Jacob Read online

  I move around my desk to look at the young boy, hands finding my hips. “Ryan,” I repeat. “Ryan Eckhart. The rain cannot possibly be that entertaining.”

  He stiffens as the sound of my voice pierces the haze of his daydream. His eyes shift to lock on me but his face stays slightly turned away.

  “What do you want?” he asks irritably, leaving me dumbfounded.

  The students snicker, heat pooling to my cheeks.

  As a new teacher, I’ve had a tough time commanding the attention of the children this year and this is not going to help. If only Mr. Eckhart would actually answer his phone once in a blue moon so we could work out some sort of plan for the poor, distracted kid sitting in front of me now.

  Even though I expected the transition from public schools to an elite prep school to be bumpy, it’s been rougher than I could’ve estimated. It’s like the kids can sense that I don't belong amongst the other teachers who’d once been students here and were social elites themselves. They seem to sniff out that I’m from a lesser social status than them. It’s probably a skill they picked up from their parents while they lounge in their mansions and order around their maids and butlers.

  Okay, I know I’m being a little ridiculous . . . but the kids here, even the well-behaved ones, are spoiled. It’s obvious by their Louis Vuitton pencil bags and the way they gaze at me down their snooty button noses.

  But I'm not here to be a pushover or to be treated with disrespect.

  I'm here to help these kids not only learn a lesson or two about education, but about how to be decent young people who can make positive changes in the world. They’re going to leave my class with a new definition of humanity whether they like it or not.

  Before I can rebuke the dark-haired young man who’s gone back to staring out the window, I hear the sound of a throat clearing behind me—an all too familiar sound that makes my skin crawl.

  I don’t have to turn around to know who it is, but I do anyway after arranging a polite smile on my face. I'm glad I set down my marker, otherwise I’d be gripping it so tightly it may have snapped right in two.

  Principal Eugene Walton, about as attractive as his name makes him sound, glowers at me from the doorway. A ruddy and round man, he has perpetual dollar signs in his eyes. He doesn’t care about these kids as much as he cares about the ridiculous paychecks he receives from their parents for tuition. It’s tiresome to work under a man who cares so little about the children, but I know not every boss is going to be flawless and good-intentioned.

  Sometimes you just have to pick your battles and bite your tongue, and I’ve been doing an awful lot of that with Principal Walton.

  He and I have already had a few ‘altercations’ regarding the way I like to teach my students, but I’ve done the best I can to follow his strict set of rules, within reason.

  I have no idea what I’ve done this time to bring him and his quivering jowls to my room.

  “Miss Davis,” he instructs snidely, jerking his chin toward my door.

  “I’ll just be a moment, class,” I say with a smile, hoping they can’t sense how much I dislike the principal, but I know that kids are more perceptive than most would think.

  I follow Principal Walton out into the hall and close the door behind me. The hardwood presses against my spine as I lean against the door. I can hear the familiar sound of chatter and giggles from behind it.

  “Miss Davis,” he hisses again, dropping all presumptions of niceness as his ruddy face blooms bright crimson, “how many times must we discuss the illustrious reputation that many of our students’ parents have?”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, baffled.

  “I'm speaking, of course, about Jacob Eckhart. He called this afternoon saying that you . . .” Eugene gulps in a rasping breath of air and fanned his face as though whatever I’ve done is unthinkable, “. . . that you mailed him a letter regarding young Ryan’s performance?”

  “Oh. Yes,” I answer simply, brows lifting when Principal Walton folds his arms like he’s waiting for an explanation. “I mean, you’re aware I’ve tried to send Ryan to detention multiple times.” Tried being the keyword because Principal Walton always sent Ryan back within seconds. “He speaks back to me in class and refuses to participate. I thought maybe a conference with Mr. Eckhart would clear things up.”

  “Mr. Eckhart is a celebrity and a renowned football player with the NFL, Miss Davis,” spits the red-faced man as though I’m supposed to be impressed, “and you will treat him as such.”

