Chapter 6: Surly Romance: Chapter 6

I look between Micheal’s tightening jaw and Bailey’s tearful blue eyes, my stomach dropping harder than it has a right to. “You’re saying Micheal hit someone?”

“He shoved him,” Ms. Bennet corrects me, her eyelashes bouncing slowly. The careful way she’s speaking and holding herself hints at mistrust. She doesn’t feel at ease in my company. “A teacher intervened before things could escalate, but it was enough to warrant he go home for the afternoon and cool off.”

I fold my fingers together and set them on my knee. The room falls into a strained silence. The seconds stretch. I can practically snap the tension in two with my fists.

“Why is Bailey here too?” A soft voice comes from my right. It’s Sunny, sitting on the arm of my chair like she’s a queen holding court. One long, long leg is folded over the other.

If everyone in the room wasn’t staring at me like I’m a judge about to sentence someone to the electric chair, I’d probably be appreciating how that tiny skirt of hers shows all the way up to her creamy brown thighs. Or the way that sparkly pink polish on her toes makes me want to jump out of my own skin. Or how throwing her over my shoulder had me considering whether I wanted to change directions and throw her on my bed instead of the porch.

But I really don’t have time for thoughts like that right now.

Which is why she shouldn’t be here.

I have no recollection of telling her to make herself at home. In fact, I distinctly remember growling out an order for her to leave before ushering the social worker, Micheal and Bailey into my farmhouse.

Ms. Bennet glances at her and then at me and then at Bailey. “Bailey, do you want to tell them what you told the dean of discipline?”

“Ebenezer called me a crybaby,” the little boy blurts.

Micheal’s fists tighten.

“A crybaby?” Sunny scoffs. “With a name like Ebenezer, he shouldn’t be bullying anyone.”

“Ebenezer bullies everyone in my class,” Bailey explains in a rush, talking more confidently now that he knows someone will listen. “He’s dumb as rocks. That’s what Micheal said.”

My hard gaze flits to the older brother. “Micheal?”

He clamps his mouth together and looks at something beyond me.

“Why were you crying, Bailey?” Sunny asks, butting in again as if she has every right to.

His bottom lip pushes out. “I… I miss grandma.”

A sigh gets trapped in my chest and makes it hard to breathe. I flatten my hands on my thighs, struggling to find the best way to resolve this.

Both boys are dealing with grief. It’s a highly unstable time in their lives, but that’s no excuse for Micheal to hurt someone else. Even if that someone else was being a jerk.

While I’m figuring out how to address this, Sunny does what Sunny always does.

Acts without thought.

Jumping out of the couch, she wraps her arms around Bailey and hugs him. The moment her arms close around the kid. It’s game over. The tears are back in his eyes again and they’re slipping down his flushed cheeks.

Micheal sheds a tear too, although he flings it away like it committed a crime against him. My heart rearranges when I see him breaking down, but I quell the rush of sympathy. Micheal still needs to be disciplined in some way for what he did today. I can’t let myself get soft or this opportunity for a lesson will disappear like smoke.

“Oh sweetiepoo,” Sunny coos to the little boy, rocking him back and forth. “It’s okay to cry. And it’s okay to miss your grandma too.”

I clear my throat. “Sunny.”

She ignores me.

Ms. Bennet rises to her feet, drawing my gaze her way. “I’ll let you take over from here, Mr. Hastings.”

“Let me walk you to the door.” I pin Micheal with another loaded look don’t you dare move from that chair until I get back. Then I follow the social worker to the door.

A hand in my pocket, I stop her before she leaves. “Hey, I appreciate you bringing them all the way here, but why didn’t the school call me?”

“They don’t have your number.”

“I’m sure I gave it to them.” Even if I didn’t, Ms. Jean would have.

Her eyes skitter away. “They don’t have your number in the emergency contacts list. I asked that they inform me first if anything happens to the boys.”

“Why would you do that? I’m their guardian.” The words escape with a bite. “If something happens, I want to be the first to know.”

Her eyes drop to half-mast, and she glances at me as if it’s taking all her energy to be polite. “Is that a scolding, Mr. Hastings?”

“Ms. Bennet, I appreciate you granting me emergency guardianship, but it’s clear to me that you don’t trust my intentions. I am very dedicated to taking care of these boys.”

