Page 25 of Someone to Hold
The door opens again, and I swallow back a groan as Chase follows the school’s principal, Amanda Sinton, into the room.
Sure, Chase is famous in Skylark. The rodeo is a big deal here, especially for long-time residents, but I’m surprised at the reaction he receives, as if he’s a movie star who just walked into his big premiere instead of a cowboy walking into a first-grade class party.
I don’t think it’s the kids who have Chase eyeing the door as if he wants to ensure he has a clear escape path. The expressions on the faces of the female teachers and mothers gathered in the room range from mildly curious to downright voracious. They’re looking at him like he’s the last chocolate chip cookie at a church potluck.
“Happy baby shower,” he says to Aimee with a genuine smile, then clears his throat. “I’m honored to celebrate with you.”
I hobble forward, cursing my injured ankle for the millionth time. “I told you to leave them at the office,” I remind him in a hushed tone.
His gaze holds mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “I tried, but the principal insisted I deliver them myself.”
“How do you know Chase Calhoun?” one of the mothers asks the teacher, not even bothering to pitch her voice low.
“I don’t.” Aimee presses a hand to her basketball-sized belly. “But based on the way he or she is kicking, I think my baby is a rodeo fan.”
Chase smiles at the mom who asked the question. “I’m here because I’m helping Molly.”
“He’s the twins’ nanny,” Amanda clarifies, sounding astounded at the idea of it. I’m not a fan of our principal. She gives off total mean-girl vibes. But hearing her announcethat information like breaking news, and watching Chase give a matter-of-fact nod, still makes my chest skip a beat.
My daughter giggles with her friends while Luke’s gaze stays firmly planted on the carpet between his crisscross applesauce legs.
“Do you know Chase Calhoun?” One of the other boys scoots closer and elbows Luke. “Is he teaching you to ride?”
Luke blinks and glances up, clearly shocked to have earned the attention of several of his classmates. He looks toward me and then at Chase.
“Anytime Luke wants a lesson, I’m here for it,” Chase tells the boys with a wink.
My son’s cheeks flame bright pink, but he doesn’t contradict the cowboy. Not when his peers are so obviously impressed.
“How about those games?” I say to the other class mom, sensing Luke needs a little break.
“Sure. Let’s get started.” She claps her hands, and the students quiet as they wait for her instructions. “Split up into teams of four. Our first game is the Dirty Diaper Challenge.”
I smile and nod, even as my skin tingles. Chase is staring at me, so I turn my head slightly, like that will make the intensity of his focus less noticeable.
What I focus on instead is my son standing between two groups of boys. Boys who are arguing over who gets to claim sweet Luke as part of their team. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, and I’d bet money he’s never experienced being wanted this way. My mind races as I think of all those playground moments I’ve pushed aside. Watching Luke build stick forts alone while Laurel commanded armies of giggling girls. My son reading quietly at recess while other kids played tag. Always walking a step behind his sister and her friends.
Oh, no. Chase is right. My son doesn’t have friends.
Emotion bubbles up inside me as my heart hurls itself against my ribcage. I’ve sacrificed so much of myself because I wanted my kids to have the unconditional love I never did from my troubledmom or my grandparents, who became reluctant and resentful guardians after her death.
I thought I could love the twins enough to ensure they’d never feel like outsiders looking in. Or wonder if they truly belonged somewhere, the way I spent most of my life worrying.
It may have worked with my daughter, although more likely, she takes after her naturally self-assured dad. How have I been so blind to the fact that Luke might be struggling socially? And why did it have to be Chase who pointed it out to me?
The man’s ability to home in on every single way I’m lacking is annoying as hell. It’s like he’s a heat-seeking weakness missile, and I’m sending flares into the night sky.
9
MOLLY
If it weren’tfor the crutches, I’d find an excuse to duck out of the room during the games. How many bathroom stalls have I hidden in over the years, counting to ten and willing myself to stop feeling so awkward? What’s one more? But I’d probably make a spectacle of myself, and I see Chase moving closer, Amanda stuck like glue to his side.
The kids laugh and groan at the game of guessing the type of melted chocolate smeared across the inside of a diaper.
One of the other mothers leans closer to me. “You’ve got a hot bull rider for yournanny?” she asks with a knowing chuckle.
“He’s my late husband’s best friend,” I say, like that’s the equivalent of man cooties. My body immediately calls me out on the lie, but I ignore it.
