“Yeah. Tell me, what I should say to Nick Mathers? Our star quarterback has a learning disability and can’t pass math for the life of him. What do I tell his single mom who is on welfare and raising four kids, praying to God that Nick earns a football scholarship so he can go to college? What do I tell her when I have to bench him because he can’t ever make a practice because he needs constant tutoring in math to, hopefully, maintain a C average?”
The presence of teachers on the other side of the door and craning necks reminded her to stay professional. “You tell her you are thrilled that this year he will meet the math standards because he has a mentor and an after school program lined up for him.”
“And football?”
“Let me ask you something, Coach.”
He crossed his thick arms and scowled.
“What do you tell Ms. Mathers when Nick gets injured his freshman year in college, can’t play football, and is no longer receiving scholarship money? What do you tell her when Nick has to drop out of college because he doesn’t have the academic drive he needs to succeed because his high school said barely passing with a D was enough? Football won’t last forever, but his education will. You should know that.”
“Touché, Ms. Fulton.” His shoulders seemed to slouch, if that was possible.
“Is this the way you treat all your superiors? Don’t forget, Coach, I am the principal here. If you have a problem with my policies or me, feel free to bring it up at the next school board meeting. If you plan on being a part of my staff, you better learn how to play by the rules.”
The door didn’t actually slam behind her when she left; thankfully, the slow release hinges wouldn’t allow it. Storming off in a temper tantrum wasn’t exactly the way she imagined her first few days as principal in the small town. She held her own until she got to the bathroom and hurled her breakfast into the toilet.
* * * *
The constant tick of the second hand of her wall clock usually calmed her. But right now it irked her. All things considered, the first full day of school with the entire student body went exceptionally well. Barbara Hardy had proven she fully deserved her title as “Super Secretary.” After twenty years at the school, she knew every staff member, student—including his or her families—and where to find everything in the school.
Rotating her stiff neck in her hands, Meg smiled as she overheard Emma in the front office.
“Hi, Mrs. Hardy. Is the boss in?”
“Where else would she be? You Fulton girls work too much. Go on back. She’s beat. Take her home and draw a nice warm bath.”
“You should take your own advice, Mrs. Hardy.” Emma smiled as she strolled into her mother’s office. “Long day?”
“You could say that. I’ll race you home, but I call shotgun on the tub,” Meg said as she pulled her keys out of her purse.
“No can do. I’m pulling an all-nighter. Coach needs me to be at the game tonight. Shawn’s wife started having contractions. Guess I’ll be part of your staff for a few months.”
Meg loved having her daughter work in the same school. A recent college graduate, Emma had a part time job as a physical therapist in town but continued looking for full-time work. When Meg heard the athletic trainer planned on taking some paternity time, she encouraged Emma to apply.
Now she wasn’t so sure about the job. Emma volunteered in the afternoons, working with and learning the medical conditions of the high school athletes. Part of her job included getting to know the coaches as well and their practice and training procedures.
Which included befriending Coach McKay.
“Why don’t you stick around for the football game tonight, Mom? This is your first school with a football program. You might even learn something,” Emma teased.
“I’ll pass. My bathtub and the bottle of chocolate wine I discovered at the store last week sound much more appealing.” Meg kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Have fun tonight. I’ll wait up for you.”
“I’m a big girl. No need to wait up. I’ll probably head out to Martha’s Pub with the coaches after the game. You should come.”
“No thanks,” Meg mumbled as she plastered on a fake smile.
The next few hours moved slowly. Too wound up to sleep and looking forward to “girl talk” with her daughter, Meg stayed awake, flipping through the channels. Not even Jimmy Kimmel could distract her sullen mood. Waiting up for Emma brought back memories from her daughter’s teenage years.
When Meg had started giving Emma a few more freedoms, the thick, hostile air between them slowly began to clear. There was no way she’d allow her sixteen-year-old to practice driving around the busy streets of Boston; much less get in a car with some of her newly licensed friends. Meg knew all too well about the evils that lurked in a teenager’s car, which had led to many arguments with her daughter.
