Addie Gets Her Man (A Chair At The Hawkins Table Book 6)

by Angel Smits

  She’d start with Nick. At least with him, she knew what to expect. “You—” she pointed at the new boy “—stay here until I call you. Nick, come with me.” She headed into her office.

  Seated, she looked across her desk at Nick. If he’d been in her office multiple times already, how many times had he been here with her predecessor?

  His shoulders were hunched, and he held an ice pack to the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t broken. Lindy had assured her of that. But Addie had to admit, the new kid—she really needed to figure out his name and use it—had a pretty good left hook. She wondered where he’d learned that.

  “You want to tell me what happened?” Nick wasn’t going to answer, but she’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “No.” His voice was muffled by the ice pack.

  “I’m giving you the opportunity to come clean. But I understand that you might be in too much pain to talk clearly.” She really needed to work on her penchant for sarcasm. She blamed her brothers and their own various busted lips and noses for it. “If so, you can sit in the outer office and wait until your parents get here.”

  She walked him to the separating door and had him sit, then turned to face the other boy. He had his own blue ice pack shoved against his right eye. Nick could slug pretty good himself. “Come with me,” she told the other boy.

  She didn’t wait for him any more than she’d waited for Nick. She sat while he got comfortable.

  “You want to tell me what you were fighting about?” She tried to keep her voice even and her face neutral.

  “No.”

  “You know, someone’s going to tell me what happened.” She wouldn’t even have to use the good cop/bad cop routine, though Lindy would be disappointed. She loved playing the bad cop.

  “Nick won’t tell.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried about Nick. I’ve dealt with his type plenty. No, the other kids who were standing around watching. They’ll eventually tell me.”

  He looked at her, his eye wide as if that had never occurred to him. How had he gotten to eighth grade and not realized his fellow students were not always to be trusted?

  There was definitely something about the boy that intrigued Addie, and she wasn’t exactly sure why. “What’s your name?” she asked softly. Since he was a newcomer to the school, she didn’t have a clue what to expect from this boy, unlike Nick.

  “Ryan.” He didn’t say anything more, and she waited for a long minute.

  “Do you have a last name?”

  “Yeah.” Another long silence, and in the one eye she could see, she saw his thoughts. She was pretty sure he was actually considering lying to her.

  “Lying’s a bad idea, just so you know.”

  “Uh... Skylar.”

  “Thank you, Ryan.” She leaned back, knowing that Gina was even now pulling his file to get his parents’ phone numbers. Addie pondered how to approach him.

  Westbrook Middle School wasn’t huge. When Addie had been growing up, she’d gone to school here. Back then, attendance had nearly overflowed halls. Now, with an aging population in the area, and the new system of charter schools and choices that weren’t around when Mom was raising them, the headcount was lower.

  There weren’t many new kids each year, so Ryan Skylar was notable in a sea of the same faces each year. Something about him interested her, and maybe it was because she’d spent way too much time staring at budgets.

  She tried again. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  He shrugged. “Do I have to?”

  She fought back a smile. “You don’t have to, but it might make things better for you. Ms. Hanson is calling your parents, and I’d like to be able to tell them you were cooperating with me.”

  He shrugged, and that single uncovered eye looked at her. If she’d ever seen pain, it was in that one brown eye. It jolted her. So strong. And almost familiar. She shook her head and sat forward again, crossing her arms on top of the budget papers. “You know, I grew up with three brothers. And a couple sisters. There’s not much you’re going to get past me.”

  He looked down, studiously examining his tennis shoes. She waited for him to look up again.

  “I’m an only kid,” he said softly.

  “There are times I would have liked to be that.” Flashes of all the craziness in her family flitted through her mind. “Does that have something to do with the fight?”

  He shrugged again, but still didn’t look at her. “Bet your house wasn’t quiet.”

  “Uh, no.” She laughed. “Not very often anyway.” She gave him a couple of minutes, but she needed to find out what happened. “We’re calling your parents—”

  “You gotta call my dad,” he interrupted.

  “Okay. Is there a reason?”

  “Mom.” The boy took a deep breath. “Mom passed away...”

  Well, she’d muddled into that one. “I’m sorry.” Addie felt the knife in her chest for the boy, and from her own recent loss of her mother. That’s what she’d seen in his gaze. Grief. It resonated with her. She knew how much it hurt. Faded memories of her father, and the resulting emptiness, were still too real.

  “Then we’ll call your dad.” She cleared her throat, not sure what was stuck there. “What do you think he’ll say about your getting into a fight?”

  The boy looked down at those tennis shoes again. “He’s not gonna like it.”

  “What do you think he’ll do?”

  He seemed to think about that a minute. “Probably cut down my computer time.” The sadness in the boy’s voice expanded to fill the room. She fought a smile. At least now she knew what was important to him, and she felt another stirring of curiosity.

  Gina stood in the doorway and Addie looked up. “Yes?”

  “His father’s on the way. Nick’s parents aren’t answering.”

  So, what else was new? She really didn’t want to deal with the Haldons, but there were some things about her job that were unavoidable.

