Ready For It (MacAteer Brothers Book 2)

by ML Nystrom

  She frowned at me when I sat down next to her. “Where’ve you been? Game’s almost over.”

  There was no way I’d tell her what occurred with Robert or the coach. “Magnus ditched me. Mind if I bum a ride home?”

  Matilda’s nose crinkled. “OMG, he’s such a douche. Sure thing.”

  For the rest of the quarter, I smiled a lot, laughed a lot, chatted a lot, made comments about the game, clothes people wore, the cheerleaders, and anything else that my brain produced. I came home to a dark house. My father was more than likely out catting around, while my mother lay passed out drunk in her room.

  I walked stiffly into my own room and shut the door with a soft click. I started undressing and that one act turned frantic. A whimper escaped my throat as I tore the clothes from my body and threw them on the floor. No. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

  My favorite bra sat on top of the pile. I looked at it for a long moment, my mind going blank, before I picked it up and tossed it in the trash.

  A cry burst from my throat, and my eyes popped open as I ripped out of the dream. More like nightmare memory. I told no one about the incident, thinking I wouldn’t be believed. My word against theirs? Yeah, right. Other girls who had talked of being cornered and touched by Robert had been ridiculed and labeled as psycho bitches. Hindsight being 20/20, it would have been a small price to pay for keeping my dignity. Instead, I kept my mouth shut and dealt with it like everyone else: by ignoring it.

  I uncurled my hands from the tight fists I’d made. Rigid with tension, I lay flat on my bed. Wet from my eyes dripped down my temples, and I swallowed the huge lump in my throat.

  The two-game suspension didn’t happen. Robert played lacrosse, and I stayed silent. Now, years later, I still kept silent. Some things in life you shared with your people to get them off your chest and find a peaceful resolution and relief. Others, you took to your grave for fear of what other people would think. I wondered if that ever killed anyone.

  Junior distracted me from my musings by doing a morning stretch with all four limbs in all directions. “Oh, jeez, kid. You’re gonna make me pee myself.”

  I had to pee a lot these days. My bladder had become Junior’s trampoline, and his antics had become very visible. I could be standing in conversation with someone with the alien noticeably moving around in my belly. My breath would catch at the flips, kicks, and pushes. His ginormous four-way stretches made me fear for the classic sci-fi movie scene. The real kicker? I still had three months to go.

  I got up to take care of immediate business and get my day started. We were entering the phase of the school calendar that some teachers loved and some dreaded. The holidays. Hallowgivingmas to be exact. Witches and ghosts sat across from cornucopias and Santa’s helpers on store shelves. People were making treks to the mountains to see the green foliage turn into the colorful shades of fall, and of course there was pumpkin-spice-flavored everything.

  Exam and SAT prep had started up, and my tutoring schedule filled quickly. Some of my students had to be helped through late-evening Skype sessions, as their after-school activities and my tutoring hours didn’t always mesh. I always made sure the parents knew about the online meetings, and I tried to put two or three students in at the same time. Even with whatever streamlining I could manage, my days were still incredibly long. Somehow, I still had to fit in doctor visits, start birthing classes, and sign up for the breastfeeding seminar. OMG, babies were a lot of work, and the little booger hadn’t even arrived yet.

  Still, I managed to snag a real estate agent and get a list of properties to see. I had paid for my condo outright years ago, and with the housing market on the rise, I should turn a profit when I sell it. Or should I rent it out? Owen still lived in his camper thingy in the back of Bevvie’s house. Maybe he would be interested in my condo?

  I hadn’t seen him much in the last two weeks since the football game when we ran into Jerry. I texted him about coming with me to see some houses and he texted back an affirmative, but not much more than that. I got the impression he was mad at me, but I had no idea why. I didn’t have the time or patience to deal with it, anyway.

