Worth the Fall (Sugar Mountain #1)

SUCK IT, MISS SHOOSTER

THOMAS

I quickly walked to my car and started the ten-minute drive to Clarabel’s elementary school. I’d reached out to her teacher and scheduled a meeting with her regarding the whole Clara-slash-Scott debacle, like she’d asked me to. I wasn’t sure why we couldn’t have this conversation over the phone or on video chat, so I didn’t have to leave my office, but Miss Shooster had insisted that I come in personally.

“Face-to-face meetings are more effective, don’t you think?” she had asked.

She’d basically given me no choice. And it’d put me in a pissy mood. I didn’t like being told what to do or how to spend my time.

“Thomas O’Grady. As I live and breathe,” Mrs. Alastair, the school secretary, said as soon as I walked through the office doors. She’d been working at the school since I had gone there as a kid.

“Mrs. Alastair. How are you still here?” I asked sweetly. At least as sweetly as I could muster. It probably came out rude.

“Retirement sounds boring. Plus, the kids keep me young.” She winked, and I forced a smile. “I heard you have an appointment with Miss Shooster—is that right?”

I nodded, and she gave me directions toward Clarabel’s classroom even though I’d been there a couple of months earlier for back-to-school night.

“She’s a great kid, Thomas,” Mrs. Alastair said, and I stopped in my tracks before turning to face her. “Clarabel. She’s smart as a whip, that one. And kind.”

Warmth spread throughout my body, all the way to my bones. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Well, it’s true. Good luck in there,” she shouted as I made my way down the long, fluorescent-lit hallway to the door with the number 5 on the glass.

I knocked half-heartedly before turning the handle and escorting myself inside. The walls were filled with color, the alphabet and numbers draped in order on one side. The rest of the room seemed to be decorated in some sort of underwater theme with pictures of sea animals and drawings of mermaids and pirates. It was chaos, but it worked.

“Mr. O’Grady. Thank you so much for coming.” Miss Shooster stood up from behind her desk and made her way toward me.

My daughter’s teacher looked more like she was ready for a night out on the town than teaching a bunch of second graders. She hadn’t been dressed like this during back-to-school night. Not that I cared in the least. I simply would have remembered.

She extended her hand, and I shook it firmly. Obviously a little too hard because she shook out her wrist lightly after I let it go.

“You can take a seat.” She pointed at one of the smallest chairs I’d ever seen, and a gruff noise escaped from deep within my chest.

“I think I’ll stand.”

Her cheeks flushed as she tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Of course. You wouldn’t even fit anyway. What was I thinking?”

The woman was stuttering on her words. If this was how today was going to go, I might as well leave.

Deciding to cut to the chase so I could get the hell back to work, I asked, “Why am I here?”

“Oh.” She looked shocked by my bluntness. “Well, I’m sure you heard about the incident between Clarabel and Scott.”

She moved to touch my shoulder in some sort of comforting gesture, but I quickly moved out of her grasp.

“I did.”

“I’m also assuming you know that we follow a disciplinary plan here that deals with consequences for specific behavioral actions,” she explained as she walked back toward her desk and leaned against it.

I shook my head because Miss Shooster was speaking another language. One I definitely did not understand.

“You follow what?”

“You signed the paper at the beginning of the year,” she mentioned before hopping up onto her desk and crossing her legs. The move made the already-too-short skirt she was wearing ride up even further on her thighs.

I assumed she was trying to look sexy—or at the very least appealing. It was disturbing. This wasn’t professional behavior at all, and I had half a mind to transfer Clarabel out of her class the second I left this meeting.

“What did I sign?” I asked because Clara had come home with a shitload of paperwork on the first day of school and I’d scribbled my name on all of them without reading a single word.

“It said you agreed with our discipline plan. It outlined all the steps that we take for specific behavioral issues. Basically, we try to teach the students as early as possible that their actions have consequences.”

“Great. We’re on the same page then. Scott sucks,” I said because it was true and she giggled.

“Scott’s behavior continues to be a problem, and I’m in the midst of addressing it with his mother.”

I was happy to hear that, but didn’t really care unless he was still bothering Clara. “You could have told me all this over the phone.”

“Yes, of course.” She bit at her bottom lip. “But I didn’t call you down here to discuss another student.”

“You called me here to talk about my daughter, correct? So, can you kindly get to the point?”

This woman and her subtlety were beyond irritating. I had shit to do, and this was a waste of my day if all she was going to do was sit there and give me fuck me eyes the whole time I was here.

“Thomas...” She practically purred my name as she pushed off her desk and made her way toward me. “Can I call you Thomas?”

