The morning went smoothly enough.
Paulette handed out the goodie bags that were filled with some healthy, allergy-friendly snacks along with some toys that would help us with one of our first lessons: colors.
I’d had the idea to pick up a bunch of small squishy toys, each of them in a color of the rainbow. The nice thing about squishy toys was that they were popular among the kids, couldn’t hurt anyone if they got thrown, and had the added benefit of being a great source of sensory input when kids got antsy or upset.
We taught them a fun song about the colors in the rainbow, and I had the children lift the right colored toy as we sang through the colors. Then, we moved on to secondary colors by having the kids mix different colors together with wads of play dough.
Finally, we started learning the alphabet, the foundation for learning basic sentence structure, nouns, prepositions, basic capitalization, and punctuation.
The day already felt incredibly full by the time the bell rang for recess. I was happy to have a little bit of unstructured time myself, so I could only imagine how the children felt. Paulette and I led them back out to the playground in a line, emphasizing the importance of listening to directions, then we let the adorable little monsters loose.
Picking a spot on the playground where I would have ample view of all the kids, I sighed and rolled back my shoulders. Paulette came to join me, and we watched the kids in silence as we both came down from the busy morning.
Paulette was a shifter. Specifically, she was the shifter assigned to me just in case any of the kiddos got out of hand or shifted and started causing problems for the rest of the children. As an adult shifter, she could make up for some of the authority I lacked as a human.
It wasn’t necessarily that shifter children were barbaric or even wildcards. Some of these things were just biological. There had been studies in the past few years that showed when shifters were too far gone in their animal side, they could no longer understand human speech or even social cues. Studies also showed that lycans had to be pushed past their limit pretty far to get to that point, but with children at this age, every emotion was so large that it was important to have a shifter on hand who could calm them down when I couldn’t.
We stepped in every now and then when kids fought over whose turn it was to use the swings or to stop kids from wrestling in their lycan forms on the blacktop. When the playground had become less chaotic, Paulette turned to me.
“Okay, I’ve stayed quiet about it as long as I possibly can. I saw you talking to Bratt Lucas this morning—like really, really talking to him,” she gushed. “Are you guys good friends or something?”
“What?” I blurted, surprised by the sudden question. “No, not at all. I only met him today. I kind of careened into him on my run this morning and destroyed his coffee.”
Paulette brought her hand up to her mouth in surprise, leaning in like a gossip. “You didn’t,” she said conspiratorially. “What did he do? Was he mad?”
“As far as I can tell, no.” I shrugged. “I tried to buy him a new one to apologize for the mistake, but before I knew it, he was on his way. I didn’t even get his name until earlier when he dropped Noah off.”
“No way. Girl, you are so lucky. It’s like some cheesy romance meet-cute.”
“Meet-what?” I asked.
“You know, a meet-cute, like when the two love interests meet for the first time because their dog’s leashes get tangled, or they reach for the same book in the library—”
“I’d hardly call splashing an unsuspecting man with scalding coffee while I’m drenched in sweat a meet-cute,Paulette. Besides, you know we’re not allowed to have relationships with any of the parents.”
“But the chemistry,” she squealed. “I could see it on his face! He was into you.”
I snorted, smiling at my assistant and friend. “Paulette, he was just a concerned father making sure his son was set up for success on his first day of school in his life, okay?” I said. “He’s not flirting with me. We didn’t have a meet-cute. I just rammed into him and embarrassed the heck out of myself.”
Paulette pouted. “You didn’t even let me list his qualifications.”
“Qualifications for what?”
“For hooking up with you, obviously!”
I looked quickly around us to make sure there were no children in earshot—then I realized that half of the kids on the playground had supersonic hearing. My face warmed as I elbowed Paulette in the ribs.
“Watch what you say around the kids. I don’t want anyone going home and asking their parents what ‘hooking up’ means.”
“I’m just saying that just because you can’t uh… Hmm… Buy a coffee machine doesn’t mean you can’t get a nice latte once in a while.”
The euphemism flustered me more than I liked to admit. I shook my head and looked out at the kids on the playground, trying to find something to do that would get me off the hook from this conversation—no pun intended.