  I try to remind myself to keep calm, but irritation fizzes in my stomach like a shaken can of soda that’s already starting to spring loose. “A celebrity? Meaning that he can’t be held accountable for Ryan’s actions? Ryan needs a guiding hand—”

  Principal Walton lifts a hand and cuts me off, his eyes turning to slits. “I'm only going to say this once. You are not to personally contact any of the parents from this moment on without my precise permission. If you continue to behave improperly, I will have no choice but to dismiss you from my staff without further references. Are we clear?”

  I swallow hard, my throat tight. I can’t lose this job. It means too much to me. I’ve worked so hard to get here and I don’t want to fail.

  Plus, I know what Principal Walton is saying. He’ll blacklist my name if I piss him off, something I'm sure he’s done to countless other teachers before me. Now we’re not only talking about my future here at St. James Academy, but my future as a teacher anywhere. If I get myself fired, I’ll probably have to move overseas to try and find another teaching job, and that’s assuming Eugene’s ire doesn’t follow me across continents.

  When it came to Eugene Walton, you could never be too sure.

  “Crystal clear,” I whisper back, sagging against the door when the principal finally turns and marches away.

  I close my eyes and drag in a tired, shallow breath.

  How am I supposed to make a difference with these kids if I'm constantly being held back?

  Chapter 3

  Jake

  The rain still swirling down over New York City, I decide to drive my bright red BMW Coupe over to St. James Academy to pick up Ryan.

  Because of my intensive practice schedule, I usually don’t do this myself, having the car service handle it. I used to have the nannies do it, but our latest one has quit yet again. It’s gotten to the point where we were going through nannies so quickly, I didn’t even have time to learn their names anymore. They never last, despite arriving pink-cheeked and eager to be working for the Jake Eckhart, Hartbreaker extraordinaire—that’s what my female fans call themselves.

  The Hartbreakers show up at all my games, waving banners or posters with my motto, The Hartbreak Kid, painted on them.

  I used to love standing there on the field, listening to the women chant my name, screaming and gushing over how much they want me. It’s surreal to be surrounded by that kind of intense love. Even though they know nothing about me, they still adore me. It’s flattering and a little disturbing simultaneously.

  At first, I’d been perfectly happy hiring some of my fans when they’d apply to the nanny position to help me with Ryan’s care. I figured that they loved me so much, they’d love Ryan too. But as soon as I told them what I expected, which was to spend more time with my nephew than with me, they bailed.

  I guess they’d imagined a gig where they got to wear tight dresses and seductively smile while on my arm at some star-studded event instead of actually looking after Ryan—and the few that did actually try to be a decent nanny for Ryan left because of his behavior.

  I know he’s not perfect, but I also know the last year has been hell for us both.

  Why can’t I just find the right person to be Ryan’s nanny?

  Responsible, understanding, kind. Those are the traits he needs, as well as someone who isn’t completely obsessed with my celebrity status as a pro football star.

  I'm so busy with my career that I desperately need someone else to help wit
h him, but it seems no amount of money can find the type of person who will be the perfect fit. I’ve even tried multiple nanny agencies in town and they were of little help as well. No one even makes it a week. I’ve tried to talk to Ryan about how rude he can be with the nannies, but I can’t make the little man like someone, and I'm not going to force him to hang out with people he doesn’t like day in and day out.

  I wish I could find someone who he took to naturally, but it’s not like I have time to screen a million caregivers. Not when I feel like I’ve already exhausted all available avenues with little luck.

  I pull into the school parking lot and hear the car next to me blaring the popular new Disney movie song as two little girls merrily sing along with it.

  Now that’s what I need—a Disney Princess to drop out of the sky.

  “Fat chance,” I mutter to myself. I learned to stop believing in fairytales a long time ago.

  As my car idles in the parking lot, Ryan is easy enough to spot. With just my short break during practice, I'm later than some of the other parents so there aren’t many kids left waiting to be picked up. Quickly, I park and slam the door shut, rushing through the rain.

