by Brynne Asher
“Tell me why we have to do these when you know them?” I ask Knox.
He takes the multiplication flash cards I just finished quizzing him on for no reason. He never misses a one. “Because my teacher says we have to do them every day.”
I shake my head and reach over to ruffle his dark hair. “You should tell your teacher to give you something to practice that you don’t know. Better use of your time.”
Knox looks up at me with big eyes. “I can’t tell my teacher that.”
I give him a grin. “Probably not, but maybe I should.”
His dark eyes get even bigger.
“Hey, I’m kidding,” I lie to make him feel better, but I’m definitely going to have a conversation with Keelie. Even though it’s almost summer, he needs to be challenged. If nothing else, we need to make sure it happens next year.
My phone vibrates and when I look at the screen, the cameras show Keelie driving in. She’s busy with end of the year stuff at school so I told her to take her time and I’d be on kid duty.
When she comes through the garage door, her arms are weighed down with bags of groceries. She starts talking a mile a minute as I take them from her. “FYI—Danielle and I have been texting back and forth all day about Levi’s graduation party. Now, I know you gave him a limit of how many kids he could invite, but he’s well-liked and didn’t want to leave anyone out.”
I set the bags on the counter and turn to her. She’s standing there with her arms crossed and her lip pulled between her teeth. She knows I gave him a limit.
“Baby,” I start. “It’s not like I capped him at ten. I said thirty. That’s plenty for a high school party.”
She drops her arms and sighs. “The party’s outside, Asa. A bonfire is a bonfire, no matter how many people will be here.” She throws her hand to the side and shrugs. “Danielle and I will handle the food and stuff. All you have to do is make sure no one gets pregnant.”
I feel my face fall. “That’s not funny.”
She holds her hands out, palms up to defend herself. “Hey, I’m a high school counselor. I know that’s not funny.”
I shake my head. “Thirty. That’s it.”
She starts to take food to the pantry. “Well, I caught him in the halls today and told him to invite whoever he wanted.”
Fuck.
I can’t control the edge to my voice. “Keelie.”
When she comes out of the pantry, she has a sheepish expression on her face and comes right to me. Even in her heels, she has to lift up on her toes to reach my face. When her lips are close, she says, “He’ll only graduate from high school once. It’ll be fun.”
I shake my head and am serious as shit when I say, “No one better get pregnant.”
She presses her lips to mine. “Well, you do have a gun. I suppose you could use it if needed.”
I wrap my arms around her. “Thank you.”
“It’s just a bonfire, Asa. No biggie.”
“No. Thank you for loving my kids.”
Her face softens. “This is their home now. Even though Levi is leaving for Hopkins soon, I want him to have memories here.”
I drop my hand to her ass because when she’s this close, I can’t stop myself. “You’re pretty fucking great, you know that?”
She smirks. “I hope you still think that when you’re cock-blocking teenagers at the graduation party.”
I give her ass a squeeze and shake my head. “I’ll hang out with Saylor—she’s easy. You can be in charge of the teenagers.”
She leans up to kiss me quick. “Can you put this stuff away? My feet are killing me and I want to change.”
I give her ass a smack and move for the pantry.
When she’s almost up the stairs, she yells back for me, “Oh, I left my phone down there. If Danielle texts me, just tell her I’ll get back with her.”
No sooner do the words come out of her mouth does her phone go off. I sigh, grateful Keelie is patient with my ex-wife for my kids’ sake. I dig around her purse, finally finding it. I shoot off a text to Danielle. That’s when I see a notification saying there’s an unsent text.
I open it back up to make sure the message sent and it did. I have to scroll way down, but there it is, the error message for a whole slew of unsent texts.
To David.
What the fuck?
I grip the phone and feel my body tense.
Frowning, I open the string and quickly scroll through. The last message was sent weeks ago, but every single one of them is undelivered—and there’s a shit ton of them. There’s no way I can make myself look away.
—Thank God, he didn’t leave. And he loves me. Why does that feel good and hurt so much at the same time?
—He won’t leave. And he’s fucking sleeping with me. NAKED!
—I think I’m going to be sick. I told him to leave. I’ve never felt physical pain like this morning, leaving and knowing he wouldn’t be there when I got home. I’d rather be shot at all over again. Fuck, I’d rather you almost bankrupt me again over your damned gambling habits. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore, but seeing him getting stitched up was too much. He could’ve died. I’d never live through losing him. Not Asa. Not like that.
My insides tighten, but I read on.
—Brandon and Kyler didn’t die in an accident. They were murdered. I can’t believe it. Things are a mess and poor Emma is in the middle of it.
—How fucked up is it that Asa’s taking me to my therapist appointment that I go to because of YOU. Damn you. Some days I wonder why Asa puts up with me. There has to be easier women to be with. Who am I kidding? Anyone would be easier to be with than me. Makes me hate you even more. Why can’t I be a normal woman for this beautiful man who thinks he wants me?
And I hate Dr. Graystone, too. I mean, it’s not his fault, but I hate everything he stands for and why I need him. Or needed him to begin with. Do I really even need him anymore?
