Page 8 of My Bad Boy Valentine

“Thanks,” I murmured. “It’s better than where Linzie and I used to live, anyway.” A wave of old memories flickered through me—nights of yelling, smoke in the air, and fear that came from living with parents who couldn’t stay clean. My jaw clenched. “I’m trying to give her something stable, you know?”

Caroline nodded, her expression sympathetic. “That’s actually why I came. I think Linzie might need formal evaluation for a learning disability—something like dyslexia. I’ve seen signs in her reading patterns, and if I’m right, it might explain why she’s so frustrated.”

The muscles in my shoulders tensed. Learning disability. The words prickled at me like barbs, stirring defensiveness I couldn’t quite quell. “She’s not broken,” I said, perhaps too sharply.

Caroline’s eyes flicked wide, and she lifted a hand as if to calm me. “I know. Absolutely. Knox, that’s exactly what I want to clarify: a diagnosis doesn’t mean she’s broken. It means she might learn differently than the mainstream system is designed for. If it’s dyslexia or another learning disorder, she could get accommodations that would level the playing field. Extended time on tests, maybe alternative reading strategies. Nothing is wrong with her, it’s just—”

“She’s not defective,” I cut in, anger flaring. I regretted my tone instantly, but the frustration was real. “I’ve spent my whole life watching people slap labels on me, on my family. I hate the idea of them labeling her, too. She’s a good kid. She’s just having a rough patch, that’s all.”

Caroline inhaled calmly, setting her water glass aside. “I understand where you’re coming from. But labeling isn’t the same as diagnosing. This would be on her terms, to help her. Not to brand her as a problem child. Dyslexia is common, and plenty of extremely smart people have it. There’s no shame in that. Actually, it could be a relief—she won’t have to think she’s just ‘bad’ at school when, in reality, the teaching methods might not match her learning style.”

My anger slowly ebbed, replaced by a sense of guilt. She wasn’t insulting Linzie. She was trying to help.Why do I alwaysjump to the worst conclusion? Letting out a shaky breath, I dragged a hand through my hair. “All right,” I said, forcing my voice to steady. “Tell me more. How’s this work?”

Caroline’s stance relaxed. She sank onto the edge of the couch and patted the seat next to her, inviting me to sit. I hesitated, then joined her—leaving enough space that I wouldn’t crowd her, but close enough to feel the warmth of her presence and catch the whiff of whatever fragrance she was wearing—lavender, maybe? Whatever it was, it made me want to lean in closer, but I resisted.

“We’d talk to the school counselor first,” she explained. “From there, the counselor might do some preliminary tests or refer Linzie to a specialist for an official assessment. If she’s diagnosed with dyslexia—or anything else—they’ll set up an IEP or 504 plan, which is basically a roadmap of supports she can get in class. Extra time on reading assignments, maybe some assistive technology and individualized support. It can make a huge difference.”

I nodded slowly, letting her words settle. “And Linzie won’t just be teased as, I don’t know, the ‘dumb kid with special treatment?’” My throat felt tight admitting that fear out loud.

“It’s all handled confidentially,” Caroline said gently. “The teachers who work with her will know, of course, but the rest of the students don’t get a big announcement or anything. And these days, schools are better about normalizing different learning styles. The biggest challenge is convincing Linzie it’s not a bad thing. She might still resist at first.”

I looked down at my hands—clean now, but still cracked from hours of manual labor. “Everything about this is complicated,” I muttered. “Linzie’s already been through so much. I don’t want her to think I’m disappointed in her.”

Caroline’s expression turned sympathetic. “That’s why it’ll be important to approach it with positivity. Emphasize that she’s bright but might just need alternative strategies that align with how her mind works. You can tell her you support her no matter what.”

A lump formed in my throat. The kid was bright—at least I’d always thought so—she was definitely smarter than me--but looking back, I guessed I’d never said it to her face, not in so many words. The guilt twisted again, remembering how distant Linzie and I had grown over the years, even though we were family. “Yeah,” I croaked. “I’ll do that.”

An awkward beat passed, the hush of the apartment magnifying every shuffle and breath. I sensed Caroline studying me, and a swirl of conflicting emotions churned in my gut—relief that someone had answers, fear of what the future held, gratitude that she was here at all.

“Look, I’m sorry I got riled up,” I finally said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I just… hearing that something’s ‘wrong’ with my sister touches a nerve. Growing up, we had teachers, social workers, cops… always telling me I was a lost cause, that my folks were criminals, that I was following the same path. I never got a real chance. Now that I have the power to fix things for Linzie, it’s like I want to shield her from every negative label.”

Caroline reached out, resting a hand lightly on my forearm. “It’s not a negative label,” she said, voice earnest. “It’s a tool to ensure she isn’t misunderstood. You’re doing the right thing. Trust me on this.”

Her hand on my arm felt electric, and I swallowed, meeting her gaze. The sincerity shining in her eyes threatened to break through defenses I’d held for years. I cleared my throat to dislodge the sudden tightness there. “I do trust you,”I murmured. “That’s… new for me, trusting someone outside of family. Granted, I could never trust them to begin with.”

She gently squeezed my arm before pulling back. “You and Linzie have each other now. And you have people who want to help.”

I nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. I guess I’m not used to that. Even in prison, it was always about looking out for myself. Though, I did have someone who believed in me. The chaplain, Pastor Vic. God, I used to think he was just a naive do-gooder. But he kept visiting me weekly, listening to whatever verbal vomit I had to spew that day, and never gave up. He helped me get my GED.” I paused, memories swirling. “Without Pastor Vic and his mercy, I wouldn’t own this shop. I wouldn’t be able to give Linzie a roof or a chance.”

Caroline’s face lit with admiration. “That’s amazing,” she said softly. “You’ve come a long way, Knox.”

Heat rose in my cheeks at her praise. “Sometimes feels like I haven’t come far enough. People in town still give me these looks. And half the time, I can’t blame them. My record isn’t pretty.”

“It’s not about the record,” Caroline said. “It’s about what you’re doing now. You’re providing your sister with a stable home, investing in a legal business, showing up when it matters. That’s all anyone can ask.”

An ache spread in my chest, a mix of gratitude and longing. She was so different from the people who’d dismissed me for my past. And she saw me—really saw me—in a way that made me feel more hopeful than I had in years.

“Thanks,” I whispered. My gaze drifted to her lips, and I found myself wanting to kiss her.

Caroline seemed to sense it too; her cheeks pinked. She cleared her throat, shifting on the couch. “So… any questions about the evaluation?”

I forced myself to focus. “Should I be there when they test her, or is that something the school handles alone?”

“You could sit in on parts of it, depending on the counselor’s approach. Sometimes having a parent or guardian around helps the child feel safer. But if Linzie thinks you’re hovering, it might stress her out. We’ll figure out a balance.”

I nodded, imagining the look Linzie might give me if I hovered. “Right. I’ll let the counselor lead the way.”

An awkward silence descended, thick with the tension we’d been avoiding. Caroline fiddled with the hem of her sweater, and I realized, with a jolt, that we were basically side by side on my worn couch, a mere few inches separating us. My heart drummed harder.

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