  I moved sluggishly through my morning routine. Jeez, I was so fucking tired! Crazy-ass dreams, memories, or whatever had kept me from any serious REM sleep, and it showed. I considered calling in for a sub and taking the day off, but I needed to keep my sick time for the upcoming maternity leave. Besides that, my calculus class had been struggling, and any lost class time would put them even more behind.

  “You look like shit, Mellie.” Bevvie poured herself a huge cup of coffee in the teachers’ lounge.

  “Thanks. I feel like it, too. How the hell did you do this four times?”

  “I’m talented like that.” She sipped at the oily brew and frowned. “Blech. I think John made this pot. It’s strong enough to grow hair from your ears. Watch out for grains at the bottom.”

  “I could use a serious caffeine jolt, but not a good idea for Junior.” I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and popped a prenatal vitamin in my mouth. “Why do they have to make these things the size of horse pills?”

  “Damn, you’re in a pissy mood. You sure you need to be here?”

  The missile moved down my esophagus and landed with a thud in my stomach. “Nope, I shouldn’t be here. I should be home in bed catching up on all the sleep I didn’t get last night, but that’s not going to happen. I figure this is practice for after Junior arrives and sleepless nights become the norm.”

  Beverly laughed as she added more creamer. “Yeah, it’s the norm all right. I haven’t had a decent eight hours since Abby’s birth. You worry about them being born, then about hunger, wetness, cleanliness, boo-boos, sickness, stitches, grades, team sports, circles of friends, college years, drugs, drinking….”

  I held up my hand. “Stop. You’re not helping.”

  My BFF had the gall to laugh at me.

  “I’m serious, Bevvie. How am I going to handle this by myself?”

  Her face dropped its comedic look and grew thoughtful. She pulled the water bottle out of my hand and put both that and her cup down. She took both of my hands in hers and held them tight while giving me the deepest, most heartfelt look she’d ever given me. “Because you’re not alone and never will be.”

  Tears burned, threatening to fall, and I had to swallow hard. My smartass self had no words, so I just nodded.

  She shrugged and turned back to her coffee. “Abby is planning on a European trip from the babysitting money she plans to get from you. Sarah says she’s ready to move in with you to help you cook so neither you nor the baby will starve.”

  Solemn moment over. I laughed and dashed at my wet eyes.

  “You still on for the Lamaze thing tonight?”

  She took another sip of the freshly doctored coffee, made a face, and dumped it in the sink. She pulled the glass carafe and dumped it as well. “Yes, I’ll be there. Seven, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Miss Miser, I’d like a word with you.”

  Mr. Bradshaw’s voice made me jump. I hadn’t heard him sneak in the lounge, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at Bevvie. She pressed her lips inward, probably reading my mind.

  “I have a few minutes before my class starts. What can I do for you?”

  “There’s been a complaint against you.”

  I blinked. Formal complaints were supposed to be handled in private, not the teachers’ lounge with people coming in and out. “What kind of complaint?”

  “Mary Pembroke is concerned about her son being on the mathletes team. She doesn’t want Terrence exposed to any licentious behaviors, and she’s afraid you’ll have a bad influence because of… of… uh… your condition.”

  Heat flashed through me, both from anger and embarrassment. I caught Bevvie’s frown from the corner of my eye. She filled the pot from the sink and started making fresh coffee, but kept her mouth shut. “I’m not sure
what you’re implying, Mr. Bradshaw. Does being pregnant make me a bad person?”

  He pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked up at me. “Miss Miser being an unwed mother sends a bad message.”

  “What bad message?”

  “That this behavior is acceptable.”

  “What behavior are you referring to?”

  His face scrunched up with the frustration of being questioned. “The behavior that got you in this condition in the first place.”

  Bevvie turned and I’m sure would have thrown down for me, but I beat her to it. “I’m here every day, all day, Mr. Bradshaw. I’ve taken on extra classes with no complaints. My students get free tutoring from me, whereas the going rate for that service is fifty bucks an hour. My teaching evaluations are outstanding, and my colleagues have made no objections as to how I run the department. My personal life does not enter my professional one. All my doctor appointments are made outside of school hours. I do not talk about my baby to any student in this building. Yes, I am pregnant. Yes, I’m having this baby, and I’m not married. I’m not sure what it is you think I can change about this situation to make Mrs. Pembroke happy.”