“You’re so not fair! If I can’t drive, I should be able to walk! What’s the point of living in a city if you can’t do anything but sit around all day and do homework?”
“The streets are dangerous, Emma. I need to know you’re safe.”
“Then can you drive me to the party? The basketball team just won the state—”
“No! No parties. I don’t want you getting into trouble.”
“Oh my God, Mom. Seriously! Can’t you even trust me for a minute? I’m almost sixteen.”
“You’re a child. Stop trying to grow up so fast.”
Six years later, the attitude had dropped, but the worry still lingered. Nothing would ever stop the worrying.
Headlights in the driveway jolted her mind back to the present. She wasn’t waiting for her daughter to return from a friend’s house—or a party. Thankfully Emma made it through high school without battle scars, unlike Meg.
Meg watched her daughter quietly open the door and flip on the living room light. Slipping out of her sneakers and dropping her keys inside the stinky shoes. Emma yawned and closed the front door behind her before she noticed Meg. “Mom, really. You didn’t need to wait up.” She plopped on the couch and rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. Most would interpret the gesture as a sign that Emma was wiped and about to fall asleep. One of the quirks Meg loved about her daughter was her constant energy and her always-running mouth. Well, it wasn’t always a good, but tonight it made Meg smile.
“You’ve got some decent kids in your school. I knew a few girls already from the field hockey camp this summer, but it’s super cool to watch the way they play now. Awesome. Brings back memories.” Emma jumped up and strolled into the kitchen. “Ice cream?”
“Sure,” Meg said, following her. She took out two bowls out of the cabinet and placed them on the counter.
“And that football team. Wow. So freaking cool. Coach is amazing. The best. I’m in awe. The kids look up to him, and it seems like the coaches do too. You should see the way they work the sidelines, so focused and in tune with the game and their players. Not a single injury tonight. One really awesome tackle I figured for sure would have given Nick Mathers a concussion, but coach does so much conditioning. The team is really healthy. They didn’t really even need me.”
“You’re spending too much time around teenagers. You’re morphing back into one yourself,” Meg teased.
Oh, her precious Emma. Never coming up for air, talking about every little detail of her day. Every personal encounter, every thought that entered her mind. How she ended up being the extrovert was beyond Meg’s imagination. Emma definitely didn’t inherit her social skills from her mother. The image of the father turned Meg’s smile into a frown. No, don’t go there. She’s nothing like him.
“And. Oh. My. God, Mom.” Emma held her hands up, palms out. “After the game, I went to Martha’s with the coaches and a few teachers. You’ve got a totally cool staff, by the way. And coach…did I tell you how awesome he is on the field? Well, yeah in person he’s laid back, funny, cool. Don’t worry. I’m not going for the trophy wife image.” She waved her spoon in the air. “He’s totally old enough to be my dad
. Well, maybe not that old. But anyway…” She stopped long enough to shovel a few oversized bites of ice cream down her throat.
Meg held her spoon midway to her mouth and gaped at her daughter.
“Kidding, Mom. Anyway, maybe you should ask him out. He’s totally hot. I can give you the goods on him.”
“The goods?”
“Yeah, like if he’s single, married, divorced, a player. Stuff like that.” Emma finished her ice cream, scraping the bowl for every last drop of mint chocolate chip. “I’m pretty sure he’s single. Maybe divorced? Dunno.” Emma scraped the bottom of her bowl and licked her spoon.
“I’m all set,” she murmured and tossed her empty bowl in the sink.
Emma leaned against the counter and pouted. “What’s the point of being in the same school if I can’t give you the inside scoop?”
Meg shut the kitchen light off and searched for the remote in the living room. “And here I assumed you were excited about working in the same school as me because you loved me so much.” She leaned down and kissed the top of Emma’s head.
