The Principal's Office

by Jasmine Haynes

  Jesus. She should never have gotten the damn vibrator. It was the beginning of the end.

  “Did you have that when we were married, Rachel?” he sneered.

  She’d needed it when they were married, because she’d certainly gotten nothing out of him. But she wasn’t going to justify anything. “What do you want, Gary?”

  “It’s simple,” he said, speaking to her as if she were a child. “That”—he pointed, she didn’t look—“if I’m not mistaken, is Principal Torvik fucking the hell out of you. Or should I say you’re fucking the hell out of him.”

  Gary never talked like that. Her blood turned to dust in her veins, nothing moved, her whole body suddenly oxygen starved.

  “I have a proposition.” He waited.

  She bit her lip. The bastard wanted her to ask. She had no choice but to play along. “What’s your proposition?”

  He smiled like a great white shark ready to take a big bite. She didn’t recognize him. He couldn’t be the man she’d slept in the same bed with for seventeen years, the father of her children. This was someone else entirely. Maybe he’d always had this man hidden beneath his facade.

  “I won’t show this video to anyone,” he said. “Not his school board, not your employers, not my divorce attorney, no one.”

  He paused so long she was forced to ask, “If?”

  “I want the boys full-time. You can have them one weekend a month.”

  She stared at his lips as if watching them move would make his jumble of words suddenly clear. “You want custody of the boys?” It felt like she was standing in the corner, looking on from afar, another woman saying those words, thinking her thoughts. “Why? You told me I couldn’t go to school because you didn’t want to have to take the boys.”

  “Sherry wants them.”

  “Sherry wants my boys?” It didn’t make sense. She was young; Justin and Nathan were teenagers. It would be more likely that she’d want to get rid of them so she could have her own babies with Gary. “But why?”

  “She doesn’t want to go through childbirth, and she likes kids when they’re older. She loves going to the basketball games and out for pizza or burgers.”

  “You don’t have to have custody for that.”

  “She wants more time with them. She wants a family.”

  “But why my boys?”

  “They’re my boys, Rachel,” he barked. “That’s all that matters.”

  Maybe the questions were stupid under the circumstances. She just didn’t get it. “But—”

  He cut her off with a slash of his hand. “You’re disgusting. Making a video anyone could see. Doing that”—he stabbed a finger at the screen—“and I won’t have you corrupting our children. Give them to me or I will take them from you. If you make me go to court, you know the boys will eventually find out.” He leaned close. She could smell his acrid sweat. Or was that her own? “Give them to me,” he said softly, “and no one has to see this. You’re safe. The principal is safe. The boys will never know.”

  She didn’t know what to say, what to do. The worst had happened. She could lose the only important thing in her life: her sons. If she contested Gary in court, all he had to do was offer up that video. She could see it on the screen out of the corner of her eye. “Shut it off. Please.” Her voice trembled.

  He hit another button on the remote, and the screen went blissfully blue.

  If she fought him, the boys would find out. Gary would make sure. He’d poison them against her. God only knew what he’d do to Rand.

  “Can I have them two weekends?” she whispered.

  Gary rose from the couch, stalked the room, then she heard the light mechanical whir as the TV ejected the card. He turned, pocketing it. “On occasion, I might allow that.”

  She was too stunned even to weep. “What will you tell them about why we’re making this change?” Her throat ached just saying the words. Everything inside her ached.

  He swept out his hand. “You’re going back to school. You need to get an education to better yourself so you can take care of them. We’ll say it’s just for a few months.”

  Those months would segue into the years until they both turned eighteen. They’d hate her for choosing school over them. But Nathan would never forgive her if he learned what she’d done with his principal. There was no way out, no easy choice. All she could do was hope to salvage whatever was left over during her one weekend a month, or two, if Gary was feeling generous.

  She swallowed, feeling it stick halfway down. “Can I finish out my week with them?”

  He considered her a long moment, then sighed. “I guess so.” He stroked his chin like Freud considering a crazy patient. “It will be easier to transition that way. I can tell them about the change when they’re with me.” Then he smiled magnanimously. It came off looking smug. “Just think, now you can fuck anytime, anywhere you want.” He winked. “Even in the principal’s office after hours.” He patted the pocket where he’d stowed the damning video card. “Oh”—he smiled—“I also fixed the garage door for you.”