“Intentions and experience are two different things. Someone might have the best intentions in the world, but when they find themselves breaking up school fights, dealing with teenage angst, and being held responsible for two emotionally-torn kids who’ve suffered more loss than is imaginable, the tune might begin to change.”

“I’m not the kind of man who flakes on his promises. If you’d give me a chance to prove myself, you’d see that.”

“My job is to assess risks and mitigate them. Blindly trusting someone could ruin a child’s life.”

“Ms. Bennet.”

“Until I’m satisfied, I’d like to keep a close eye on you and these boys. Do you have a problem with that?”

It doesn’t feel like she’s asking me. The words ring with a hint of a threat.

I step back and allow her to take this round. “No.”

She bobs her head and stomps to her car. I let the door slap shut behind her as blood rushes through my ears. I’m drowning in irritation, which means my brain is secreting too much cortisol. If I let that stress hormone flood my system, there’s no way I can address Micheal in a calm and rational manner. My annoyance with Ms. Bennet will flood out on him and he’ll sense that. Kids are especially sensitive to tone.

Deep breaths.

I can do this. I can do for Micheal what his dad did for me.

Turning abruptly, I prepare myself to be the guardian I’m supposed to be when I realize the living room is empty. I stop abruptly. Micheal isn’t in the chair where I left him and Sunny and Bailey are holding hands, heading to the kitchen.

I stalk toward them both. “What’s going on? Where is Micheal?”

“He went to his room.”

My chest rises and falls on an impatient breath. “I need to talk to him.”

“Right now?” Sunny’s direct gaze sends my pulse ratcheting up to a near toxic level, and I can’t find any rational thoughts that’ll get my breathing under control.

I’m teetering too close to an emotional response and that’s so freaking dangerous that it makes me furious. At myself. At her. At the doubts in my own mind.

She releases Bailey’s hand. “Why don’t you see if there’s anything to drink in the fridge, hm?”

He nods and scurries to the kitchen.

Taking two steps toward me, Sunny leans close. Sunlight sparkles in her eyes and glows beneath her brown skin. She’s always had that ancient fairy queen look to her, with that long black hair, thin face, and sharp cheekbones.

“Micheal is going through a lot right now.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I spit. The words are harsh and not intended for her at all. I’m frustrated. She’s frustrating. I’m losing my mind here.

She frowns at me, but her voice remains calm. “Maybe he needs some space.”

“And maybe he needs to remember that there’s someone looking out for him. Someone who’ll hold him accountable for bad decisions.”

“You really think this grieving kid needs a scolding right now. Right now?” Her words are low but fevered.

I thrust my hands through my hair. “It’s none of your business.”

“You keep saying those words like they’re supposed to mean something.”

“They do mean something, Sunny. They mean butt out.”

No, I’m not this guy. I’m not the man who snaps at women in the middle of a sunny kitchen while a seven-year-old watches with big blue eyes behind his glasses. I’m not the guy who loses my grip on control because uncertainty is eating him alive.

I don’t have chaos in my head.

I have answers.

Logical explanations backed by science.

I have the privilege of always being right. Always knowing what to do.

“If you’re doing this, then I’m coming with you,” Sunny insists.

“I don’t need you there.”

“You don’t know what you need, Hastings.” She drags a hair clip off her wrist, yanks her hair up and pulls it into a ponytail.

Suddenly, I’m that kid in high school watching the prettiest girl glide down the hallway. I’m in the crowd, looking on while all the jocks flock to her and try to get her attention. I’m there, wishing I could say something but knowing I won’t be around long enough to make it count.

I blink and the memory is gone. Instead, I’m looking at Sunny as she is now. All woman. All stubbornness and pride. Willowy limbs, full lips, bright brown eyes and the confidence that comes from always being adored simply because she owns her differences.

Sunny slants me an aggravated look, but she tries to disguise it when she turns to Bailey. Gesturing to him, she says sweetly, “Did you find something to drink, Bailey? Go ahead and watch some TV until I come back, and we can talk about lunch.”

“Okay.” He bobs his head. He’s sharp enough to sense that something is off but still young enough that the promise of watching cartoons when he’s supposed to be in school can distract him.