“I honestly don’t care.”

I was being rude, but she didn’t seem to notice. I didn’t give two shits what this woman called me as long as she got to the bottom line sometime in this century.

She took another step toward me, and I thought she was going to try to touch me again. It was unnerving, but thankfully, she kept her hands to herself.

“Clarabel refuses to apologize for the things that she said to Scott.”

That made me laugh. I couldn’t help it. I pictured this teacher trying to force Clara to say she was sorry to a kid who didn’t deserve it.

“Why would she apologize if she’s not sorry?”

“That’s what I’m trying to get at. She needs to take responsibility for her words. Words can be weapons, just like any other. They hurt people. Clarabel needs to learn that saying sorry can alleviate issues and calm tempers. It gives the offended parties a chance to start fresh.”

I shook my head, trying to absorb all the crap this woman had just spewed. “No.”

“Did you say no?” She looked shocked once more with my abruptness, her eyes practically bulging out of her head.

“Damn right I said no.” I started pacing around the room, looking at all the artwork stapled to the walls. “Listen, I’m not raising my daughter to be weak or to bow down to bullies. Clarabel doesn’t lie.” I turned to face this teacher from across the room and make my point clear. “She would never say she was sorry if she didn’t mean it. And you asking her to do that wouldn’t feel right to her.”

My heart ached for my sweet daughter who would see all of this as some kind of betrayal. She wouldn’t know exactly how to put it into words, but to her, apologizing for something she didn’t believe in would be the same thing as lying. She wouldn’t do it, no matter how many times you asked her to.

Miss Shooster cleared her throat. “I’m just saying that sometimes in life, you have to do things you don’t want to do.”

“Like say you’re sorry when you don’t mean it?” I asked, just to be crystal fucking clear. Because who wanted a fake apology? What was the point if it wasn’t genuine?

“Sometimes, yes.”

“So you can make the other person feel better while simultaneously making yourself feel worse?”

“It can’t always be about how you feel. Especially with children. They’re inherently selfish.” I made a sound of disagreement, and she tried to quickly recover. “Oh, I’m not trying to be disrespectful, Thomas. It’s just science. Facts. Kids haven’t learned to think outside of their own emotions yet. They don’t see the bigger picture. They only see themselves. I’m trying to teach them how to respect others,” she overexplained, and I interrupted.

“While disrespecting themselves in the process.”

“I’m sorry you see it that way.”

“You’re asking my daughter, who might have said some rude but true things, to feel bad about herself. Like she was the one who did something wrong.” I paused so my words could sink in before laying it all out there. “Scott insulted her first. He called her names first . He made fun of her first . She’s well within her rights as a human being to defend herself or to stand up for herself. And if that hurt Scott’s poor little feelings in the process, then maybe he should learn that life isn’t going to bend to his whim. And when he says shitty things to someone, most likely, they’re going to say shitty things back. He needs to learn to deal with it and either grow the fuck up or shut the fuck up.”

My rant had come spewing out of my mouth without a care in the world. It was only when I noticed the look on Miss Shooster’s face that I wondered if I’d said anything too out of line. I played it all back in my head and decided that not only did I stand by what I’d just said, but that I’d also say it all again if needed.

“Listen, Thomas, Clarabel is a great girl. But she’s strong-minded and even stronger-willed. She doesn’t back down. That might not serve her well in the future. You see what I’m saying? I’m only trying to help.”

This woman was a freaking idiot and was getting on my last nerve.

“You saying that she’s strong-minded and strong-willed like it’s a bad thing is a really weird opinion to push, if I’m being honest. I’m sure those qualities would be celebrated if she were a boy. But since she’s a girl, it’s problematic. Is that what I’m hearing?”

Miss Shooster was quiet for long enough that it started to become even more uncomfortable, if that were possible. “No. I mean, I see what you’re saying,” she finally said, but she clearly did not.

This woman was doing nothing but attempting to placate me. She’d probably read some stupid pamphlet on how to deal with difficult parents, and this was rule number one—tell them you see their point of view, that you understand their perspective and other bullshit she didn’t really mean.

“Do you have kids?” I asked even though it was none of my damn business, but I had a point to make, and it required an answer.

“I do not.”

“Well, one day, when you do, you’ll see the importance of instilling self-confidence in your child. You’ll want them to stand up for themselves and others. You’ll hope they do the right thing, not just what’s expected of them because it’s expected. And you sure as shit won’t want them to apologize to someone if they don’t mean it. You won’t want them to say anything they don’t mean.”

“I can understand that perspective,” she said, and I almost laughed. She was definitely following some kind of script.

