Love Me: Oakville Series:Book 5 (19 page)

Three Years Later

“W
hy do you think your teacher wants to see me?” I ask Chase. To say the last three years have been tough would be an understatement. Chase has transformed from sweet and loving to moody and sullen. I admit a lot of it is my fault. I retreated into myself after Taryn’s death, which caused Chase to do the same. He spends all his free time in his room alone playing video games or doing homework. Meals are no longer a family event. Chase opts to eat his food alone in his room while I eat alone either in the kitchen or the living room. I’ve let this distance between us go too far for too long and now I can’t seem to fix it.

“I dunno,” Chase mumbles, walking past me. Opening the fridge, he pulls out an apple and a juice box then walks to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Something is going on. I check his grades regularly and they’ve never faltered—always A’s and B’s. So, when I got a phone call today from his teacher, Ms. Bissen, it sent up red flags. How often do you get called in to see your child’s teacher because they want to sing his praises?

Frustrated, I go to my room and lay on the bed. Glancing over at the photo of Taryn on the nightstand, my chest aches. If she were still here, everything would not be such a fucked up mess. “I’m so sorry I’ve screwed everything up, sweetness. How do I fix this? I wish you were here to help me,” I whisper to the photo. We were so happy when she was here. This never would have happened under her watch. I miss being happy. I miss my son.

Angel picked up Chase from school today so I could meet with Ms. Bissen. As screwed up as things are, they would be so much worse without the gang. For the first six months, we probably would have starved to death if it weren’t for them keeping us fed. The girls stopped by weekly, making sure the house was cleaned to Taryn’s standard. I’ve since hired a cleaning lady, ‘cause let’s face it, Chase and I are not the cleaning types.

I reach room 207 and knock lightly on the door. When it opens and I’m face to face with Ms. Bissen, something in my chest stirs. The first thing that comes to my mind is how beautiful she is. With dark, shoulder-length hair and light chocolate brown eyes, she’s stunning. But that feels wrong, like I’m betraying Taryn.

“Uh, Mr. Winters, are you okay?” she asks. I must look like an idiot standing here staring at her with my mouth hanging open. What is wrong with me? I’m a man. I can notice a beautiful woman. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. It’s not like I’m doing anything other than admiring her.

“I’m sorry.” I hold my hand out to her. The second our skin touches, goose bumps spread throughout my body and an uneasy feeling washes over me. “Please, call me Marcus.” She smiles shyly and motions for me to come in. And there’s that stirring in my chest again. What the fuck?

We sit at a U-shaped table in the back of her classroom. The chair is so small, I’m afraid I’ll break it. “Thank you for coming in to see me today mist—I mean, Marcus, I know you must have better things to do,” she stammers. Glancing away, she can’t seem to meet my eyes.

“Let me first start by saying Chase is a sweet boy and an excellent student. He’s one of my favorites,” she states. Her foot taps against the floor as she rubs her hands together.

“But...” I say, knowing it’s coming. A nervous smile crosses her face.

“Well, he’s...he’s been lashing out at other students lately. It’s really out of character for him and I’m getting a little worried.” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as if she’s trying to find the right words. “I know about his mom. I think he’s acting out because of it.” The mention of Taryn sends a stabbing pain to my heart. My loving boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly before Taryn’s death is now a bully. God, I’m a shit father. I’ve let Taryn down, but worse, I’ve let my son down. I’m all he has left and I’ve fucked it all up.

“Are you telling me my son has become a bully?

“Not a bully. I don’t think he has a mean bone in his body, he just has a short fuse. If another student does even the smallest thing he doesn’t like, he...well, he kinda freaks out.” She grimaces. “Sorry, I don’t know how else to put it. The other day, a kid who sits behind him was tapping his pencil on his desk. Chase got annoyed, grabbed the pencil from him, and threw it across the room. Luckily, it hit the wall and not another student.”

“I’ve noticed that short fuse some at home, too. Before his mom...” I trail off. I still can’t say it out loud. She gives me a sympathetic look, not the pitying look everyone always gives me. I hate that look. Something in her eyes tells me she’s familiar with my pain. “I was too into my own pain in the beginning. Things with Chase got out of hand and now I don’t know how to fix it,” I tell her. Even though it embarrasses me, I’m at my wits end at this point. I need help.

“I don’t want to overstep, but If you’d like, I can work with him a little after school,” she says, hesitant. “I have a degree in child psychology. He could stay an extra hour or so after school a couple times a week. I can give him something to do to help out in here and talk to him at the same time.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but why do you want to do it?” I question. I’m sure she has a husband and family to get home to. Why would she want to take up her free time to help out? Her eyes water and she looks down at her hands.

“I understand how he feels. I lost both my parents when I was his age. One of my teachers helped pull me from my funk afterwards,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes. I have the urge to reach for her hand and comfort her, but I don’t. That would be inappropriate on so many levels.

“I’m sorry.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I can hear how stupid it sounds. I remember when people would say it to me. What exactly is it they’re sorry for? Sorry my wife died? Sorry my son will grow up without his mom? People mean well. It’s just after hearing the same thing over and over again, you want to tell them all to shut the fuck up.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” she says, giving me a sweet smile.