“Let’s go.” Sunny whips a hand forward.

Which is annoying all by itself, but not as annoying as the urge to hold her hand and admit that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

Scratch that.

I know what I should be doing. Staying as far away from this woman as possible and being a consistent, stable presence in Micheal and Bailey’s lives. It’s the how of achieving those goals that stumps me.

Every time I think I’ve managed to shake Sunny Quetzal loose, she comes ricocheting back to me. Like a boomerang.

Sunny marches upstairs. The boys’ room is locked and she aims a smug smile at me as if one lock is enough to deter me from going in.

I rap my knuckles on the door. “Micheal, it’s me. You need to open up.”

No response.

I shuffle my feet and keep my tone level. “Micheal, we don’t lock doors in this house.” After another pause, I add, “Don’t make me ask again.”

A lock clicks.

The door swings open.

Micheal stands in front of me, his face pale and his arms hidden within the pockets of his hoodie. His gaunt cheeks fill to the brim as he sucks in a breath. “What?”

He’s eleven. Too young to be channeling that much attitude.

I lift a hand to signify that I’ve come in peace. “Let’s talk.”

He rolls his eyes.

This is exactly what I mean. Eleven. He’s not even a tween yet. Where did he learn to do that?

“Micheal, what happened at school today?”

He frowns and wraps his arms around himself.

In therapy, the goal isn’t to give advice. It’s to get the patient to stumble on their own understanding, but I can’t seem to find the patience right now.

“Micheal, why did you hit that boy?”

“He didn’t hit him. He shoved him,” Sunny whispers.

I glare at her.

She glares right back. “Get your facts right.”

Micheal glances at her and smiles.

He.

Freaking.

Smiles.

At her.

The same teenager trapped in the body of an eleven-year-old is making alliances with the one woman who drives me crazy. And if winning over boys with emotional baggage isn’t a Sunny-thing, I don’t know what is.

“He’s scary, isn’t he?” Sunny steps in front of me, knocking my shoulder on the way.

I scowl at her.

She ignores me and drops into a crouch just inside Micheal’s room. “I always thought Darrel was like the fun police. But growlier.”

Micheal’s eyebrows twitch. He doesn’t seem to understand what she’s talking about, but he doesn’t disagree.

“Sunny,” I warn. Where is she going with this?

Sunny wraps her long, toned arms around her knees. “School is tough, right?”

Micheal pauses. He studies her as if he’s trying to get in front of the conversation. Make sure she isn’t going to pull a lesson out of mid-air. He must conclude that she’s worthy of his trust because, after a beat, he nods.

“School’s a lot tougher when you’re different.” Her voice is soft, as if she’s speaking to Micheal as a friend rather than a child. “When I first moved to the States, I was terrified of going to school with all these kids who were…” Sunny falls silent.

“Who were what?” Micheal steps closer to her as if he needs to hear what happened.

Honestly, I do too. I don’t remember Sunny lacking confidence at all in high school, but it wasn’t like I was ever in her social orbit and close enough to see her struggles.

She touches her silky hair. “I’m half Mayan, and half black. Where I come from, we call that Creole.” Her laughter is sad. “Where I come from, I’m normal. But over here, it isn’t normal. The other kids didn’t understand my accent. They made fun of my clothes. It was brutal.” She brushes at the hem of her skirt. “One day, I got shoved into a locker. While I was crying and scared and wondering if I’d suffocate in the dark, something clicked for me. I decided that my life had to change. I’d either make myself invisible or I’d fight back.”

Micheal leans forward.

I lean forward.

The orangutan stuffed animal probably does too.

“Guess what I chose to do?” Sunny’s smile is mischievous.

“Change schools?” Micheal squeaks.

“Nope.” Her shoulders hike to her ears. “I decided to fight. From that day on, I kept my head up and traded insults with anyone who came at me. I wore my Mayan blouses and I made it cool. Anyone who insulted me learned that they would pay for it. I couldn’t beat the bullies on their terms, but I could fight them if the game changed. So I changed it and made it mine.”

My eyebrows hike.

My heartbeat picks up.

It’s like getting a glimpse into a celebrity’s personal life. Sunny isn’t a celebrity to the world, but she was to the kids at John Hearst. She’s also the woman responsible for one of the most embarrassing moments of my formative years.