  And Rachel hated him.

  HER CELL PHONE DIDN’T WAKE HER AT ELEVEN-THIRTY THAT night. Rachel wasn’t asleep. She might never sleep again. She’d been thinking about how she should throw out the rest of the evidence the way she’d tossed the condoms this morning. The naughty see-through blouse Rand had bought her, the sexy red shoes. She wasn’t a woman who could carry off red spiked heels. No, that had been a fantasy. She wasn’t that woman, could never be that woman.

  The phone chirped softly at her. She’d turned it down as low as possible without going onto vibrate. She didn’t have to look at it to know it was Rand; her intuition was in On mode where he was concerned.

  Of course, it could have been Gary calling to grind home his point. But, no, Gary was most likely making nookie with his hot little tramp who wanted to take away Rachel’s children.

  The phone rang two more times. Another two, and it would go directly to voicemail. She’d planned on answering; that’s why she’d left it beside the bed. She’d wanted to cry on Rand’s shoulder, pour out her troubles, ask him what to do.

  But then she’d have to tell him how idiotic she’d been, that she’d put his job in jeopardy. A part of her also wanted to rail at him. This was all his fault. He’d wanted to make that damn video. He’d wanted her to keep it so they could watch it together. Yes, yes, it was all his fault.

  God, she needed to take it out on someone.

  The phone stopped ringing. He was gone. She felt a rush of triumph for besting her neediness.

  Rand wasn’t the problem, though. He was just a symptom of her life falling apart; he hadn’t caused it. Gary had. He’d gotten bored or depressed or maybe he’d even wanted someone like Sherry back then. So Gary had torn Rachel’s world apart. He’d detonated an H-bomb on his sons’ lives, too.

  Now he wanted to ruin everything all over again, just as she was starting to feel good again. Because of Rand.

  She needed that damn video back. She wondered if there was some space-age gizmo the government used in covert operations that she could drive by Gary’s house with and erase the digital contents. Okay, she knew she was stretching.

  The phone beeped, signaling a message. Rachel rolled to her back, taking the cell in her hand, its screen lit up. Keying in her password, she listened.

  “Baby, my cock’s hard for you. This weekend was better than anything. I’m going to jerk off remembering every moment.”

  His voice stole her breath and spread warmth through her. Just sounds, not even a touch, but suddenly he held her heart in the palm of his hand. He made her feel special, desired, wanted, needed. She couldn’t remember the last time Gary had made her feel that way, if ever. Rand did it so easily, as if complimenting her and making her feel good was second nature.

  It was like the masseur all over again, Gary telling her how terrible she was, how immoral. He was stealing away all her newfound self-confidence, her joy in her sexuality. That bastar
d. She couldn’t let him win.

  She wouldn’t let him take her boys and destroy her relationship with Rand. There had to be something she could do.

  Saving the message, she pulled the covers to her chin and hugged the phone to her chest. She might not have a device to erase it from a distance, but there were far less technical methods. Nathan and Justin both had keys to Gary’s apartment, and it was empty all day long while he was at work.

  She would search his place and steal the SD card back just the way Gary had stolen it from her.

  31

  ON TUESDAY MORNING, RAND FOLLOWED THE CURVE OF THE buildings past the rows of lockers. The second period bell had rung several minutes ago, and the halls were empty.

  Walking empty hallways was good for thinking. He’d had his admin leave a note for Nathan scheduling a meeting just before lunch. Mondays were always full of to-dos, so he’d decided to start Operation Nathan Delaney today instead of yesterday. He would get the boy to like him no matter what.

  Rand smiled at himself. How low he’d sunk, trying to get at a woman through her son.

  He’d missed their phone calls on both of the last two nights. He’d missed her. One might consider him smitten. It was a pleasant feeling. She was such a varied mix of types, soccer mom as well as sexy slut, assured as well as vulnerable, submissive as well as dominant. He couldn’t categorize her and thus everything they did was unpredictable, like the way she’d bound him with the scarves. He would never have expected that from her, and yet it delighted him.