When I did, however, my eyes didn’t land on any of the children on the swings or the jungle gym. Instead, my gaze stopped on a shadowy figure loitering near the farthest corner of the brick and stainless steel gate around the property.
He was far enough away that I couldn’t really make out his features, aside from the fact that he was rail thin and seemed kind of young, like he was a first-year college student or something. His long, dark coat made him stand out like a sore thumb against the vibrant colors of the children and their school uniforms. Even from that distance, though, I had the sense that he was staring directly at me.
In fact, it was eerily similar to what I’d felt that morning—a set of heavy eyes boring into me from somewhere I couldn’t see.
“Who is that guy?” Paulette asked. “Isn’t it a little weird for him to be hanging around a school like that?”
And then, as if cued by Paulette’s question, the shadowy figure turned and strode away, not sparing us or anyone else a glance. His pace was casual, unhurried, and almost made me feel like I was being paranoid…almost.
I’d learned from my relationship with Wyatt that paranoia was often justified. I’d gaslit myself for so long, even after leaving Pennsylvania. This time, I wasn’t letting it go.
“I’ll talk to Lana after school and see if there have been any reports of creeps in the area and make sure she knows someone was lurking near the playground,” I said. “He seems gone for now, but let’s make sure the kids are staying away from the gates.”
Paulette’s brow bunched as she watched the man vanish down the street. She nodded once. “Yeah, let’s start herding them closer to the classroom. You never know what kind of psychos are out here these days.”
I nodded but found myself unable to move as Paulette started to corral the children toward our classroom door, enticing them with the promise of playing with glittery slime for the rest of recess.
I wasn’t sure what was going on.
But I knew something was wrong.
BRATT. It was strange to walk up the stairs and into the office without Noah clinging to me like a little koala bear. Sylvia, my administrative assistant, was at her desk and gave me a knowing look when she saw me. “How’s our boy doing?” she asked. “There was a moment where he latched onto my leg—first-day nerves and all that. His teacher is really great with him, though. Got him to go in willingly. No tears at all.” “I’m glad Noah’s doing well, Bratt, but I was asking about you.” I blinked, momentarily confused, then laughed. I sat on the edge of her desk, bending one knee. “Is it that obvious?” “I’ve known you since before Noah was born, so I do like to think I have an eye for your moods.” Sylvia’s eyes crinkled. “Plus, I’ve raised a litter of my own. I remember the first day of school very well.” I nodded and exhaled heavily. “I feel like I’m missing a limb. It’s taking just about everything in me not to turn around and take him out of school.” “You’ll get used to it in no
BRATT. Taking Noah to my folks’ place was always a treat for everyone involved. I usually got to eat an amazing homecooked meal with my parents, Noah got to be spoiled by his grandparents, and Mom and Dad got a chance to spend time with their only grandson. My mother, while identifying primarily as a shifter, had a lot of Italian heritage in her bloodline. In fact, she was the first generation born in the States to my late grandparents after they immigrated. Because of that, food had always been equated with love in my household, and we ate a lot of amazing food. Now that my parents were retired, my mother spent most of her time improving old recipes. Buying her a pasta press for Christmas a couple of years prior was the best and worst decision I ever made. When we pulled up outside of the house, even Travis could smell the fresh garlic and butter from outside their beachfront bungalow. “Holy shit,” he said as we climbed out of the car. “Uncle Travis! Bad word!” “I know, I know,
We really had to stop bumping into each other. Every single time I ran into Bratt Lucas, it got harder and harder to say no to him—to myself. I wondered if he was aware of the way the world around me had gone quiet when I saw him looking at me from the bar. I wondered if he could hear the way my heart had pounded against my sternum when he slid off of his barstool and walked over to our table. “We have to stop running into each other like this,” he said, looking right. My heart throttled as alarm bells went off in my mind. This man was a shifter, the very thing I’d sworn myself off of after Wyatt. More than that, he was the father of one of my students. I’d only just got my life back. I couldn’t risk losing it again. But the power and confidence about him… The perfect body and flawlessly groomed facial hair… The smell of him. It felt as if I was wandering through a desert, starving and parched, and he was a spread of the most decadent foods and the promise of a cold drink of water.