And it’s weird to hear that she didn’t grow up dreaming of terrorizing people.

I should know that.

I do know.

I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on her in the school hallway and saw that gorgeous smile.

The girl who walked around like the queen bee of the school and the girl who slapped someone for making fun of the janitor seemed like a mystery I wanted to unravel. Only I ended up tying myself in knots and leaving the school shamefully instead.

Sunny’s voice rings with sincerity. “Here’s the thing Micheal. Now that I’m older, when I look back on those years, I really wished I’d taken a different path. Because one day, I woke up and realized I’d become the very thing I hated. Someone who hurt other people.”

Micheal blinks. He’s not saying anything, but every muscle in his little body is tuned to Sunny.

“You don’t think you’re going to become that person at first.” The smile that flickers over her face is full of sadness. “At first, all you can think about is surviving. But then you keep making that choice. The choice to drop to a bully’s level. After a while, it feels normal.”

Micheal swallows hard, his eyes circling to the ground.

“I know you were only defending your brother today.” Sunny glances over her shoulder and I’m shocked when her stunning brown eyes fall on mine. “Mr. Darrel knows it too.” She returns her attention to the boy and places her hand on his. “All I’m asking is that you think really hard about the choice you want to make. Because that decision can determine your future. We want your future to be a great one. We want you to become someone your dad would be proud of, so next time think carefully before you—”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“It’s okay, baby. I’m not scolding you.”

“I just wanted to protect Bailey and that guy kept shoving me.” Micheal hangs his head.

Sunny snatches him into her arms just like she did with Bailey. To my surprise, Micheal doesn’t resist her. He sets his chin in the crook of her shoulder and cries.

She pats his back, soothing him. “It’s okay.”

I blink in shock. Just like that? Micheal’s walls were all the way up with me, but Sunny can just prance around them like she’s got the keys to the vault? I can’t believe how well she connects with him.

“You feel a little better now?” she asks him, pulling back.

He nods.

“How about some food? If Mr. Darrel has the right ingredients, I can whip up my favorite Belizean meal.”

“Are you really Mayan, Sunny?” Micheal asks.

“That’s right.” She taps her forearms. “Real Mayan blood runs through these veins.”

“I thought all the Mayan people were dead.”

She laughs and wraps an arm around his scrawny shoulders. “That, my dear Mike, is what they want you to think.” As she walks past me, Sunny winks. “In reality, we’re alive and well. We live mostly in Central and South America…”

I turn around and watch her, still amazed that one, she got Micheal to listen to a lecture without making it feel like a lecture and two, she regrets her cruel past. I wonder if that includes what she did to me in high school.

Either way, it’s not what I expected. Sunny puts up such a hard exterior that it was easy to believe she hadn’t changed since high school, but the evidence is piling in front of me. Sunny is different. She’s… better.

I shouldn’t care, but it’s drawing me closer.

Just like it did when I was a kid.

Dangerous, dangerous territory.

Because back then and now, Sunny Quetzal is the only woman who can shut down my frontal cortex and turn me into a lovesick fool.

I’m right there with Micheal and Bailey, pulling a long face when Sunny has to leave after lunch. Sure, my disappointed face looks like all my other faces. And it’s not like Sunny cares either way, but I know what I’m feeling.

And the longing is strong and clear.

Sunny hugs both Micheal and Bailey, promises to come back with another Belizean dish—rice and beans with stew chicken and salad which, frankly, sounds amazing—and then floats past me as if I don’t exist.

Given how raw and honest she’d been with Micheal, I thought she was over our fight from earlier.

I was wrong.

Very wrong.

The screen door slams shut and she’s gone without so much as a glance at me.

Awkwardness sets in around the table now that it’s just me and the kids.

I clear my throat. “Do you boys have homework?”

Micheal nods.

Bailey scrunches his nose. “I hate homework.”

He’s mentioned that. “Even so, bud, you have to do it.”

He groans.

“Come on, Bailey. I’ll help you.” Micheal pushes away from the table and holds a hand out to his little brother.

“Hey, Micheal,” I call.

The eleven-year-old stops and pins me with clear brown eyes. I see his little jaw clenching like he’s bracing himself for a scolding.

