Page 26 of Drive To Survive

“Care to enlighten me about Brad and his mean father?”

I slumped against the back of the chair. Goddammit. I’d hoped all this shit was done. Over. Rhett had been so happy these past few weeks, and Miss Carmichael hadn’t mentioned a thing. I’d just assumed the problem had gone away. Then again, I’d been so busy working and trying to put aside enough money to pay for a good run of therapy sessions for Rhett that I mustn’t have paid enough attention.

Guilt swam through me, stealing my breath. It was my job to protect my son, and I’d failed him. He must have been so concerned that he’d decided to lie to me rather than worry me with the truth. Instead, he’d shared that truth with Nico.

“When I told you the day we met that Rhett had been fighting at school, it wasn’t widespread. He only had a problem with this one kid, Brad, who liked to taunt him about the fact that he had a father and Rhett didn’t. He’d say shitty things like Rhett didn’t deserve a dad because he was unlovable. Rhett understandably retaliated, and they had a few scuffles, but it was nothing more than that.”

“Until now,” Nico said, a dangerous glint in his eye. “That bruise looks like a punch, a fucking hard one.”

“I’ll deal with it,” I said quietly.

“Not alone, you won’t.”

I sighed heavily. “I don’t want any trouble. It’s better if I handle this by myself.” Not that I had a clue how to even begin to broach this subject with Brad’s father. Last time I’d tried, he’d told me it was no wonder my son was a fucking pussy, with a mother who coddled him as much as I did.

Yeah, Mr. Wilson was a treat of a man.

“There won’t be any trouble,” Nico insisted. “I’ll just have a quiet word in the father’s ear. That’s all.”

I shook my head. “You don’t understand. Mr. Wilson isn’t the kind of man you have a quiet word with. He’s a blunt instrument, and nothing you or I or anyone else says will make a difference.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I’d move Rhett to another school, but there isn’t a suitable one close by.”

“Running from the problem is the last thing you should do,” Nico said as if it was that easy. “There will always be another Mr. Wilson and his mini-me prick of a son.” He reached over the desk and covered my fisted hand with his. “It’s not a crime to ask for help, Everly. You’re not alone.”

Tears flooded my eyes, the sheer strength of emotion surprising me enough that one fell, trickling down my cheek. I swiped it away, then stared at where my hand remained beneath Nico’s. I wanted to take his palm and press it to my cheek, then burrow into his firm, broad chest and bawl my eyes out.

Instead, I tugged my hand from beneath his, still smarting from his treatment of me these last few weeks. “Thank you, but I don’t need your help. I’ve been dealing with the challenges of single parenthood for a while now. I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

With as much poise as I could muster, I got to my feet then scurried from his office as fast as I could.

Rhett napped on the way home, and the absence of his chatter gave me time to think. I’d have to broach the subject of Brad with him. I knew my boy. He’d lied to protect me, but as the adult, it was my job to protect him, including from bullies like Brad Wilson.

Too exhausted to cook, I stopped by the drive-through and picked up burgers and fries. I tried to ensure that Rhett mainly ate home-cooked meals, but the odd takeout wouldn’t hurt him. We sat at the small kitchen table and stuffed our faces, and I let him tell me about breaking his lap record. He even mentioned the dash into the pit lane and Nico preventing him from being run over. I waited to see if he told me about Brad. When he didn’t, he gave me no choice.

“Honey, Nico spoke to me about the bruise on your arm. He says how it happened isn’t the same as what you told me. Do you want to tell me why?”

His bottom lip immediately wobbled, but he didn’t look surprised. He must have known that by telling Nico, the truth would get back to me. When I’d seen the bruise while giving him his bath and asked about it, he must have panicked and given me a plausible story. Then when Nico asked, the truth came tumbling out. I tried not to feel betrayed that my own son appeared to find it easier to talk to Nico than to me. I shouldn’t. Rhett, like most little boys, needed a man in his life. Not for the first time, and probably not the last, I cursed Paul for leaving. I didn’t believe anything had happened to him. Not after all this time. If he’d been murdered, they’d have found a body by now.

“I was trying to be brave, Mommy,” he said, his eyes cast downward. “I didn’t want to upset you. I didn’t fight him, though, even when he punched me really hard. I know it’s wrong to hit him back.”

My heart clenched, and my breath came in little sips. My poor, poor baby.

I got to my feet and went around to his side of the table. Dropping to my knees, I pulled him into a hug.

“I’m so very proud of you,” I said.

“You’re not mad?” he asked, his voice muffled from burying his face in my neck.

I eased him back and cupped his flushed little cheeks. I kissed his forehead. “No, baby. I’m not mad at you.”

I’m mad at goddamn Brad Wilson and his jerk of a father.

Talking to Mr. Wilson was an exercise in futility. His wife, on the other hand, might be more approachable. Next time I saw her, I’d raise the subject—and hope for the best.

I parked my truck a short distance away from the school and went to meet Rhett. They hadn’t let the kids out yet, and I took the opportunity to glance around looking for Mrs. Wilson. I hadn’t seen her or her husband the last two days, and when I’d asked Rhett, he told me Brad hadn’t been in school either. A small part of me hoped they’d decided on a whim to move him, but a much likelier reason was something along the lines of a bout of illness or a family funeral.

When I couldn’t see Mrs. Wilson, I decided to use the time to answer a few emails while I waited. Engrossed, I jerked up my head when I heard my name being called and caught more than a hint of outrage in the tone. Mrs. Wilson was marching toward me, her face tinged pink and her fisted hands by her sides. I barely had time to slide my phone into my pocket before she jabbed me in the collarbone with a pointed fingernail.

“I want a word with you,” she snapped.

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