Free Agent Page 2

  “Fine,” I said. Because seriously, so far, I felt like I was getting off easy.

  “And finally,” he said, “you’re going to volunteer every week at a local school. Riley and Mackenzie Jezek were doing it last season, but with Mackenzie’s pregnancy, she needs someone to take over for her. That’s going to be you.”

  “That’s a really bad fucking idea,” I said before I could think better of it. Me, being around kids? Maybe Mr. Sutter didn’t realize that my issue was that I didn’t have a fucking filter. How the hell would that go over in a school setting?

  He kept going, as if he hadn’t heard me. “Not only will you read to the kids once a week in the library, but you’re going to volunteer in a class of special education students. You’re going to work one-on-one with them. You’re going to help them see how great they can be—and in return, you’re going to learn how great they are.”

  I groaned out loud—couldn’t stop myself. This would never work out well. Once their parents had seen what I’d said…

  And if the kids knew what I’d said… Fuck, I’d dug myself a massive hole to climb out of this time.

  I didn’t want them to think I’d meant it. I wasn’t a bad guy. Maybe it didn’t always seem that way, but deep down, I wasn’t.

  Was I?

  Actually, if those words had come out of me, maybe I was the piece of shit the whole world probably thought I was.

  “Maybe they’ll surprise you, Blake,” Mr. Sutter said, eyeing me with that fatherly look he sometimes took with a few of the guys. “Maybe those kids will help you learn a lot about yourself. More than you can help them learn.”

  Fat chance. I already knew everything there was to know about myself.

  But no matter what I believed about myself, how could I prove to them—or their parents, or even to myself, the team, the city, hell, the whole league—otherwise? How could I convince anyone I was more than I appeared at first glance? I’d been living with myself for twenty-five fucking years, and I’d never been less certain of my own character than I was in this precise moment in time.

  I’d brought this nightmare on myself, though. So I nodded, biting down on all the stupid shit racing through my head. Too much had already escaped my brain and made it out into the world.

  I had to make things right.

  MONICA PATTON, THE school’s secretary and the one woman who kept all of us teachers sane throughout the school year, held up a finger for me as I was on my way out of the front office, signaling that she needed me to stop. I shifted my stack of files to my left arm and scanned the various notices hanging on the walls of the office while I waited for her to finish her phone call.

  They were all for the kids, though, not for the teachers: reminders about permission forms for field trips, notices about loading money onto their lunch cards, overdue fees for library books, and the like. Anything important for the faculty and staff came to our email inboxes if it wasn’t delivered to our mail boxes in the office.

  Speaking of which… I quickly scanned the stack in my arms. Most of it seemed to be various memos, but one large manila envelope was filled with test prep for statewide standardized testing. I tugged a sticky tab off the pad of them I kept in my pocket and flagged that envelope because I didn’t want it to get lost in the shuffle. I tended to be a bit absentminded when it came to these things in the early months of a new school year because there were so many things going on at once, and this wasn’t something I wanted to risk forgetting about.

  “Absolutely, Mrs. Thompson,” Monica said to the parent on the other end of the line. “No, we don’t want Susan to come back to school until you’re one hundred percent sure she’s not contagious any longer. The last thing we need is an outbreak of flu spreading among the students and staff. But she will need a doctor’s note to be able to return.” She paused for a moment, listening. And then, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Thompson. It’s district policy. We can’t allow her back into her classes until we have that doctor’s note on file. You’ll just have to find a way to get her to a doctor.”

  Monica rolled her eyes at me, but not even the slightest hint of her exasperation could be heard in her tone. That was one of the main reasons she was perfectly suited to her job. Plus, she absolutely adored the kids, even if she wouldn’t take any guff from any of them—or their parents. I couldn’t bear the thought of being without her next year, but the woman had more than earned her retirement.

  A couple more similar exchanges later, Monica finally ended the call with a sigh. “They never seem to get it. Seem to think that because they have some high-powered corporate job somewhere, they don’t have to follow the rules, and their kids shouldn’t have to follow them, either.”

  “Sorry,” I said, trying to hide my snicker. I was just glad not to be the only one who had to deal with any number of parents like that, though.

  “Don’t know what they’re thinking. Not how I’d want to raise my kid. You wouldn’t, either.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” I agreed, even though there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I’d ever have kids. But that was neither here nor there.

  She waved a hand through the air and shook her head as if trying to clear her mind of the phone call. “That’s not what I needed you to stop for. It’s because there’s been a change in plans. I know you’d asked for Mr. and Mrs. Jezek to come back this term, preferably for your class specifically, if not for the library. And if you couldn’t have her, you wanted Mr. Jezek, anyway.”

  I absolutely adored those two. My friend, Dani Williams, had hooked me up with Riley and Mackenzie. They’d come to read to our kids during library time last year, and I was hoping for more of the same this year—specifically only for my class, though. Yes, they could come and read to all of the kids in the library, too, if they wanted, but I had something special in mind. But with Mackenzie being well along in her pregnancy, I’d had a feeling something would change.

  “But?” I replied, because I could definitely sense a but coming on. “Are they sending someone else from the team?” I was distracted, still flipping through my paperwork, because that seemed far more pressing than having a different hockey player coming to read to my kids. Honestly, I wasn’t overly fussed about who came. The truth was that my kids would be beyond excited no matter who showed up—didn’t matter if they were a pro athlete or married to one, or if they were a police officer or firefighter, or even a grocery store clerk.

