Stay: Changing Tides, Book 1 (4 page)

She cast Rand an apologetic glance. “Captain’s orders. I’ll see you tonight? At the fire meeting?”

Rand’s eyes remained focused on his brother’s back, but he nodded, mumbling something about
strange
as he walked away.

Abby ran to catch up with Brack. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You guess.” He kept up his steady pace. “That’s half-assed appreciation if I’ve ever heard it.”

“Half-assed thank-you for a half-assed offer.” She hurried ahead and turned to walk backward before him. “If you’d offered in a less commanding way, I might be more appreciative.”

“Apples and oranges, Aretha.”

The slight trace of a smile curving his lips sent her heart into palpitations. Did he actually have humor somewhere in that big, broad, delicious chest? “Why do you call me that? It’s atrocious.”

“It really is.” He slowed a bit, his gaze still locked on her own. “Did your parents not like you or something?”

She shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

The way he looked at her gave her the sensation of being stalked by a hungry animal. Tingles suffused her stomach. She shouldn’t like the thought of being hunted down by him. But she did, and the sexy, confident way he walked came in at a hard second.

“What were you doing with my brother?”

“Doing?” Confused by the anger she sensed in his clipped question, she eyed him carefully. “We were just talking.”

He stopped suddenly. “Talking? With his arm around you?”

“So? I slipped and he caught me.” Why she felt defensive escaped her. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

The slight arch of his brow screamed skepticism. “Look, it’s a really bad idea to get involved with another member of the unit.”

“Involved?” Anger washed away her bafflement.

“Yes. If you plan to date Rand—”

“Not that it’s any of your business—” she stepped back a bit, “—but Rand and I are just coworkers.”

“That’s not the way it looked.” One long stride closed the gap between them again, a subtle scowl tightening his lips. “And that’s not how Rand took it, if I read his reactions correctly.”

Son of a— “You’ve got to be kidding me. You have no idea what he was thinking, any more than your ill-formed opinion of me.”

“What I think of you comes from a long litany of proof neatly tied up in your resume.”

That one man could be so infuriating shocked her from the fog of their strange conversation. “So we’re back to that? Is my past that important?”

“Anything or anyone that does, or could, affect my team is all-important.” A slight smirk curved his mouth. “You should know that by now.”

Knew it better than she wanted. “Did you ever think there were more important things in life than your team?”

“At one time, maybe.” An unidentifiable emotion creased his handsome features so briefly she would have missed it if she’d blinked. “But the unit is a top priority.”

“Maybe you need to reprioritize.”

“Maybe you should worry about yourself and let me handle my life.”

“I could say the same.” She didn’t want to fight with him and held a hand up to stall whatever brutal response he could launch her way. “Forget I said that. Are we going to do this every time we talk? Because I’d much rather have a normal conversation with you. Could we start over? Maybe a simple ‘how was your day’?”

Something close to surprise flitted across his face. “How was your day?”

His reluctant tone made her laugh. “Don’t hurt yourself trying. Is it really that hard to be nice?”

“I’m nice.” He had the grace to sound unconvinced.

“Sure.” She backed away, leading them toward the school.

“You just make it difficult.”

The hard edge of anger dissipated from his voice and she smiled. “
I
make it difficult?”

A teasing light sparked in his gaze as he followed her steps. “No more arguing. Remember?”

“You’re trying to bait me.”

“Maybe a little.”

“That’s better.” At least he’d admitted it. And with a hint of humor, no less. “Now, what kind of meeting do you have here?”

He reached past her just as her back collided with the door to the school. With little effort he pulled the door wide, bringing her closer into the circle of his arms. “My son is starting school here in the next couple days.”

She slipped out from the airless space next to his chest and struggled for an easy tone. Hoping she wasn’t too obvious, she stole a peek at his hands. The presence of a wedding band would nix this attraction immediately. But she found his fingers bare. So not married—or not wearing a ring—and a son. She wondered what the story on the mother would be. “Oh. How old is he?”

“Sixteen going on forty.”

“Sounds like a typical teenage boy.” Sixteen? The math refused to settle. “You don’t look old enough to have a son that old.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He smirked. “I’d just turned eighteen when he was born.”

So he was thirty-four. They reached the classroom then and she stopped next to the resource room door. Reaching for her bag, she quickly decided pointing to it would be better than taking the chance of touching him. “I’ll take that now. This is my stop.”

His gaze held hers for a moment. “Hmmm. This could be interesting.”

He handed over the bag and before she could ask what he meant, Gigi Bentley’s high-pitched squeal interrupted.

“Bracken Elliot, you handsome thing. Come on in.” She waved him into the room before turning on Abby. “I’d hoped you would be here early.”

“Why?” Abby looked at Gigi, her supervisor of one day. She’d liked the woman instantly and was confused by her obvious frustration.

Gigi sighed. “I wanted to update you on the Elliots, but it will have to wait until I get back. I’m on a plane in two hours for a family emergency, and it will be a week or so before I get back. Be careful. They’re broken. Jonathon’s transcripts from Hatten should be here any day,” she whispered cryptically. “Let’s get this meeting started.”

Abby braced herself. Go figure. Brack’s son was her student? God, fate, luck, Murphy’s Law? Whatever conspired against her had decided on a full measure of sadistic irony. And Gigi would be leaving her on her own with them. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Chapter Four

Introductions were made, and Abby got her first look at Jonathon. If he’d resembled his father more she’d swear they were carbon copies. As if the man wasn’t in her thoughts enough, now she’d have a daily reminder of how damn good looking he was. But where Brack sat in rigid attention, exuding self-assurance and control, his son slouched in his chair, eyes almost hidden beneath the rim of his ball cap. He had an earring in each ear and the straw-straight ends of his shoulder-length hair looked to be a strange shade of blue.