“Great,” I breathed out. This meeting was a colossal waste of time. “Is this going to continue to be a problem? Do I need to move Clara out of your classroom? Are we done here?”

She hustled quickly to her desk and grabbed a paper sitting on top of a bunch of others. “No, no. That won’t be necessary. We’re good. I just need you to sign this.” She shoved it toward the opposite side of her desk as I tentatively made my way over.

“What does it say?” I reached for a pen, holding it over the sign here line.

“It’s a confirmation that we had an in-person meeting regarding this issue and no disciplinary action is suggested or needed.”

This felt a little over the top for second grade, but I signed it anyway. I shoved the paper back in her direction, and she clapped her hands together like she’d just won some sort of battle.

“Okay. Now that that unpleasantness is over, maybe we could go grab a drink?”

Is this woman serious?

“Why would we do that?”

She looked momentarily flustered, but she quickly recovered. “Because I’m single. You’re single. We could have a little fun.”

“It’s not appropriate. You’re my child’s teacher.” For now , I thought to myself. “It wouldn’t be right to cross that line,” I said even though there were about a thousand other reasons I’d never date this woman or have her involved in raising my daughter outside of the classroom.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said, but I wanted to.

The only thing stopping me from giving her another lecture was the fact that Clara enjoyed having Miss Shooster as a teacher. Although after today’s meeting, I wasn’t sure why. I planned on asking her just that when I got home later. I didn’t like the idea of Clara being around someone for hours a day that encouraged her to lie under the guise of being a good person.

I left the overly cheery classroom without so much as another word. There was nothing left to say. I shut the door harder than necessary, and when I turned to apologize, I swallowed it instead.

I wasn’t sorry at all.

By the time I got back to the resort, I was amped up, irritated, and pissed off. Walking through the lobby, I almost ran right over Brooklyn, who wasn’t paying attention to where she was going.

“Brooklyn,” I growled, and she looked up from the papers she held in both hands to meet my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too,” she bit out with just as much ire as I’d just given her. “I work here, remember?”

I glanced at my watch out of habit more than anything else. “Not for another two weeks, I thought.”

“Felicia didn’t need the notice. Let me leave right away,” she informed me.

That was actually a good thing. So, why couldn’t I fucking act like it?

“Must be a real star employee if they didn’t even want you to stay,” I sniped.

She looked almost hurt by my words, but quickly recovered.

“Just because someone went and pissed in your Cheerios this morning doesn’t mean you get to be a dick to me.”

She started walking away without waiting for a response, her heels clicking on the wood floor, and once again, I found myself chasing the redhead down the hall. It was becoming a habit.

“Brooklyn,” I groaned. “Stop.”

“No.”

I hustled to catch up to her and reached for her arm like I had earlier, my fingertips grazing against her bare skin. The contact felt good. How long had it been since I’d even touched a woman on purpose?

“I’m sorry. I just came from Clarabel’s school, and her teacher is a nightmare.” I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to tell her something so personal.

“Clarabel is your daughter?” she asked as her green eyes studied me.

I’d almost forgotten that not everyone in town knew every single thing about me, even though it often felt that way.

“Yes.”

“What grade is she in?”

“Second,” I answered, and Brooklyn simply nodded her head.

“I’m sorry her teacher’s a nightmare. But I’m not her. Try to differentiate between us next time.”

She patted my chest before turning around and heading toward Sierra’s office, which would be hers soon enough. And I stood there like a fool, watching her ass shake from side to side the entire time until it disappeared from view.

Hate to see you go, Brooklyn, but love to watch you leave.

I was exhausted. I couldn’t seem to get all the things Miss Shooster had said out of my head, and they had been replaying on some sort of sick loop ever since I’d gotten back to the resort. Even thinking dirty thoughts about Brooklyn and her sassy mouth couldn’t distract me. And trust me, I’d tried. But every time I imagined Brooklyn talking back to me, her voice turned into the teacher’s, and she said something disparaging about my daughter. Definite cock-killer.

I knew I was probably being more than a little overprotective and unreasonable, but if I didn’t keep my daughter safe, then who would? It was my job to protect her. She wasn’t old enough to watch out for things she couldn’t even see happening in the first place. Was allowing her to stay in that kind of environment the best thing for her and her development? How was I supposed to know what the right thing to do was?

I was probably being irrational. Being a parent was really fucking hard sometimes. Every day felt like a new challenge, and just when I seemed to get a handle on one type of issue, another one popped up in its place.