  I instantly feel the eyes of the other parents on me. Maybe I shouldn’t have driven my flashiest car. My BMW attracts a lot of attention and it isn’t exactly a kid-friendly vehicle, but it gets the job done. And I love driving it.

  I ignore the stares and head toward Ryan. His eyes round as I approach, shooting to his feet so fast that his bright green backpack tumbles to his feet and all his stuff falls out. Luckily, he’s under the awning so his things don’t land in a puddle. With a chuckle, I help him pick everything up and put it away again.

  “You’re picking me up today, Uncle Jake?” Ryan asks, delight in his small voice.

  “You betcha. But before we go, is Miss Davis around?” I hadn't been able to get a hold of her when I called earlier, and I wanted to do Jenny proud and make more of an effort to track the teacher down.

  Ryan deflates and rolls his eyes. He glances around then jerks his chin to the side where a woman is standing with her back to us, helping other kids get into cars from under the porte-cochere. My eyes linger on her, taking in her petite, curvy stature. I can’t see her face but the shape of her body is enticing.

  You can take the kid out of the Hartbreaker, but not the Hartbreaker out of the kid, I suppose.

  I clear my throat and rip my eyes back to focus on my nephew. “That her?”

  “Yeah. Did she tell on me?” Ryan asks with a pout.

  I grin and tickle his ribs until he finally cracks a little smile and squeals in laughter.

  “Nope. I just want to introduce myself to your teacher. Your mom always did that, didn’t she?”

  Ryan eyes me, then gives a faint nod. “I guess.”

  “I’ll be right back, kiddo.” I squeeze his shoulder and then straighten, ignoring the pining looks of other housewives as I walk toward the cute brunette teacher.

  Seeming to sense my approach, Miss Davis turns to look up at me as my powerful strides echo behind her. She’s beautiful, brown curls slipping from her bun to into her warm hazel eyes.

  My steps falter and I stop a good five feet away from her. For a second, I’m completely frozen. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to make my legs work.

  She smiles at me uncertainly, but there’s a warmth to her face that suddenly makes my nerves fade. “Miss Davis?”

  She nods and I close the awkward distance between us, taking the small hand she extends. Her fingers are smooth and soft and the way she grips my hand while shaking it sends sparks through my veins.

  “And you are?” she asks curiously.

  “Jake Eckhart. I got your letter but when I called the school they said you weren’t available so I thought I’d just come and talk to you face-to-face if you’re free.”

  Her eyes shift, skimming over a few of the other adults hanging around and then she takes a step closer and drops her voice. “That’s wonderful, Mr. Eckhart, but—”

  “Jake,” I interrupt with a wince. “Please.” No one calls me Mr. Eckhart. It’s too stiff and formal.

  She laughs, noting my expression. “In that case, you can call me Stacy. I'm not sure if you’re aware but Ryan’s been having quite some difficulties lately.”

  As she talks she keeps glancing around us as though she’s worried some monster is going to pop out of the shadows. She’s clearly distracted. Maybe I should have picked a better time for this.

  “I wasn’t aware, but it’s understandable considering his mother passed a year ago,” I say with a shrug, sure she’ll understand the circumstances and take it a little easier on the kid.

  Her eyes soften, jaw dropping just a little. After a moment she recovers her even expression though there’s the faintest glimmer of sympathy in her eyes now. “I-I'm so sorry. I wasn’t informed of that. You must miss your wife dearly.”

  I clear my throat, hand running through my hair. “My sister, actually. I took over as guardian for Ryan.”

  A hand flies to her delicate mouth. Stacy’s cheeks flush pink in embarrassment. “Oh! I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

  I shrug. It’s not the first time someone has made that assumption in the last year. “Anyway, now that you know what Ryan’s going through, I'm hoping that we can all just move past this? I know he’s a bit of a troublemaker, but he’s been through so much. All he really needs is time, and maybe a bit less homework.”