—I had sex. The best sex of my life with a bunch of orgasms. And I can’t wait to be with him again.
I keep scrolling and can’t help but smirk.
—Well, I was shot yesterday and got drunk today. Oh, and I think Asa bought me a brand-new luxury car. SUV. Whatever. I don’t even know what to say about any of that.
That makes me angry all over again, so I scroll past it.
—Fuck, Asa Hollingsworth showed up at my house to take us to dinner. And I’m covered in paint!
—Oh, shit! Mister—I Can Be Sexy Changing a Tire is a parent of two of my students! And he wants to take me to dinner. Nope, I don’t care how sexy he is, I’m not going to dinner with anyone else. EVER AGAIN.
—I’m pissed.
Phase four thousand, three hundred and eighty-nine of the refurb is going to shit. I had the front stoop torn off. Jimbo started with the exterior and, since he’s only working in his free time, I’ll be lucky if it’s done by the time Knox starts high school.
Just like with all previous phases, I blame this one on you, too. If I have to live in the country, my house is going to look like a Christmas card—
“Hey. Did she text?”
Dammit. I didn’t hear her and I always hear everything.
She’s standing there barefoot in tight leggings and a tank top. Looking at me curiously, she tries again. “Asa? Did she say if the caterer was free?”
My eyes drop to her phone I shouldn’t be reading, but am. Holding it up so she can see what I found, her gaze drops to the screen and her eyes go big. She takes a step back, uttering, “Oh, shit.”
*****
Keelie
He found it.
Oh, fuck. I forgot it was even there. I haven’t thought about it in weeks.
“I told Danielle you’d get back with her.” He looks at me carefully, guarded, and dammit, almost like he’s studying me. “Thought it didn’t go through because you had an undeliverable notification, but it did. Instead I found a whole string of undeliverables.”
My insides dro
p. Just when I think I know him, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Oh, fuck. What’s he thinking?
He looks down to my phone again and adds, “To David.” He looks up, narrowing his eyes and asks carefully, “You text your dead husband?”
“It’s not what you think,” I spit out, my heart beating so strong, it’s echoing in my ears with fear. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re thinking. But I’m not keeping anything from you.”
He sets my phone on the counter between us and lowers his voice. “Okay.”
“I forgot all about it. It’s not even sent to anyone—it’s just his name, and I started it forever ago. When I started seeing my therapist—he, he wanted me to journal. But to sit down and put my thoughts on paper after what David did to me … and then after he died … it was just too depressing, but I was so angry. It’s like every other stage hit me quick and passed, but the anger … it dug itself in deep, like it was rooted in my soul and wouldn’t leave. It was so heavy, there were some days I couldn’t take it. I found it easier just to rattle off texts here and there. It didn’t bring me down, and once I got something off my chest, I’d quit obsessing. It became sort of a weird habit.” All of a sudden, so many words are banging around my fucked-up head, I can’t get them out fast enough to defend myself. This is so off-the-charts crazy, I wouldn’t blame him if he grabbed his kids and ran at the speed of light. Who texts their dead spouse for more than a year with hate messages? But he can’t leave me now—not over this. Oh, please. Not over this. I can’t stop talking, so I lamely add, “I tend to obsess.”
His response comes quick. “I know, baby.”
“Please don’t…” I pause, having no clue how to explain myself. Instead, I panic. “I was going to say, please don’t think I’m a freak, but I think it’s too late for that. Just … please trust me—I’ve stopped.”
He takes a step closer. “I trust you.”
As much as I want to be near him, to touch him, I step back. “I’m sorry. If it makes it any better, I think I’m done with my therapist. It’s been weighing on me with my next appointment coming up. I haven’t even…” I motion toward my damn phone, “done that in weeks—I’m good. I promise. I mean, I think I’m good.”
He holds his hand out for me. “Come here.”
I shake my head and amend my comment. “No. I’m definitely good, finally, because of you,” I feel my damn eyes well up again. “You know, relatively speaking.”
“You’re killing me, baby.” He takes the last step separating us, and before I can move, grabs my hand, pulling me to him. “Stop talking.”
I allow him to wrap me up in his arms, pressing my face into his chest and try to control my tears. “I just don’t want you to think I’m hung up on the past. I love you. I’ve never been more sure about anything.”
He puts his lips to the top of my head and his voice is low and rough. “Never doubted that, Keelie.”
“I’m so fucked up.” I sniffle into his chest. “I’m sorry you found that. I should’ve told you, or deleted it, but I forgot all about it with everything that’s happened.”
“I just read how you fell in love with me. I’m going to have an issue if you delete that.”
I lift my head to look at him through my watery eyes. “You want to keep my journal to my dead husband? You might be just as fucked up as me.”
“Because of your history, I get Knox and Saylor, along with you. Never regret that. Can’t do anything about the past—it’s time to look ahead. You love me?”
I lift up onto my toes. “So much it hurts.”
“That’s all I need.” He leans down to deepen my kiss. “You sure you’re done with the therapist?”
I nod and swallow over the lump in my throat, more relieved than I’ve ever been. “I am.”
“If you’re not, you need to tell me. I’ll do everything I can to take care of you, baby.”