  Rounding the curve to C Building, an oddity pulled him out of his musings. Despite having been at the school only half a year, he knew these halls like the back of his hand. He was no longer alone.

  Nathan Delaney stood motionless just outside the C Building bathroom, his shoulder against the door holding it slightly open. There was something furtive in his stance.

  What was the boy doing? Why wasn’t he in class?

  Though he didn’t see Rand watching him, Nathan suddenly pushed through the door and disappeared inside the restroom.

  Rand sighed. Today’s meeting was supposed to be about finding equal footing, coming to an understanding. Now he’d have to talk about tardiness and whatever the hell was going on in that bathroom. Smoking? Or worse? Drugs?

  Rand did not want to have to call Rachel to tell her Nathan was using or buying drugs, or even selling them. Not Nathan. He hadn’t pegged him for drugs, yet this could be the beginning of a downhill slide.

  He covered the distance swiftly and quietly, then stopped outside the door, listening. Definitely voices within, so Nathan wasn’t alone in there. Damn. If he had to catch them in the act, he needed a few more seconds to allow the contraband to come out of backpacks, pockets, wherever. For better eavesdropping, he pushed the door ajar an inch or two with his foot. It opened to a tiled wall hiding the urinals and stalls from outside view. To get out, they’d have to go around or through him. The boys were trapped inside with nowhere to go except past Rand.

  They were so damn busted.

  “LEAVE HIM ALONE, TOM.” NATHAN’S VOICE, SOUNDING STRONGER and less sullen than Rand had ever heard it.

  “Hey, Nathan, perfect timing. This moron”—Tom Molcini, naturally—“needs a lesson in being a man.”

  “Come on, guys, you’ve had your fun. Just let him up.” Nathan paused, then added, “Get up, Wally. You can go now.”

  Jesus Christ, Wally was in there. Every muscle in Rand’s body tensed to rush through the door, to rescue him, yet the purely unemotional side of his brain made him stand still. This was the thing Nathan needed, he knew it in his gut. Nathan needed to handle this crisis. He could handle it.

  “Hey, asshole”—the ever-present Rick Franchetti, Tom’s half-wit sidekick—“we’re not done with him yet.”

  “Are you some kinda pussy, Delaney, defending a moron?” Tom sneered.

  “He’s not a moron, Tom. He’s autistic. So just leave him alone. Come on, Wally. It’s okay. You can get up.”

  Rand’s heart actually turned over in his chest at Nathan’s gentle voice, the kindness in his tone.

  “Dude. You’re making a big mistake. You don’t wanna piss me off.” Tom gave a snarl.

  Nathan came back after a short silence, as if they’d all been moving in wary circles around one another, settling in for the clash. “You’re pissing me off by picking on a kid who can’t defend himself.”

  Rand had never been so proud of one of his students as he was in that moment.

  “Well, then,” Tom said, “maybe we need to pick on someone who thinks”—spittle hissed from his lips—“he’s got some balls.”

  “Yeah, dude, you just think you got balls,” Rick mocked, like a punctuation mark on whatever Tom said. He was just an ignorant follower. “We’re gonna kick your ass.”

  “Yeah? You and whose army?”

  Tom barked a laugh. “You’re such a pussy.”

  It was time. Rand shoved the door open. “What the hell is going on in here?” His voice reverberated off the walls.

  Tom and Rick jumped, turning to face the Rand. They flanked Nathan, obviously intending to come at him from both sides. But Nathan stood his ground, hovering over Wally protectively, his fists bunched in readiness as if he were waiting for a free-for-all to break out. Tears streaked Wally’s face, a wet spot stained his jeans, and his backpack lay in a puddle beneath one of the urinals.

  Jesus. Maybe he’d waited too long to come in. Except that Nathan had handled it. He’d gone to bat for Wally. He was willing to fight for him.

  “This creep,” Tom said, stabbing a finger in Nathan’s back, “was giving poor Wally a bad time.”