“You working with Chase would be great…as long as you’re sure it’s not a hassle for you. I can use all the help I can get right now.”

“Really, it’s no hassle. I’m happy to do it,” she says as she stands up. I follow and offer my hand. When she places hers in mine, a spark of electricity runs through my hand and I quickly brush it away. My stomach knots with guilt. “Just pick Chase up here tomorrow at four instead of three. It was nice to finally meet you, Marcus.”

“It was nice to meet you as well, Ms. Bissen.”

“Please, call me Lexi,” she says with a wide smile.

“See you tomorrow at four...Lexi,” I say, and turn to go. Before I get to the door, I turn and glance back at her. She’s watching me intently, a smile still resting on her face. My stomach twists again and I quickly walk out the door.

I
close my apartment door behind me and place my purse and tote on the table by the door. Walking toward the kitchen, I step out of my heels, leaving them where they fall. This is the one good thing about living alone—there’s no one here to tell me to put my shit away. Been there. Done that. My ex, Steven, liked everything his way. He was very particular. Kinda like that guy in
Sleeping with the Enemy
. And God forbid it wasn’t done. I was with him over ten years. He was sweet and loving at first, but after we moved in together, he changed. I finally left when he hit me. The laundry wasn’t folded to his liking and he exploded. A shouting matched turned into him backhanding me—that was the last straw. I put up with more than I should’ve as it was, but I sure as hell would not stand by and allow him to hit me. The next morning when he left for work, I packed up my car and just drove. I had no idea where I was going, I just knew I wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Twelve-hundred or so miles later, I ended up here in Oakville. There was something so quaint and charming about this little town. It just felt like home.

Sometimes I miss living with someone. Not the hitting or constant bitching, but just having someone else around. Being alone gets old. Loud purring comes from near my feet as a big white puff of fur begins to rub my leg, reminding me I’m not truly alone. I reach down, pick up Foster, and rub his silky white fur. I adopted the beautiful Persian a week after I moved here. The silence was too much. I had always wanted a cat, but the aunt I lived with after my parents died was allergic to cats and dogs, so I was never allowed to have a pet.

He’s become my best friend—my only friend, really. Making friends has never been my strong suit. I’ve always been more of a loner. Even as a kid, I would rather sit in my room reading than be outside playing with the other kids. There are a few teachers at school I’m friendly with, but they have families to spend their time with when they aren’t at work.

After pouring myself a glass of Riesling and grabbing my tote off the table, I sit on the couch. Sipping my wine, I begin to grade papers. My mind keeps drifting from the task at hand, going back to Chase Winters. He’s such a sweet boy and his grades are excellent. When he started to act out in my class, I spoke with his previous teachers to see if they’d had that problem, which was when I learned about his mother passing away from cancer three years ago. My heart immediately broke for him. I understood all too well the turmoil he was going through.

When I was ten, we lived in the suburbs just outside of New York City. My parents rode the train every morning into the city for work. One morning, the train my parents were on and another train collided. My parents were killed instantly, and I was sent upstate to live with my Aunt Rose. Actually, she was my great aunt on my mother’s side, but I always called her Aunt Rose. She was a kind woman to take me in, especially since she was seventy when I came to live with her. Sadly, she passed away just before I graduated high school. She and my parents left me with plenty of money. I was able to get my teaching degree as well as a degree in Child Psychology without a single student loan.

When my parents first died, I was a mess. I cried all the time. So many different emotions plagued me all at once—sadness, fear, regret, guilt, and anger seemed to be the worst. The morning of the accident, I had gotten into a huge fight with my parents. I wanted to go to the zoo, but my parents said no. I was supposed to keep my room clean and do all my homework for a week in order for them to take me. Well, I got rather lazy on the room cleaning, and at ten, you can’t seem to reason that you didn’t hold up your end of the deal so the deal is broken. I wanted to go to the zoo and that was that. When they told me no, I cried and whined and told them they were the meanest parents and I hated them. The minute I left the house to walk to school, I felt bad and regretted saying such hateful things to them. I had no idea I’d never get the chance to tell them I was sorry and I loved them.

A couple years after is when the anger began to take over. A lot of it, I think, was because I saw all the other kids with their parents and it made me jealous. They had something I didn’t and I was angry at my parents for leaving me. I lashed out at everyone and everything in my path. The little things sent me into a rage. Chase hasn’t come close to reaching the point I was at and I want to help make sure he doesn’t. I want him to be able to discuss what’s angering or frustrating him before it builds up to the point where he explodes.

I wipe a tear from my face and take a large gulp of my wine. Even after all these years, it still hurts to think about my parents and Aunt Rose. I miss them so much. Most people don’t understand how it feels. They don’t realize the pain never goes away. You just have good days and bad days. Granted, time makes it easier to deal because you learn to cope with it, but it doesn’t dull the pain. I can go days—weeks, even—without thinking of them and breaking down, but it only takes one little thing to remind me of them and it feels like I’m ten years old all over again.