for sharing my plan, like I needed his permission to leave. He wasn’t the boss of me. I could just...go.
I turned to do just that, and he caught my arm in a way that made me gasp. Not out of fear. Out of possession, like he used to, when he took my wrists and held them above my head and ordered me t
o tell him to fuck me.
“Wait.”
The air between us was slick with desire, and I licked my lips. My pussy clenched because I could taste it. Even after all this time, the energy between us was as undeniable as ever.
“Have dinner with me.”
I looked down at his hand and he slackened his grip, then reluctantly let go. I’d never tell him that I didn’t really want him to let go.
I never wanted him to let go again.
I steeled my nerves, fighting a losing battle. I was overwhelmed by the urge to ride him down to the floor. “Is that a request or a command?”
His gray eyes stormed. “What do you think?”
I wasn’t thinking to be honest, because I gave him the slightest smile and started down the hall. I threw my surrender over my shoulder.
“I guess you know my answer, then.”
Chapter Six
I should have said no.
Not just no.
Hell no.
It got pretty hard to say much of anything but ‘What the-’ when I strolled out of the office, and there was a chauffeur awkwardly standing beside my Neon.
Half annoyed and bone-tired after spending most of the afternoon tied up in bureaucratic BS with the administration at several schools on the list, I was actually looking forward to some wining and dining. Looking forward to some fancy dinner at some fancy restaurant that I definitely couldn’t afford where all I’d hear was ‘Yes!’ and ‘Right away, Miss!’
I’d never been confronted with so much resistance in my past work in the nonprofit sector, and right out of the gate to boot. I wanted to cut through the crap, plow through the obstacles, and get to what mattered—helping the kids at their institution. Every person I’d encountered from the moment I picked up the phone and perched my fingers over my keyboard was content to make me jump through every hoop imaginable just to step my pinky toe in the building. One of the principals only budged, slightly, after asking if Lincoln Carraway would be at the presentation and I begrudgingly said it was a possibility.