  “Unless you’ve got something to tell me, you can take a seat in the lobby until your dad’s here.”

  The boy hesitated but finally stood. She had to admire him. He might not like Nick, but he wasn’t going to rat on him. She watched him walk out and slump down on the chair—farthest from Nick.

  She pulled the budget papers together and sorted them. She wasn’t going to make any more progress for now. Even if she did, parents would only show up and disrupt her. She didn’t know how long it would take for them to get here.

  She glanced at the clock. Another hour and the day would be done. Hopefully, Gina could reach the Haldons before it was time for the boys to head home. She couldn’t let them go before speaking to their parents, and she didn’t want to stay any later than she had to.

  “Addie?” Gina said from the door. She had the cordless receiver in her hand and a smirk on her face. “Mrs. Haldon is in Atlanta at a conference. Mr. Haldon is at work. They’re looking for him.”

  “So, who are you talking to?”

  “The housekeeper. She wants to know if she should come get Nick.”

  “Housekeeper?” Addie stared. “No. His father needs to come get him.”

  “I’ll let her know.” Gina left, and for some strange reason, Addie found herself feeling sad for both boys. Neither of them had the support they needed, that they should have.

  Just then, a man Addie had never seen before came rushing in. He wore neatly pressed dress pants and a blue button-down shirt. His thick chestnut hair looked awry, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. Repeatedly. “Ryan?” He headed straight for the boy.

  He knelt down, uncaring that he could get dirt on those nice pants. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” the boy said softly, pulling the ice pack from his eye. The man turned an angry glare on the other boy, and Addie saw Nick actually shrink away. Th
e man didn’t say anything, which had Addie breathing a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was an outraged parent taking matters into his own hands.

  She walked to the door and stood waiting for a gap in the softly spoken conversation. “Mr. Skylar,” she finally said. “Won’t you come in?”

  * * *

  “I DON’T UNDERSTAND.” The tall, dark-haired man paced in front of Addie’s desk. “Ryan has never been a problem. He’s never gotten into trouble.”

  Addie watched Marcus Skylar shove his fingers through his thick hair again.

  “He’s never gotten into a fight.”

  Addie made herself focus. “From what he’s told me, he has been through a lot.” Her heart still ached for the boy. “He’s had a lot to adjust to.”

  “I guess.” Marcus suddenly sat on one of the chairs facing her. “It’s been one hell of a year,” he whispered. “I’m not making excuses.”

  “I think we need to give Ryan a break.” She leaned forward, trying to look like she was in charge here. She knew what she was doing, but this man set her on edge and she didn’t know why. “Have you considered counseling?”

  She expected him to get angry. Half-expected the man who was very near the edge himself to rise up and rail at her. Instead, he silently looked at her, then leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and stared at the carpeting. “I have. And we did. For a bit.”

  He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met. Nothing like her brothers, who would have already blasted her about psychobabble and being able to take care of themselves. She waited while he sat there, staring, seeing something he wasn’t sharing with her.

  “Mr. Skylar, our school has a no-tolerance policy. I have to give Ryan, both boys actually, a week’s detention for fighting.

  Marcus sat silent for a long moment. When he finally looked up at her again, his gaze was clear. “I understand. He’ll be there.” He waited a moment before shooting to his feet. “Guess, I’ll...” His voice faded, and he turned toward the door. Now he looked more like she expected. “Sorry to have taken up so much of your time.”

  Pausing in the doorway, he curled his fingers around the knob until his knuckles showed white against his tanned skin. “Have a good afternoon, Ms. Hawkins.” He pulled the door open and, through the opening, she saw Ryan look up at his dad. “Come on, Ry,” she heard him say. “Let’s get you home and cleaned up.”

  She stared after him. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t yelling at his son, like so many other fathers would be doing. He actually looked...she tried to find the right description...beaten?

  What battle was he waging? Against his son? Against himself, and his own grief? He’d lost his wife the same time Ryan had lost his mother. “Mr. Skylar?” She hurried around the desk, stopping in the open doorway just as he turned to look at her.

  “Yes?”

  “Is...” What was she thinking? What was she even doing? “Is there anything I can do to help? You...or...” She looked at Ryan. “You, Ryan?”

  “Thank you.” Marcus straightened his already impressive shoulders. “But we’ll be fine. Come on, Ryan.”

  With his hand on Ryan’s shoulder, he headed out the door, and she heard their footsteps echo down the empty hall. It was a lonely, nearly painful sound. She’d have to keep an eye on them. On Ryan, she reminded herself. She was a principal. The father was not her concern, unless his actions affected the boy.

  Then all bets were off.

  * * *

  MARCUS DIDN’T LET go of Ryan’s shoulder until they reached the car. The boy was silent as he threw his backpack in the rear and slammed his backside into the passenger seat. He pouted, crossing his thin arms over his equally thin chest. Only once he was settled behind the wheel did Marcus speak.

  “You want to explain what happened?”

  He didn’t yell at Ryan, though he wanted to. His own father would have already blistered his ears with accusations and curses, but Marcus knew how it felt to be the boy who’d made a mistake he couldn’t take back.

  “No.”