“I heard some talk about you today.”
She knew where the conversation was headed, but Meg would not fall into the gossip mill. She didn’t care what students or staff said about her. She fought to get to where she was, and no amount of gossip would pull her back to the deep dark hole that took her life away so many years ago.
“All good stuff,” Emma said.
She didn’t care what others said about her. Or so she told herself.
“Mostly about your clothes. Shoes. Hair.”
“Emma, seriously, I don’t care.”
“Uh-huh. Then why do you dress like one of Tracy’s customers? We’re living in a hick-town. No need for high fashion here.”
“I can’t help if my best friend is a fashion consultant and I acquire tons of great clothes shipped to me on a regular basis. Besides, I have to look professional. I’m the principal.”
Emma snorted. “Mom, have you noticed the way people dress around here? We’re in New Hampshire. Three hours from Boston. The closest mall is forty-five minutes away. Flannel is the material of choice.”
“You’re exaggerating.” Meg tried walking away from the conversation by turning off the television and heading upstairs, but her stubborn daughter tagged behind and continued prodding.
“Okay, so the flannel will probably come out in the winter, but the teachers are all casual. No suit and tie for the guys. I like it. They don’t seem so stuffy.”
Meg turned to her daughter. Emma’s long, dark hair was identical to hers, but her those large, blue eyes mirrored someone else’s. They were so beautiful, but also a haunting reminder of the past. They twinkled in a way that brought joyful memories.
So many feelings were expressed in those beautiful blue eyes. God blessed her daughter with a love of life.
“Yoo-hoo. Earth to Mom.” Emma waved her hand in front of her mother’s face.
Meg shook free from her thoughts, walked into her bathroom, and then squirted toothpaste on her toothbrush. “Hmm? What are you still bantering away on? Clothes, is it?”
“No, Mom. That was so five minutes ago. I asked you if you’ve talked with him yet.”
“Who?”
“Coach. He totally looks like Bret Favre. But not in a creepy, sexting way. The old Bret Favre. Well, the younger one before he got into his bit of trouble.”
“Who? What?”
“Packers. Jets. Vikings. Sexting. He’s got a little Tom Brady action going too. Forget it. You don’t pay attention to football, but do you know the coach?”
“Coach?”
Sighing, Emma shook her head with growing impatience. “Now who sounds like the teenager? Are you even listening to me? McKay. Connor McKay. Have you met him yet? He’s the head football and baseball coach but also teaches history. I realize you have a pretty big staff, and you’ve only been there a few weeks but he’s kinda hard to forget.”
Oh, that hot coach. Hot, arrogant, stubborn, and obstinate with amazing blue eyes and a body that could make her feel safe…or hunted. “Yeah, I met him.” The last thing she needed was for her daughter to be in the middle of a stupid battle with a teacher. She turned away from her nosey daughter and brushed her teeth.
“Come on, Mom. Don’t you think he’s hot? It’s been like forever since you’ve gone on a date, but you’re not that old.”
She raised an annoyed eyebrow. “That old? Gee, thanks. If you’re done with your little interrogation of my clothing and lack of social life, I’m going to bed.”
Some days, her mind and body seemed geriatric. And moments, rare moments, when she actually felt younger than her age. Ironically, it took her twenty-two-year-old daughter to make her feel young and vibrant.
It seemed like only yesterday Emma and Meg fought about everything, a volatile combination of puberty and denial. When Emma entered junior high, she had started her allure toward sports. Meg had fought her tooth and nail, steering her in the direction of drama, music, and art. Any subject but sports.
“You’re so unfair, Mom. Why can’t I try out for softball?” Emma’s ponytail swayed with the sassy move of her head.
“You could get hurt, baby. Besides, softball won’t get you anywhere in life. A good education will.”
“Please. I’m twelve. I’m not quitting school, just picking up sports. I’m good, Mom. Mr. Faber asked me the other day in gym if I’d try out for his softball team. We’re playing it in gym, and I’m wicked good.”