Mr. Abrams, the school’s headmaster, sat to Jonathon’s right with Brack on the boy’s left. Gigi ran the meeting with the efficiency of a seasoned pro. She knew her stuff, and Abby felt more and more uncertain of her qualifications as the meeting dragged on. Jonathon was deaf. He’d refused implants to aid his hearing, and he’d been in trouble at his old school. Now, the special education team wanted to place him in mainstream schooling with minimal assistance.

Jonathon ignored all the people around him. An interpreter sat at the opposite side of the table, and she signed quickly as each person spoke, but Jonathon ignored her as well. After a moment, Abby realized everyone was quiet. She glanced up to find them all looking at her expectantly.

Gigi leaned forward. “I asked what you think, Abby.”

Letting her gaze wander back to Jonathon, she laced her fingers together on the table. “I think we should ask Jonathon.”

Brack sat up straighter at her statement, his gaze shifting between her and his son. After a moment, he clasped Jonathon’s shoulder. When his son looked up, he pointed to Abby.

Jonathon responded with a belligerent flick of his hand.

“What?” His single sign was spoken by the woman interpreting.

An odd correlation at best, but one Abby would have to get used to until she learned to sign. “What do you plan to do after you graduate, Jonathon?”

He ignored the interpreter and signed back. “Not sure. Why?”

So he could read lips.
Good to know.
“It’s important to tailor your classes for your college career. What do you like to do?”

“This is bull—stuff.”

Surprised by the sudden outburst and certain the interpreter had softened the language translation, Abby met his angry stare. “What is?”

His hands worked in a flurry of motion and she wondered what being deaf must feel like. She didn’t pity him—far from it, he accepted his inability to hear the same as she accepted her inability to commit to anything. It wasn’t a handicap, it was a personality.

Something else angered this young man. The emotion was traced in his sharp signs. “All you people, sitting here ready to tell me what’s best for me. Just because I’m deaf doesn’t mean I can’t make my own decisions and choices. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Abby sat back and flipped through the folder on the table. “I could care less if you can hear or not. My way of looking at this is that you had the chance to make your own decisions. You made bad ones.”

“In your opinion.”

Damn apples and oranges—just like his father. She met Brack’s gaze briefly and almost thought he was thinking the same thing. “Letting your grades slip, truancy, sexual activity at school and drug use seem like bad choices to me.”

“Like I said, your opinion. Kind of like assholes. Everyone’s got one.”

Brack squeezed his son’s shoulder, enough that the youth cringed.

Abby quickly interrupted. “It’s okay, Mr. Elliot. He’s frustrated. But the question is why. What was so bad about your old school?”

Anger generally led to accidental admission, and she wanted him to open up.

Jonathon kept his eyes on her lips as he signed. “They treated us like we were stupid. Like little kids.”

Perfect. “Do you suppose that’s because you were acting like one? Like now?”

Fury erupted in his eyes and the scowl that tightened his lips matched. “I don’t act like a kid.”

“No, of course not,” she pushed. “Sitting at the table slouched down with a hat on is acting very adult-like. So too is cursing while we’re talking, and of course your behavior at your old school was very grown up.”

He said nothing, just stared and she continued on, closing his folder and sliding it across the table to him. “I can’t begin to offer help to someone who refuses to accept his own fault in a matter. You want to be treated with respect, you have to give it.”

Two quick signs accompanied a deep scowl.

“He said, f-fuck you.” The interpreter whispered the profanity with a blush.

Standing, Abby pulled her bag over her shoulder. “Jonathon, when you want to be treated like an adult, you know where I am. But don’t come to me until you’re ready to act like one. I don’t have time for a grown man throwing a fit worthy of a two-year-old who’s lost his candy.”

She walked through the office door, very much aware that Brack’s furious stare followed her from the room. When the door slammed, echoing in the empty hall, she knew he’d followed her out.

“What the hell was that?” His deep growl rumbled through the entire question.

“That was me showing him that I won’t put up with his crap.” Her bag tugged at her shoulder and she set it down. “He has to accept help, not be forced into it.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Brack leaned against the wall. “You made matters worse. How is that going to help him?”

“I hope he’ll respond to being treated like an adult.” It was a long shot, but something told her the boy would come around. If his father had the patience to wait him out.

Brack’s eyes narrowed as he lurched forward, the smooth muscles of his neck and shoulders bunched with tension. “You’re taking a chance with my son. What if your little plan backfires?”

She would have answered if her senses hadn’t run from her the moment he closed the distance between them and swallowed her with his presence. He was close enough to see each tiny hair of his five o’clock shadow. She needed to say something, but her tongue refused to budge.

Jonathon came into the hallway then, saving her from Brack’s debilitating effect.

“What can I do for you, Jonathon?” she asked.

His gaze shifted over her face before he signed something to his father.

Brack grunted. “He wants to know what your problem is.”

She ducked her head slightly to meet Jonathon’s gaze beneath his hat. “My problem is, you say one thing but act differently. You want respect, but you refuse to give it. I think the rules suck sometimes too but I still have to abide by them. Do you think I like taking home hours of paperwork? I hate it. But if I don’t do it, I don’t get paid. If you don’t follow the rules, you don’t graduate.”

Jonathon continued to scowl, but his expression softened a bit. “At least you don’t have people telling you what to do all the time.”

Brack translated his son’s signs, and the deep pressure in his chest relaxed a fraction. Jonathon was calming down. And Abby seemed to suspect as much if her smile indicated anything. He listened to her speak, noticing the way she urged Jonathon to voice his concerns. He’d been ready to wring her neck after she’d walked out in the middle of the meeting, but it seemed his son had responded to her refusal to put up with his shit. Now Brack was willing to wait it out. Maybe there was a method to her madness.