  “You shouldn’t be coaching the math team.”

  A stab through the heart would have been less painful. Then my anger flared. “You want me to drop the mathletes so that Mrs. Pembroke will let Terrence be on the team?”

  He drew up to his full height, which barely reached my shoulders. “Yes, Miss Miser, I do.”

  “Mr. Bradshaw, what students qualify for this team?”

  He sputtered and shrunk at my question. “I… uh… I’m not sure exactly.”

  “The department discussed this issue last year and decided the students had to maintain a 90 percent average in all math classes and attend all weekly practices. What competitive divisions do we have?”

  “There’s more than one?”

  God, I wish I could slap the confusion off his face! “Yes, there are. Algebra One and Two, Geometry, Statistics, and Calculus are the ones we have at this school. How many kids do we have in each division?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Depends on the competition. Some are teams of two, some are four, and some are eight. Which divisions do we currently have teams for?”

  “Uh…”

  “We have three. Algebra One, Algebra Two, and Calculus. Wanna know why?”

  The man’s face got redder and redder, but I barreled on.

  “I’m happy to tell you, Mr. Bradshaw. It’s because the other three divisions do not have students with consistently high enough grades. The closest is Alex Askew in Geometry. Wanna know who else is in Geometry? Terrence Pembroke. He has a low C average, did not do well on the preliminary tests, and cannot make the practice sessions because he’s on the cross-country team, the swim team, and his church basketball league.”

  “Mr. Pembroke is not on the math team at all?”

  “No, he is not.” You pompous, arrogant, ignorant asshole!

  “I had not realized—”

  “Furthermore,” I interrupted, “I resent your implications and your judgmental attitude toward me and my child. For the last year, you have undermined me as a teacher, accused me of cheating, taken me to task for issues that have nothing to do with my professional life, and now just tried to embarrass the snot out of me for something that is none of your business or concern. I think you’re trying to find an excuse, any excuse, to fire me. One more time, Mr. Bradshaw. One more time, and I’ll sue you personally for defamation and harassment.”

  He huffed and puffed as he fidgeted with his glasses. “Now, Miss Miser, there is no need to take it that far.”

  “Try me.”

  His mouth opened and closed a few times. He glanced around the room at the few other occupants, but no one met his eye. He cleared his throat. “I suppose it’s best if you stay on as the mathletes coach.”

  Not a pin dropped as he retreated from the room, but after he left, the place exploded with applause.

  “I’ve been wanting to tell that man off for years.”

  “Way to go, Mel!”

  “Outstanding!”

  Bevvie showed a bit more concern. “Damn, Mellie. If that man didn’t have it out for you before, he does now. Watch your back.”

  “He best watch his. I finished the online coursework a year ago for education administration. I qualify for his job now, and he should have retired long ago.” I said jokingly, but her face told me my attempt at levity fell flat.

  “I mean it. He may be an anachronism, but he’s still got connections and power in this city.”

  “We’ll see, Bev. Meanwhile, I’m late for my class. See you tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  The hammer fell with a crack, driving a nail into place. Owen stood up stiffly from his cramped position, and his back popped and cracked as he stretched. Jodie’s remodeled basement space was almost done. Shelves and racks lined two walls; a counter and workbench ran along another. A changing booth sat in one corner. Jodie said she wanted to paint the space herself but had made some noises about having him do it for her because of her lack of free time. She’d started a business selling athletic leggings online and wanted the remodel for her storage and work area. Jerry called it her she shed, but the woman had more going on than just a hobby. She’d mentioned last time she came through the job site that her online store had tripled sales in the last month and she’d considered quitting her day job.