I don’t deliver on it. “Call me if you need any help.”

His shoulders drop a smidge. “Okay.”

The boys walk off and I retire to my office. Since the kids are home so early in the day, I can’t go back to the center. Instead, I meet with patients online through video calls. I already pushed my schedule back yesterday and I really don’t want to do it again.

When I take a break to check on the kids, Bailey is playing on a handheld console while Micheal is reading a comic book. With his face smushed up to the pages like that, he really looks like Professor Stein.

“You kids okay?” I ask.

They nod.

I glance around the messy room and try not to cringe inside. I’ll give them a bit of time to get adjusted before I start riding them about putting clothes where they belong.

The sun sets while I return to my office for another round of video-call sessions. This time, when I head outside to check on the boys, they’re rummaging in the kitchen.

“Hungry?” I ask. “What do you feel about pizza?”

“Yeah!” Bailey thrusts a fist to the sky.

Micheal smiles.

Pizza’s always a crowd pleaser.

I dial the company and check Micheal’s homework while I wait. The bell rings fifteen minutes later and I’m impressed.

“They got here quick,” I mumble, reaching for my wallet.

Bailey runs around the table in a circle yelling, “Pizza, pizza, pizza!”

If I were a few years younger, I’d probably be joining him. It’s been a long time since Sunny’s delicious fry jack meal and my belly’s grumbling loud enough to wake the dead.

“Settle down, Bailey.” I reach for the doorknob and twist. “You’ll scare the…” My jaw drops. “Delivery man.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know you had company or I’d have brought a box,” Alistair says.

I stare at my brother-in-law as if he’ll disappear any minute now, replaced by a shaggy-haired teen with acne, braces and a pizza box.

“Is it pizza?” Bailey hollers.

“Uh…”

Footsteps patter and, a moment later, Bailey pokes his head out. “Where’s the pizza?”

A motorcycle engine spares me from having to make an introduction. Not that I’d know how to start. Hey, Alistair. This is Bailey. One of two little boys I’m now solely responsible for. Would you like some tea?

The pizza guy swaggers up the stairs and swings the pizza box at me. After exchanging the money, he wishes me a goodnight in a bored tone, completely oblivious to the tension between the two adults on the porch and the rambunctious little boy who’s about to chew the pizza through the cardboard box.

I clear my throat and hand the box gently to Bailey. “Take this inside to your brother. Tell him to watch some TV while I talk out here, okay?”

“Okay!” Bailey snatches the box so enthusiastically, I’m not even sure he heard half of what I said.

“Is that a patient?” Alistair points to the little boy who’s running gleefully inside.

I shut the door. “Alistair.”

“Are you baby-sitting?”

I wince.

“No?” He covers his face with a hand. “Do you have a long-lost son? Is that it?”

“Let’s talk over here.” I draw him away from the door and to the far end of the porch.

He looks slightly frantic. “What the hell is going on, Darrel? You didn’t…” He presses closer and lowers his voice. “You didn’t kidnap him, did you?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Does it look like I’m joking right now?” he barks.

I rub the back of my neck. I’ve been putting off this conversation for a long time. Not because I don’t trust Alistair but because talking about why I have these kids will lead to a discussion about Professor Stein and the part he played in my life. It’s something I haven’t shared with anyone.

“Alistair, I’m going to be a…” ‘Dad’ doesn’t fit. It’s not right. It conjures images of a stone-cold Major yelling at me to get up from the mud and run the drills again. “Legal guardian.”

“What?”

“I’m applying for legal custody of these kids.”

His jaw drops so hard that it makes an audible thud. “Kids. That’s plural.”

“I know how grammar works, Alistair.”

“Who are they?”

“Bailey and Micheal. One is seven and the other is eleven.”

He blinks rapidly. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

“They’re the kids of my professor.” If I leave it vague, he won’t ask too many deep questions, will he? “I made a promise to him.”

“You promised to adopt your professor’s kids? That’s rather specific.”

“It kind of falls under the banner. Their grandma and I arranged it a year ago. She was sick for a while, so I watched them last year and…”

“You knew this was going to happen since last year?” If Alistair’s nose flares any harder, his brain might be able to pass through it. “Wait. Is the grandmother the client you were ‘meeting with’?” He scrunches his fingers. “The one who was ‘being treated at your clinic and ‘has two kids’?”