“I know.” I close my eyes and press into him, finally feeling settled. I’m home—for the first time since I moved to the farm, I’m home because I’m in his arms. “I know you will.”
Chapter 29
Never
Keelie
Standing here in Brett White’s office, I watch him rub his face, looking more frustrated than I’ve ever seen him. I know this is only his second year, but it’s been a challenging one. I don’t blame him for wanting it all to be over with.
He leans back and looks out his window. When he glances back to me, he says, “I’m trying to decide how to proceed. I don’t want to be an alarmist—you know how parents can be. Then again, we can’t overlook something as serious as this. Tell me again how you came about this information.”
It’s not an actual rule that a school employee can’t date a parent, but I’m sure it wouldn’t look great. Even though it’s not exactly a secret I’m dating Asa Hollingsworth, the principal isn’t really in the grapevine circles. I have no idea if he knows and I’m not about to tell him. The fact that Asa and his children have moved into my home is something I really have no desire to explain. “Emmerson Hollingsworth is my student—you’re aware of all that’s happened with her this year. Well, her father works in law enforcement. He got a tip and felt it important we know.”
The law enforcement part is a stretch, but oh well.
“I see. I’ll contact Beth’s parents right away, they deserve to know their daughter might have been a target of trafficking. Those poor people—they’re devastated. I’ll draft an email and send it to the parent distribution list.” He stands and shrugs. “But we don’t have concrete evidence. I can’t just throw around speculations. I can remind parents of school policies—especially with graduation coming up next week—and encourage families to be more aware.”
I hide my disapproval. “Thanks for your time. I just wanted you to know.”
I stand and make my way to leave his office when he calls for me. “Keelie?”
I look back.
“We all know how rumors can become fake news. Until we get more evidence, let’s keep this under wraps. I don’t need a line of parents knocking my door down demanding answers I don’t have.”
I try to remain passive and not frown. “I came to you with this for a reason. I know it’s only our second year working together, but I don’t gossip. I hope I’ve proven I’m nothing but professional.”
My mind goes back to Asa kissing me in my office, but whatever. Besides that—and the fact two of my students are now living in my home and their father is in my bed—I’m nothing but professional.
“Sorry, Keelie. Of course, you’ve proven to be nothing but.” He shoots me a genuine expression. “Just had to cover my bases.”
I give him my winning fake-smile in return. “Good.”
I scurry back to my office, not at all interested in talking about my so-called professionalism. When it gets right down to it, I don’t give a shit.
I’ve never felt the way I do with Asa. If I have to find another job, it’ll suck, but I’ll do it.
*****
“I’m sorry, Maggie. We’re at the end of the year. If you don’t pass your biology final, you’ll either have to take it this summer or again next year. If you choose to wait until next year, you won’t be on track to graduate.”
“Can’t you do something?”
It’s not hard to hear since they’re in the next office with his door open. I’m not sure what Maggie is begging for. Tom can’t do anything to change her grades.
“You’ve got a few days. Talk to Mrs. Browning, ask her to sit down and go through the review material with you. But this is on you. All you have to do is pass the final to squeak by with a D. It’s your only hope at this point.”
“Please, Mr. Logan,” Maggie begs.
“I’ve tried to talk to you about your choices this semester. There’s nothing more I can do,” Tom explains and I hear him sigh. “Would you like me to set up a time with Mrs. Browning after school tomorrow? I can fit it into my schedule if you’d like.”
; Maggie sniffles and agrees, “I guess. Science is so stupid. I’m never going to use it for anything.”
“Unfortunately, the rest of the academic world disagrees with that notion. Meet me back here tomorrow and bring all your material. We’ll review until Mrs. Browning can get here.”
I hear Maggie groan and look up from my desk to see her scurry out of the counseling center. It seems Maggie Stockton has made poor choices all around. There are always students who do, but she’s working hard at screwing things up for herself this year.
When Tom passes by a few minutes later, I call out for him. “Tom?”
He reappears, standing in my doorway. He’s either angry or frustrated—probably a little of both. “Yeah?”
“You’ve had a hard first year. I promise, it’s not normally this bad. Seems like the end of the alphabet is a glutton for punishment, huh?”
He shakes his head and shrugs. “Trial by fire, I guess. It’s fine. The year’s almost over.”
I nod my head to where Maggie just left. “I know she’s been a hard one—the drugs, suspension, and now her grades. I really thought seeing Beth Thorton OD and make such a slow recovery would’ve knocked some sense into her.”
Tom sighs. “You’d think.”
“It’s taxing, I know. But we always have next year, right?” I smile and he gives me a look that says it can’t get worse than this.
“I’m going to get some fresh air and grab a sandwich. You want anything?” he asks.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
I can’t help but feel sorry for him as he leaves. Not a fun first year, that’s for sure.
*****
Raymond Wallace
“You can’t fucking make me do it. You can’t make me do anything,” I sneer.
He laughs at me through the phone. He has the fuckin’ balls to laugh at me. “It was only a week ago, but you must have forgotten the evidence I have linking you to a girl who barely survived a fentanyl overdose. It needs to be done in the next two days and you’ll be the one to do it.”