  Stacy frowns at me, her pink lips drawing into a stern smile that suddenly reminds me of how it feels to be in the principal’s office at school—a location I knew quite well when I was Ryan’s age. That’s perhaps what makes me feel like he’ll eventually move past this whole mess and turn out fine. I did. At least mostly. Right?

  “Are you suggesting that we just ignore what is clearly a cry for help from your nephew?” she asks with a somberness that catches me off guard.

  Last year when I informed his previous teacher of the situation, she’d been willing to immediately give Ryan an ‘A’ for the year, while batting her lashes at me. Granted, it was only kindergarten, but still.

  Stacy, however, seems to be emanating displeasure in thick waves that push me back a solid step from her.

  “I just mean temporarily,” I add. “Give Ryan some more time to adjust.”

  “I'm sorry, Jake, but the last thing I'm going to do is turn a blind eye to Ryan’s behavior. I’m going to keep expecting his homework on time and I'm going to keep expecting you to provide support for him at home. Children, especially ones in situations like Ryan’s, need structure, discipline, and an outlet for his grief. Is he seeing a counselor?”

  I bite back a groan, feeling my own sense of annoyance swell. This lady isn’t getting it. I'm not like the rest of these parents here—I'm not even a parent!

  “Yes, we’ve both seen grief counselors. Trust me, it didn’t help.”

  She frowns. “That just means you haven’t found the right counselor.”

  My hand runs through my hair again, landing on my neck where I try to squeeze away the tension coursing through me. “Listen, this has been harder on me than I ever thought possible. I'm not meant to be a dad. I'm doing the best I can and so is Ryan. Letting him slide a little here and there isn’t going to hurt him.”

  “I beg to differ,” she answers, voice rising slightly. “He doesn’t need excuses. A child his age needs to understand both discipline and consequence, things that I am going to continue to provide and that you should incorporate at home as well. And that doesn’t mean that fun ceases to exist, but Ryan needs to learn that there’s a time and place for everything, regardless of what he’s been through. Clearly you don’t grasp that yet.”

  “I don’t!” I yell, throwing my hands in the air in exasperation. “I don’t at all. None of this makes sense to me and everything I do is wrong. I'm out of my league here. I know football better than I know myself, but fatherhood . . . I don’t even understand the ru
les.”

  Stacy looks torn. She’s taken a step back from me, her eyes darting around the school yard again. But the sympathy is even more prevalent in her kind gaze when she looks back at me. I can’t take it. I hate being pitied—it’s just confirmation that I’m failing.

  I slump back against the building for support. I let the coolness of the stone soothe my raging emotions. The weight they add to my shoulders is near crippling. If I wasn’t in the best shape of my life right now, I don’t think I’d still be standing. I close my eyes and try to draw in a steadying breath, but the sound of the rain pulls me back to that awful day and suddenly I’m there, on my knees, clutching my phone in my hand, trying to wrap my head around the fact that my sister is gone and she’s never coming back. I’m truly alone.

  I open my eyes as panic grips my chest. I can’t breathe! My heart is in my throat and it feels like it’s trying to pound its way out. Am I having a heart attack?

  Stacy senses my strife and quickly moves to my side. Her delicate hand slips into mine and squeezes until I focus on her. “Hey, Jake, look at me.”

  I do. All I see is her beautiful face and it’s painfully sobering.

  “I can’t do this, Stacy. Ryan needs his mother. He needs Jenny. I’m screwing everything up.”

  “You’re doing fine,” she croons, her voice steady and soft.

  “God, I miss her,” I whisper.

  “It’s okay to miss her,” Stacy says, squeezing my hand again to keep my attention.

  I want nothing more than to ask her not to let go. Somehow, with her hand in mine I feel a little less alone. I didn’t realize how much I’ve been craving this kind of connection since I lost Jenny. But the pain in my chest instantly subsides each time Stacy squeezes my hand as she murmurs words of reassurance to me while I catch my breath.

  Her other hand gently strokes my arm until I feel whole again.