  “Well, here’s the deal.” Marcus started the car and steered out of the parking lot. “You can either tell me what happened, and I’ll figure out what your punishment will be from that. Or you can remain silent, and I’ll go with what the principal and the other boy say.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Fair?” Marcus clenched his jaw. He would not lose his patience. “That’s not the issue, son. The issue is whether you’re going to be the one in control, or if you’re going to let someone else have that honor.”

  The silence in the car was thick with the hot afternoon air and a teenage boy’s simmering anger. “I didn’t start it,” he finally said, quietly staring out the side window.

  “I didn’t think you did. Tell me what happened.” He tried to use the voice that had worked so well for Carolyn in coaxing their son into opening up. Times like this he really missed her. Missed the mother she’d become the day they’d adopted Ryan.

  “We were having a discussion in lit class.” Silence grew.

  Lit class? What book was he reading in that class? Marcus shook his head. It didn’t matter. Ryan did.

  “Nick said—” Ryan’s voice cracked. “Nick said my real mom didn’t like me and that’s why she gave me away.” His broken voice faded to a whisper before he finished.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN MARCUS HAD been Ryan’s age, his father had come home on one of his infrequent leaves from who knew where. James Skylar had offered to help a buddy fix his deck and had subsequently volunteered Marcus to join them. Somewhere in the process, something went wrong. Marcus couldn’t remember much since he’d gotten a concussion from a wooden beam that fell on his head.

  He felt like that now, sitting next to Ryan at the stoplight.

  “Care—” He cleared his throat. “Care to explain?” They’d never hidden Ryan’s adoption, but they’d gotten him when he was three days old. It had been a closed adoption. His birth mother had wanted it that way, and they’d respected her wishes. The reality of the situation seldom crossed his mind anymore. Apparently, it did Ryan’s.

  With Carolyn’s death, he probably should have expected this. But he hadn’t even thought about it.

  “We’re reading some short stories for lit class,” Ryan said, breaking into Marcus’s thoughts. “Mr. Hudson has us discuss them. One is about a bunch of kids in an orphanage.” Ryan shrugged and turned his gaze from the passenger window to stare out the windshield. “Nick made a crack about kids whose birth parents gave them away—said their mom and dad didn’t like them.”

  Marcus took a deep breath. “You know that’s ridiculous, right? We’ve talked about this before, remember?”

  “I remember. I know it’s not true. It’s just—” Ryan went silent for a couple of blocks, and Marcus didn’t push him. “It’s just that...” He shifted in his seat. “I wasn’t mad for me so much...”

  Ryan turned to look at Marcus. They pulled into the drive, and Marcus killed the engine.

  “I was mad for...for my birth mother,” Ryan said. “He had no right. He doesn’t know why she gave me up.” His indignation came across loud and clear.

  Marcus took another deep breath before saying anything. “I’m proud of you for wanting to stick up for her, for caring, but it’s not something to fight about.”

  “I know.” Ryan reached for the door handle and pushed it open. “But what he said was so wrong.” He slammed the door closed with a bit too much force.

  Marcus followed him, grabbing his own backpack from the rear. He watched Ryan walk inside. His son was growing up so fast, and their conversation brought back memories of when they’d first brought Ryan home. Good memories.

  Had that really been thirteen years ago?

  Inside the kitchen, both backpacks hit the kitchen table with a loud thud, and Marcus
watched Ryan head to the fridge. It was a routine Carolyn never would have allowed, but one they’d fallen into since moving here.

  Carolyn. He thought of his wife, and, while his heart still hitched at her loss, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it used to be. He thought about his conversation with Principal Hawkins—

  —who wasn’t anything like he’d expected from a school principal. She was young and pretty—the first woman to pique his interest in a long time. And while she hadn’t smiled much during their meeting, he got the impression she normally did.

  He’d told her that they’d gone to counseling, and they had. Not just after Carolyn’s death, but for months before. Hospice had been a godsend as he’d tried to deal with her impending death, as well as Ryan and his reactions.

  “Can I have the rest of the lasagna?” Ryan’s muffled voice came from inside the fridge.

  “For dinner?”

  “No, now. For a snack.” He turned around, the take-out container in his hands, his expression hopeful.

  “Uh, no. I’ll make dinner in a bit.” Another skill he’d picked up after losing Carolyn.

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  Marcus nearly groaned. Those words always meant that Ryan was up to something. He smiled. How had he managed to raise a son who was a con artist at heart? Marcus leaned back against the edge of the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting. “What?”

  “I can eat the lasagna now and get started right away on my homework.”

  “And?”

  “And I’ll be done in time to play in a Castle Battle tournament tonight at seven.”

  “Ryan, it’s a school night.” Video games were normally off-limits except on the weekends.

  “It’s the tournament of the year. Come on, Dad. I’m really good at it. I could win.”

  Marcus looked at his son. The bruise around his eye was going to be dark by morning. “Put ice on that eye tonight.” Principal Hawkins’s words came to him. Did Ryan deserve a break in this? As it was, he’d be spending the next week in detention after school. Was that punishment enough? It wasn’t as if Ryan regularly got into trouble.