Poking my head into my dad’s office, I was relieved to see him still sitting behind his desk, the phone pressed to his ear. He looked up, his face smiling as he waved me in. I closed the door behind me and took a seat while I waited for him to wrap up his call.

“Good evening, son,” my dad greeted once his conversation had ended.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Everything okay? You look...” He seemed to struggle with choosing the right word, so I decided to give him some options.

“Pissed off? Tired? Angry? Worn out?”

He laughed, and the lines around his blue eyes crinkled. “I was going to say perplexed. Or deep in thought. What’s on your mind?” he asked as he leaned back in his oversize chair.

“I had a conference with Clara’s teacher today, and it left me a little unsettled.”

That had his attention. We O’Gradys were nothing if not obsessed with our little girl.

“Unsettled how? In what way?” He leaned forward, his arms now on the desk in front of him, like he might jump out of his chair at any second.

“That’s just it. I’m not sure.” I shook my head. I wasn’t prepared to put all my thoughts into words that made sense. “She said some things that made me think she might not be the best influence for Clara to be around five days a week.”

My dad looked at me and nodded, but stayed silent. I knew he was thinking over what I’d just said, even though I’d barely said anything at all.

“We can’t always choose who our kids are going to be around. And there are bad and good influences at every turn.”

“But teachers are in a power position. Kids trust them innately because of the role they play in their life. They think whatever the teacher says is right.”

I’d never really thought about other people having Clarabel’s trust just because of who they were. I hadn’t dealt with it before now.

“I agree with that. Children believe that teachers know what they’re talking about. And they follow their rules and guidelines for good behavior.”

I snapped my fingers and pointed at him. “Exactly! That’s exactly it. And normally, I wouldn’t have a problem with that, but who’s to say that their idea of what constitutes good behavior is the same as mine?”

My dad threw his head back and blew out a long breath. “Everyone will have different opinions and ideas about what that means. Think about it this way.” He paused. “Good behavior at school might be different than good behavior at home. Or good behavior in the workplace. That’s a part of life, son. We act certain ways depending on where we are. It’s okay that her classroom has rules she needs to follow. Unless those rules are hurting her. Are they hurting her?”

“I don’t know. She made a comment that Clara was too strong-minded for her own good. That somehow being strong-willed would be a problem for her when she got older. That pissed me off.”

“That pisses me off too. Your mom would have torn her a new one,” he said with a grin, and I softened instantly, just thinking about her.

“She would have, huh?”

“Your mom loved nothing more than protecting you boys.”

“I miss her,” I said, and my dad sucked in a quick breath.

“You and me both, son. Not a day goes by,” he said, and I blew out a breath to stop myself from losing it right here in his office.

“So, what if this teacher says those kinds of things to Clarabel? What if she tries to make her feel bad about who she is? I don’t know what to do.” I ran my fingers through my jet-black hair and pulled at the strands.

“I know you came to me for an answer, but I’m not sure there’s a clear one here. Being a parent is hard. We try to do the right thing, but half the time, we have no idea what the hell that even is. All we can do is our best. But trust me, you’re going to get it wrong sometimes. And that’s okay. No parent is perfect a hundred percent of the time.”

He was right. I had come to him hoping he’d tell me exactly what to do, and then I’d do it, and all would be right in the world.

“Except Mom. She always got it right, didn’t she?”

He laughed. “Your mother was stubborn as a damn mule. You couldn’t tell her anything if she didn’t want to hear it. And no one could tell her anything negative about her boys. Did she always get it right? Hell no. But she’d never show it.”

That made me smile. I’d always remembered my mom as a caring and strong woman, but I never knew if my perception had been somehow jaded over time. Or at least rearranged into something I wanted it to be, regardless of whether or not it was the truth.

“Thomas, I won’t downplay the fact that teachers are influential in kids’ lives, but their home is even more so. Kids might love and trust their teachers, but they love and trust their parents more. Whatever happens in that classroom is one thing. But what happens at home trumps it all.”

Damn. That was just what I’d needed to hear. I’d continue to make sure Clara knew what was important and what mattered. I was the bigger influence in her life; I had just needed that reminder.

“Thanks, Dad. That was actually really helpful,” I said, feeling much better than when I’d first walked in.

“Good. Now, go get my grandgirl and tell her I love her. Remind her that she’s smart and honest and too good for anyone in this world.”

I smiled as I pushed the chair back and stood up. “I will. See you tomorrow.”

“Thomas,” he said, and I stopped, moving to look at him.

“Yeah?”

“Love you, son. You’re a good one.”

“Thanks. Love you too,” I said, still smiling as I raced for my car to get home to the only girl who mattered.