  “Yeah,” Rick said, sounding like the drone he was. “Look how he threw poor Wally’s backpack in the piss puddle.”

  “Are you all right, Wally?” Rand asked.

  “Fine, fine, fine,” Wally chirped, but he huddled down on the floor.

  “Molcini and Franchetti,” Rand said very softly, “get out of here and go to your classes.”

  “Yes, sir,” they said like chipper parrots.

  The door whooshed closed behind them, but Rand could still hear their laughter outside. If he wasn’t a principal with a sworn duty, he’d have beaten their heads together. Instead, he’d take care of them later, within the confines of his mandate. Which meant no physical violence.

  With the imminent danger over, Nathan reached out a hand to help Wally up.

  “Don’t touch him,” Rand barked. There was no telling how Wally would react if touched right now, even when someone intended to help him.

  Nathan froze, then glanced over his shoulder, his eyes dark and angry. He didn’t understand; Rand didn’t have time to explain.

  “Come on, Wally, get up.” Rand stepped around Nathan to grab Wally’s backpack out of the puddle. Carrying it to the sink, he ran water over the bottom of it.

  Wally rolled to his hands and knees. “Yes, sir, yes, sir, yes, sir.” Then he got to his feet, turned to the wall and zipped up. Dammit, they’d attacked him with his pants down. Rand’s blood boiled. When Wally turned, the dark stain on his jeans was a stark reminder.

  Nathan grimaced. “You can’t send him out like that, Principal Torvik.”

  Rand was silent a long moment. “I’ll take care of it, Nathan. Go to class.” His voice came out more harshly than he’d intended, but he didn’t have time to deal with Nathan’s feelings. They’d have to discuss it later. “Be in my office as soon as the lunch bell rings.”

  Nathan stared at him a moment longer, emotions—anger, bitterness—flitting across his features, then he stomped across the tile floor, grabbed his backpack, and slammed through the door.

  Maybe he should have explained, but Nathan’s needs at the moment were secondary to Wally’s.

  RAND HAD NOT TAKEN HIS SEAT BEHIND THE DESK. INSTEAD, HE turned the chair beside Nathan’s to face him. Sitting, he assumed a relaxed posture.

  Nathan wore his usual sullen demeanor, eyes
down, head lowered.

  “Wally’s fine,” Rand said. He’d scrubbed off the bottom of the boy’s backpack. Nathan had been right; Wally couldn’t walk around school in those clothes. Rand had taken him to the locker rooms where Wally’s mother kept a cache of extra clothing. Not that Wally wet himself as a matter of course, but his mother was one of those women who was always prepared.

  The boy was fine. He was a remarkable sort. After his progress over the last six months, Rand was hopeful that Wally would someday find his perfect place in society, especially with the end of Molcini’s and Franchetti’s tyranny.

  Then there was Nathan. Rand had been planning his tête-à-tête with Rachel’s son, then he’d walked into the restroom and it had all been blown to hell. This was no longer about Rachel, or about getting on the good side of her son so he could keep fucking the boy’s mother.

  This was about Wally and Nathan.

  “Do you remember the incident in the cafeteria when you knocked Wally’s tray out of his hands?” Rand asked softly.

  Nathan swallowed, then the muscles of his face tensed, and he clenched his fists on the armrests. “I told you I didn’t touch him.”

  “Are we parsing words here? You didn’t touch him, you bumped him. You can deny it all you want, but we both know I saw it, Nathan.”

  The boy was silent.

  “What I fail to understand is why you rescued Wally from those two bullies today when less than a month ago you were pushing him around, too.”

  Nathan’s head jerked up. For a moment he looked so much like Rachel that Rand’s heart ached. Then the moment was gone, and he was Nathan, the student Rand couldn’t seem to reach.

  “Tom and Rick told you I was the one who pushed Wally down in the restroom. You believed them.” His tone was challenging.

  “I’m not stupid, Nathan.” Rand decided to be completely honest. “I saw you go in, I heard voices, and was worried it might be about drugs. So I listened at the door to catch you all in the act.” He raised a brow. “But what I heard was you going to bat for a kid who couldn’t defend himself.”