BRATT. Embarrassment blazed through me as I sprinted through the reserve. I suddenly dreaded seeing Marley when I went to pick up my son. Maybe I could just send Travis in to get him? No, that was even more cowardly. I groaned internally and forced my legs to go faster and faster as if I could outrun my own humiliation. Why did I even care what a kindergarten teacher thought of me? Because it wasn’t just any kindergarten teacher, was it? There had been another teacher looking out the window, too, I realized. The shifter teacher. But my embarrassment didn’t extend to her. No, just to the perfect sandy blonde who smelled like honey and roses. Fuck. I didn’t have time for this, and the last thing I needed to do was complicate Noah’s school experience by becoming interested in his teacher. Yet, more and more, I found that my interest in Marley was more than just cursory. It was hardwired into me biologically. Something about her just turned my wolf into a puppy who wanted nothing
BRATT. Taking Noah to my folks’ place was always a treat for everyone involved. I usually got to eat an amazing homecooked meal with my parents, Noah got to be spoiled by his grandparents, and Mom and Dad got a chance to spend time with their only grandson. My mother, while identifying primarily as a shifter, had a lot of Italian heritage in her bloodline. In fact, she was the first generation born in the States to my late grandparents after they immigrated. Because of that, food had always been equated with love in my household, and we ate a lot of amazing food. Now that my parents were retired, my mother spent most of her time improving old recipes. Buying her a pasta press for Christmas a couple of years prior was the best and worst decision I ever made. When we pulled up outside of the house, even Travis could smell the fresh garlic and butter from outside their beachfront bungalow. “Holy shit,” he said as we climbed out of the car. “Uncle Travis! Bad word!” “I know, I know
BRATT. “I don’t know, Mom. I’ll think about it. Let’s just drop it for now. I don’t want things to get…” I looked at Noah again, still blissfully unaware for now. “I just don’t want to talk about confusing stuff.” “Fine,” she said, lifting her brows in concern. “We’ll drop it for now.” The rest of dinner went easily enough, and by the time Noah’s food was almost finished, he was already starting to get a little drowsy. Since it was still early for him to be going to bed, my dad took him to play with knick-knacks in his workroom. The sun was beginning to set when Travis and I hugged and kissed my mother goodbye. “You guys have fun tonight and drive safely. If you need to run home, just do that.” “Mom, I’m a grown man. You don’t have to remind me not to drink and drive,” I teased. “I don’t have to, that’s true, but I will anyway,” she said with a wink. “Don’t worry about Noah. We’ll take him to school in the morning. We want to see the place anyway. We haven’t seen it since the
We really had to stop bumping into each other.Every single time I ran into Bratt Lucas, it got harder and harder to say no to him—to myself. I wondered if he was aware of the way the world around me had gone quiet when I saw him looking at me from the bar. I wondered if he could hear the way my heart had pounded against my sternum when he slid off of his barstool and walked over to our table.“We have to stop running into each other like this,” he said, looking right.My heart throttled as alarm bells went off in my mind. This man was a shifter, the very thing I’d sworn myself off of after Wyatt. More than that, he was the father of one of my students. I’d only just got my life back. I couldn’t risk losing it again.But the power and confidence about him… The perfect body and flawlessly groomed facial hair… The smell of him. It felt as if I was wandering through a desert, starving and parched, and he was a spread of the most decadent foods and the promise of a cold drink of water.“I
BRATT. God, to be a fly on the wall of Marley’s mind. I didn’t know how long I stood there, watching her wheels turn, but it was long enough to sus out that she had an aversion to shifters. I knew better than to think it was prejudice or even a phobia. I’d seen lycanphobic people around shifter children. Those assholes always seemed uncomfortable and awkward around them. I’d noticed it when Noah was around. Men and women gave him wary looks like he was a rabid animal about to lash out. Marley wasn’t like that. I recognized something in Marley. Someone wounded. It pained me to think of what could have happened in the past to make her that way. I wanted to heal those old wounds, heal them in myself. But for now, Marley wanted to dance, and I could do that. I offered her my hand and a smile, and she took both. Our fingers twined together as I pulled her past the dining area to the dance floor. The music was loud and had a bass line so deep we could feel it in our chests. As we reac