He withdraws his hand from his pocket and holds up a small tin. “Here are your mints back.”

I wave him off as I open the door and tuck myself into the driver’s seat, careful not to let my skirt ride up. When I look up his eyes are on my legs. My hose have a lacy-looking pattern on them. They’re sexy, but still professional. “Keep them. Who knows when I’ll push your pissed-off button and you’ll need them again.” I close the door before he can reply, and then put on my seat belt, check the rearview mirror, and back out of the spot.

He’s still standing where I left him, mints in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

chapter eight

AUNT FLOW WOES

Daxton

Despite the shitty circumstances, I remember exactly why I was semi-obsessed with Kailyn during college. We used to banter all the time during class discussions, volley comments back and forth with the teacher as the mediator. I very rarely won the arguments, but the challenge and the hard-ons were totally worth it.

She was always a tell-it-like-it-is, no-bullshit girl, and that hasn’t changed at all. I’ve only ever seen her drop that cool, unaffected front once, maybe twice, since I’ve met her.

I don’t know what I did to make her dislike me so much, other than earning the top spot in the class, but she seems to have a pretty serious hate-on for me. That rivalry used to amp me up back then, and apparently it still does.

As soon as she pulls out of the lot, I make a necessary adjustment in my pants and head to my car. I can hear Emme singing from twenty feet away, the bass of whatever song she has on making the windows rattle.

I startle her when I open the door, and she hastily turns down the volume.

“I’m really sorry,” she says quietly as I pull out of the lot and head toward my office.

“I know. How long has this Billy kid been bullying you?”

She fidgets with the sleeve of her hoodie. “Like, since sixth grade. It’s not new, it’s just worse now, or it feels that way. I could’ve handled the cartoon, but then he had that stupid meme of you—you know, the one where you’re crying. I told him to leave me alone and he wouldn’t so I punched him. He deserved it, Dax. He was being an ass—jerk!”

If it had been me in her place, if I were closer to her age and some kid did that to her, would I have just let it slide? Probably not. “Violence is never the answer.”

She hangs her head. “I know.”

“But I’m glad you stood up for yourself and didn’t let that punk push you around.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Next time use your words. What he did was wrong, but so was punching him, even if he deserved it.”

“I know.” After a few beats of silence she asks, “So you’re not mad at me?”

“I’m not mad. I can’t even say I’m disappointed. I know why you did what you did, but it’s not a good way to handle conflict. You need to start talking to me instead of reacting. Or talking to your guidance counselor, or the school social worker.”

“But she’ll tell Aunt Linda what I say.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because Aunt Linda’s always hanging out after I’ve been in to see Miss Garrett. I don’t want to say anything that’s going to get back to Aunt Linda because then she might be able to take me away from you.”

I worry that she’s acting out when normally she’s such a good kid. “You have to talk to me, though, Emme. None of us can help you if you keep it all inside. I’ll call your counselor tomorrow, but you have to meet with her, and actually speak. That’s part of the deal. It’s how I got you out of an official suspension.”

“I can go to school tomorrow?” She seems mildly shocked, and maybe just the tiniest bit disappointed.

“No, you have the rest of the week off, but it’s not a formal suspension. I’m not leaving you at home alone, though, so you’ll be coming to work with me.”

“I can stay home by myself.”

“And watch TV all day? Not a chance. You punch a kid in the face, there are consequences. Your punishment is boredom. No TV until Sunday night.”

“What?” Her pitch is nearly dog-whistle high.

“You heard me. No TV, actually, no electronics period. That includes your phone.”

Her eyes are anime wide. “Are you insane?”

Probably. “Consequences, Emme, there are always consequences.”

“But you said he deserved it!”

“Doesn’t mean that’s what you should’ve done.”

“Why are you punishing me for it when I’m already being punished by the school?”

I side-eye her. “Let’s be real. Two days off from school is not a punishment. It’s a holiday. Do you know what would happen if I punched someone in the face?”

“You’d break their nose,” she mutters.

“Possibly, and also my fist, but I’d be charged. I’d have a criminal record. Do you know how hard it is to get a job with a criminal record? Especially one for violent behavior?”

“Okay, okay. I get it! Don’t hit people! I just want him to leave me alone, and sometimes I get so mad.” Her hands are balled into fists in her lap as we pull into the underground parking lot.

Her voice is quieter when she says, “I miss Mom and Dad. I miss the way Mom smells. I miss her hugs. I miss everything, and stupid Billy Horton thinks it’s some big joke that they’re gone, but it’s not. I just want them back. I keep thinking one day they’re going to walk through the door and that it was someone else’s family in that accident, not mine.”

She dissolves into tears. I have to unbuckle my seat belt and awkwardly side hug her, internally punching my own face for taking it one step too far.

I wish I had someone to bounce this stuff off of. I think about the way Kailyn hugged her and offered her support today and worry that I’m not going to be enough.

Word to the wise, instituting an electronics ban on a thirteen-year-old is the worst torture in the world, and not just for her, but for me, too. Because the whining is incessant. I imagine this must be what hell is like.

It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours yet, but it feels like an eternity. I end up having to suspend the ban the following day because Emme has homework that requires her laptop. I also have to allow her to use her phone because I’m dropping her off at the library while I meet with Kailyn. I would take her with me, but I don’t want to create more anxiety for her.

The library is only a block from Kailyn’s office, but I don’t feel right about not having a way to get in touch with Emme. The ban seemed good in theory, but not so much in practice.

“I suspended the data,” I tell her as I pull into the library parking lot.

She gapes at me. “You didn’t have to do that. I wouldn’t have texted my friends. They’re all in class anyway, and I don’t want anyone to get in trouble because of me.” She stuffs the phone in her pocket, punches the release on her seat belt, and gets out of the car, closing the door harder than necessary.

I arrive at Kailyn’s office at 11:25 with coffee in hand. Yesterday wasn’t a shining moment for me. I hadn’t expected her to be at the school, witnessing what felt like my first failure at parenting.

I have a plan today. And it includes an apology for being a jerk, recently and back in college. Maybe what I perceived as a friendly rivalry, she perceived as something else. My friends were always making comments, so it’s possible she took them personally when they weren’t meant that way. She proved yesterday that she’s trying to help, so I should attempt to be civil even if she’s prickly as fuck with me.

Her assistant does that blinking thing women often do when they recognize me. She did it the last time I was here, too. I’m not being an egotistical jerk, it’s just a fact. First comes the fast blinks, then the hair and/or clothing adjustments. Then the wide smile and the fidgeting, followed by the high-pitched greeting.

“Mr. Hughes!” And there’s the high pitch.

“It’s just Dax. How are you this morning, Cara?”

“Great! Fantastic. Let me see if Miss Flowers is ready for you.” Instead of picking up the phone, she pushes back her chair. Her skirt today is a little on the short side for office wear, but it’s not my office, and she’s not my assistant, so maybe it’s appropriate here.

She returns a minute later with Kailyn in tow. I do a complete visual sweep, starting at her face and moving slowly— slower than I should, probably—over her. She’s wearing another pencil skirt, complete with jacket. It’s black today, the jacket buttoned, highlighting the dip in her waist and her hourglass figure. Her legs are encased in black hose with a delicate pattern on them. I don’t know why I find them so sexy, but I do.

In law school she used to wear these funny shirts, or funkycolored jeans or shoes. She was always serious in class, but she wore her personality and apparently still does. I keep scanning until I reach her feet. Her heels are fire-engine red. I bet they’d look amazing resting on my shoulders with that skirt pushed up to her waist and that crisp white blouse unbuttoned. I wonder if she’s wearing thigh highs and garters. Probably not, I decide.