Page 25 of Personal Foul

“See you tomorrow.”

“Later.” I hustle towards Reagan’s office, only slowing down once I’m in the office area. The blinds are up on her door and I see that she’s on the phone.

“Well, shit,” I mutter under my breath.

“If you’re needing to talk to her, you can come sit while you wait.”

I turn around and see a well-dressed kid with raven-black hair.

“You think she will be long?”

The kid shrugs. “Probably. If her hand actions are any indication, someone pissed her off.”

I take a seat, one chair between the kid and me. “I’m Garrett.” I hold my fist out for him to bump.

“Nick.” He bumps his knuckles against mine. Before he can pull away, I catch his hand, looking at his split knuckles, dried blood still in the cracks.

“This is fresh. What happened?”

“Some asshole had some girl pinned against a locker, picking on her. She was crying and everyone was standing around watching it. So, I stepped in and taught that fucker a lesson.” He shrugs.

“Sounds like a good reason for a throw down. Next time though, don’t tuck your thumb. Make a fist like this, that way you won’t get hurt.” I show him how to make a proper fist. He mimics me getting a feel for the correct way to do it.

“Sweet,” he mutters.

“Nickolas Kelly, Garrett Stone, in my office now!” Reagan says harshly, spinning on her heel and walking back into her office.

“Fuck,” the kid and I say in unison.

“You should probably watch your tongue,” I say under my breath.

“Pot meet kettle,” he grumbles back.

We walk into the office, hands in pockets.

“Ma, have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

“Ma?” I look between Nick and Reagan. “How old are you?”

“Not important right now,” Reagan snaps.

“Twelve,” Nick offers.

Twelve, she didn’t have a kid in college. So why is he calling her ma?

“Both of you sit down,” Reagan demands. Nick and I slide into the chairs in front of her desk.

“You really do look beautiful today,” I say lamely.

“Idiot,” the kid says under his breath while Reagan breathes fire.

“She’s turning red.” I side-eye him.

“Of course she is! We’re Irish and she’s pissed.”

“Enough!” Reagan yells, pinching her nose. “I have had enough today.” Reagan drops into her chair, biting her lip and looking at the ceiling. “Nickolas, you know I’m all for standing up for someone. But wasn’t there a different way you could have helped her instead of going in fists blazing?” She laughs brittly. “And Garrett, can you please for the love of all things holy not teach my kid how to make a proper fist.”

“Mi reina, if you think about it, I was helping you out. Now if he punches someone you don’t have to worry about him breaking his hand.” I wince.

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