“No. You need to keep your grades up and playing sports is going to interfere with what’s important.”
“I hate you! You want me to be like dumb, boring you! All you did was study in school and look how you turned out! You have no life and you’re jealous of me and my friends!”
Emma hit the nail on the head with that argument. Once Meg backed off and allowed her daughter to grow up into her own person, they became extremely close. Sometimes Meg wondered if her role as mother was over. Lately, she felt more like her daughter’s best friend. They were complete opposites but complimented each other beautifully and appreciated each other’s differences. Too bad it wasn’t that easy with all of her acquaintances.
Punching her pillow, Meg rolled over and tried to fall asleep, but she couldn’t help mulling over her conversation with Connor McKay.
Touché.
What did he mean by that? She didn’t personally attack the man, yet he sounded offended and almost defeated by something she said. Sure he tried to hide it, but she struck a nerve with him. He’d been completely bigheaded, smug, snobbish, and domineering in the three days since she first met him. Yet her daughter described him as funny, cool, laid back and…hot. Okay, she could secretly admit he was hot if she was into the chiseled, scruffy, strong type, which she wasn’t, but he definitely was not laid back.
During every conversation she had with the man she could see the muscles in his jaw flex, his veins protrude from his very thick neck. Men like that used their physical strength to get what they wanted. And the fact he represented everything she despised, well that was the nail in his proverbial coffin. Hopefully their dislike for one another wouldn’t affect Emma. If he treated her any differently because she was Meg’s daughter, he’d have hell to pay.
Chapter 3
The first months of school went much better than expected. Athletes griped about being held accountable, but like Meg predicted, very few were benched. Instead, it seemed to be the motivating factor to stay on top of their studies. The after-school help sessions and study groups not only raised the athletes’ grades, but other members of the student body also wanted to join in. The small handful of students who dropped off the teams had no desire to further their education and were directed toward the alternative education programs or given a tutor to help with their academic struggles. All in all, the administration and the staff at NHS continued to work extremely hard with all students, not just the athletes. The morale among the teachers slowly improv
ed once they realized they too received the support they needed to meet the needs of their students.
The school wasn’t so large that she could prevent running into Connor McKay, but she did her best to avoid him. They had not spoken a word to each other since the incident in the conference room unless they were in front of dozens of other teachers. His football team had been playing well, so he had nothing to complain about—or so she hoped. Meg figured as soon as they lost a game he’d come storming into her office, blaming the season’s first loss on her, but it never happened.
Shawn, the school’s Athletic Director, had asked to work part-time for the remainder of the school year. His newborn son had complications from a heart defect and he needed to dedicate his time to his family. Emma was a shoe-in for the AD position, but Meg needed to go through the correct procedures. The superintendent and the school board asked for an official evaluation of Emma before they would type up a formal contract, not only from the coaches but from Meg as well. They trusted her to keep her personal attachment aside and write up a fair evaluation, which required her to interview the coaches Emma worked with.
Including Connor McKay.
Avoiding conversation with him had allowed the school year to run smoothly, but she had procrastinated as much as possible; the report was due in the morning. And, of course, it was parent-teacher conference night. Parents filled most of Connor’s slots—being the most popular teacher—so she had to settle for the last appointment of the night.
Meg showed up outside Connor’s door promptly at ten minutes to nine, clutching a clipboard to her chest. Not a second earlier—no need in adding to their lengthy ten minutes—but not wanting to be late. She smoothed her hand down her black turtleneck sweater and picked imaginary lint off her gray slacks.
Nine o’clock rolled around, and he was still talking with the same set of parents. She toyed with the idea of leaving, claiming she needed to head home, but the conference was for Emma.
Meg smiled politely as the parents exited the room. Connor shuffled papers around on his desk and looked up at Meg.
False Start (The McKay-Tucker Men Series Book 1) Page 2