I nod slowly.

“You mean you lied to my face?”

“How does someone announce that they’re adopting two kids?”

“You say, ‘hey man, nice weather, oh and by the way, I’m adopting two kids.’” His eyebrows are about to fly off his face. “Just like that.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“No.” Alistair waves his arms. “Nothing is simple for the great brain-therapist who analyzes everything until he gets cross-eyed. You wouldn’t look for a simple solution even if there were one.”

Sunny said something similar to me and, hearing it from Alistair again makes me wonder if there’s some credence to it.

After a moment of self-reflection, I reject the assessment. So I think through every choice deeply? Why is that a bad thing? Rushing into a situation without logical consideration is a recipe for disaster. By weighing all the risks, I’m not likely to get hurt.

He shakes his head, jaw still slack. “Kenya told me you and Sunny were up to something, but I didn’t think I’d find out you were hiding children from me.”

“I’m not doing anything with Sunny,” I say quickly. Maybe a little too quickly.

Alistair’s eyes glint at me. “No? Then why did you call her today?”

“She’s designing the boys’ room.”

“You’re her new job?” Alistair points at me.

“Why are you surprised by that?”

“I guess she didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?” I step forward. “Did something happen to Sunny?”

Alistair watches me carefully. “She did some work for Stinton Investment. They stiffed her when the CEO ran off.”

“Stinton Investment.” I frown. “Aren’t they the firm that went bankrupt?” I may not be in the field anymore, but finances used to be the only thing I knew. I still keep up with the latest news.

“Yes. Unfortunately, Sunny did some extra work on credit for them, thinking they’d pay her back for everything. They didn’t and now she’s in trouble.”

My heartbeat picks up. “She didn’t say anything to me.”

“I’m not surprised. Both Sunny and Kenya like to tackle problems on their own.” He sighs as if he’s thinking of his fiancée’s legendary stubbornness.

Determination thickens my voice. “I need to make a call.”

“A call? To who?”

I’m stalking back to the front door, my mind already far away.

“Hey!” Alistair calls at my back. “When do I get to meet my nephews? We should set up a play date with Belle.”

“I’ll call you,” I grumble. Then I storm inside. It takes effort to stop in the living room and coax my expression into a lighter one.

Bailey smiles at me, his face plastered with tomato sauce. “You want some, Mr. Darrel?”

“Not yet.” I meet Micheal’s eyes. “You good?”

He nods, as silent as ever.

“I’ll be in my office. Call me if you need me.”

When I arrive in the quiet room, I lock the door behind me and plop into my chair. Tenting my fingers, I lean my elbows on the desk. Sunny’s in trouble. It has nothing to do with me. In fact, I’m the last person who should be helping her after everything she did in the past.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip. I think about Sunny. The way she comforted Micheal by sharing her past. The way she held Bailey as he cried on her shoulder. The way she whipped up fried jacks with love and genuine care.

My eyes burst open. I tap the screen of my phone, scroll through my contacts and call an old friend.

The line rings.

And rings.

And rings.

When I’m just about to give up, a voice says, “Max Stinton.”

“Max, it’s Darrel.”

The frost in his tone lessons but only a smidge. “Darrel.”

“I need a favor.”

“If this is about what my brother did—”

“It is about what your brother did.” I tap my fingers against my pants. “He stole from someone.”

“He stole from a lot of people.”

“Sunny Quetzal.”

“Name doesn’t ring a bell.” He sighs into the phone. “Look, Darrel. I’m going crazy over here trying to clean up Trevor’s mess. Again. I don’t need—”

“She needs her money and an apology,” I growl.

Max sighs. “My brother’s gone missing. We don’t know where he is. We’re working through the list of people he scammed and it’s a mile long. That woman… she’s not on it.”

“Put her on the list, Max,” I bite out. “Give her her money and an apology.”

He goes silent. He’s probably cursing me out in his head, but we worked closely together when I was in Wall Street. He respects me enough to keep his mouth shut.

“Fine,” he growls. “Her money and an apology.”

“Good,” I snarl. And then I hang up the phone.