  Jerry’s praises had turned into four more remodels and custom design jobs. Two for kitchens, one for a kids’ playroom, and one for a bathroom. Word of mouth, it seemed, did enough to keep him busy. Connor had backorders for his original handmade furniture, and whenever Owen got a break, he spent a few hours in the woodshop helping his brother. Work and money poured in at a steady pace, making his professional life solid.

  Not so much the personal side.

  Friends. He couldn’t get the word out of his head and it repeated itself over and over again like a music earworm. Friends. Just friends. Friends only. He’d fallen in love with Melanie Miser, and it killed him to be around her as he didn’t think she felt the same way. He had no idea if she’d even be receptive to more than friendship. Words were his biggest enemy, and he could see himself flubbing them spectacularly if he attempted to talk about it to her.

  “This looks fantastic, Owen. Jodie will be so happy to have this finished. Her leggings stock is scattered all over the living and dining rooms. That’s getting on her nerves, and mine as well.” Jerry appeared in the doorway that led from the basement to the garage. “By the way, I gave your contact information to Bob Milhouse. He loved the deck pattern so much, he wants one at his place. Think you can work him in?”

  “Try. Getting cold for outside.”

  Jerry ran his fingers over a shelf. “Yeah, I get that. Say, you know I mentioned Jodie’s sister Bertie? She’s in town now and working on her bed-and-breakfast place. Doesn’t have a name for it yet, but she’s thinking about Hideaway Inn. Cute, right? I think you’d like her once you met her.”

  Owen picked up his power drill and loaded a Philips bit in the chuck. He cursed silently and took it back out to load the extender first. Four drawer wheel tracks were next to be installed, and getting his arm in the back of the cabinet to screw in the back braces could be a challenge. The driver extender helped with that.

  “Not sure. Busy with work.”

  “Bertie is really busy too. Maybe y’all can meet for coffee? It would go a long way to getting my wife off both our backs. Think about it, please?”

  Owen sighed. He knew Jodie Harris was intense when it came to something she wanted. She was like that proverbial dog with a bone. He nodded at Jerry as he lifted the drill with the extender bit and reached to the back of the cabinet. The awkward movement pulled his back muscles as one hand held the brace and the other held the heavy drill.

  “Think about it.”

  “Thanks, Owen. I ’preciate you.”

>   The drill bit into the drywall and spun the screw into the brace. Owen put the tool down to recheck his measurements for the next brace. Jerry made noises and hesitated to leave.

  “Um… say, Owen. Is it because I saw you with Melanie Miser a couple of weeks ago at the football game. She said you were friends, but it looked like you two were dating. Is it serious?”

  Owen took his turn to hesitate. He wanted nothing more than to say yes, it was serious. That he and Melanie were in love and any other woman didn’t have a shot at being with him. However, he couldn’t. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t. Melanie’s feelings toward him were ones of friendship only. She had made that clear.

  Owen lifted the next brace and sighted the spot where it would go. “Not serious. Just friends.” The words burned on his tongue as he uttered them.

  Jerry sounded relieved. “Oh, good. Not that there’s anything wrong with you dating Melanie Miser, but you don’t seem her type. And there was some stuff back in high school.”

  Owen’s focus jumped to high alert. The spot he’d picked for the second brace swam in front of his eyes. He looked back and forth between the first brace and the drywall to regain his bearings. “What stuff?”

  Jerry let out a dismissive raspberry. “Oh, nothing against her. She was always really nice to me. Her brother always acted like an asswipe, but she was cool. It’s… well… there were rumors about her and… stuff.”

  Owen closed his eyes and tried to clear his vision. Nope. No good. He unfurled from the cramped, uncomfortable position and stood up. He needed his tape measure and bubble level, two tools he owned but rarely needed. “What rumors?”

  Jerry’s silence made him look up from where he shuffled through his toolbox. The pudgy man, who usually exuded friendliness, wore a deep frown and kept his eyes to the floor. Fingers of unease crept down Owen’s spine. He stood up to his full height and waited. He expected his towering body to prompt Jerry into answering. Jerry still hedged.