  What mattered was that someone not connected to the school bothered to take time out of their day to spend some time with my kids. It helped them to feel special, and not in a special education sort of way, not in a short bus sort of way, but in a truly special sort of way.

  And that was more important than I could ever put into words.

  I got choked up after any visitor left my classroom, because my kids got so excited about the attention they’d received. I didn’t even care that it typically took half a day to get them to calm down enough that they could learn again after something like that.

  These visits mattered.

  And it always helped my students to believe they were just as good, just as smart, just as capable, just as deserving as the rest of the kids in the school.

  So I didn’t care who was coming, just so long as someone was coming.

  “They sent me,” an entirely too familiar masculine voice said from behind me.

  A frisson of disgust raced up my spine, and I spun around to see the one man I’d hoped never to clap eyes on again walking into the school’s front office, looking as sexy and cocky and rude as ever.

  At my glare, a bit of the cockiness fled from his dark, chocolatey-brown eyes, but not enough of it for my taste. “They can send you straight back,” I bit off. “I don’t want you anywhere near my classroom. Or my kids.”

  Or me. Especially because of how my traitorous body reacted every time I saw him. My head said stay away from this jerk. But my libido? She started singing and dancing like a Broadway star every time I saw a picture
of him flash by on the TV or internet.

  It was a sickness. One I had hoped to be cured of well before now.

  No such luck, apparently, despite the fact that he’d once again proven himself to be a cocky bastard of epic proportions.

  I’d seen the huge kerfuffle from a couple of days ago over what he’d posted on Twitter. And besides, I would never, no matter how hard I tried, be able to forget what he’d said to me all those months ago. His hurtful words might as well have been imprinted in my brain. I saw them every time I opened my eyes. I heard them in my sleep. They invaded my every thought.

  No one, never once in my life, had managed to cut me so deeply with only a single offhand remark.

  I wanted nothing to do with this man. Not ever again.

  I spun around to face Monica so I wouldn’t have to look at him, because he made my skin crawl. “Ask the team to send someone else. Anyone else,” I implored her. “I’m not picky. I’ll take one of their wives or girlfriends. Someone from the front office. Anyone.” I’d even take the building janitor or the guy who drove the Zamboni at their practice rink.

  Just not this jerk.

  “No can do,” she replied, looking genuinely apologetic. “If you’re going to have anyone from the team helping out this year, they’ve made it clear that it’s going to be Mr. Kozlow.”

  “Then we won’t have anyone from the team, because I am not allowing this man to step foot inside my classroom.” I didn’t know if any of my students had seen or heard about what he’d said, but it didn’t matter. I knew. That was more than enough for all of us.

  “You have to,” he said then, and he actually sounded a little frantic.

  I swung around on him so fast that it sent my thick hair flying. “I don’t have to do anything. Not when it comes to you.”

  But all of the cockiness had fled from his expression, replaced with something that resembled panic bordering on desperation. “Please. Give me a chance.”

  “And why, exactly, should I give you anything?” I knew there must be daggers shooting from my eyes. My mama and my grandma had perfected that look, and I’d inherited all the same facial expressions. It was our calling card. I used it whenever necessary, but that was typically only when my class had gotten entirely out of hand or when a parent was being unreasonable.

  But this jerk didn’t quail under my glare, which might just earn him a smidgeon of respect from me. Not much, mind—he wouldn’t ever be able to climb out of the hole he’d dug himself when it came to me.

  Instead, he turned on a pleading, puppy-dog sort of look mixed with a hint of panic, and he said, “Because if anyone knows what those kids must think after someone says the kinds of things I said, it’s me. I was in their shoes growing up.”

  Certain he was going to say something repulsive like he’d been disadvantaged because his parents could only afford to put him in either hockey or private school but not both, I shoved past him and headed for the door.

  “I’ve got ADHD,” he said just as I wrapped my hand around the knob. It was enough to make me stop, for some reason. He took a step closer. “Unmedicated. I couldn’t stand how the meds made me feel, so Grandma and I figured out ways for me to cope without them. For a while, they thought I might have some Asperger’s, too, but then they said I didn’t and I’m just antisocial, so who the hell knows?”

  “What kinds of things do you do to cope?” I found myself asking, even though I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to see him as human. I didn’t want to think about him being like my students. I wanted to just think of him as a rude, selfish jerk who didn’t care how he might hurt other people with his thoughtlessness.

  “She put me into hockey, for one thing. Helped me burn off my excess energy so I could focus when I needed to. I do puzzles—word puzzles, Sudoku, anything that makes me think about slowing things down and putting them in the right order. Just started doing yoga before practices and games so I can calm my thoughts. Shit like that.”

  “Stuff like that,” Monica cut in, and he shot a look in her direction. “You have to remember you’re in a school, and these kids are impressionable. If you say it, they’ll repeat it, and then we really will have a mess on our hands with the parents.”

  “Right,” he said with a determined nod. “Stuff like that.”

  Every bone in my body was screaming that I didn’t care about his story, that he could be making it up just so that I’d give in, that his own learning and behavioral disabilities weren’t enough to make up for the awful things he’d said and done…but there was one other tiny little niggling thought at the back of my mind.

  If he was serious, and if he’d really been dealing with ADHD and possibly some Asperger’s for his entire life—and he’d become a successful professional athlete in spite of it all—how could I deprive my kids of the opportunity to get to know him and see for themselves what they might be able to do with their own lives? Would I be depriving them of exactly the role model they needed in order to believe in themselves and reach their potential?

  I had to take myself and my own hang-ups out of the equation. I had to do what was best for my kids. And maybe, just maybe, this was it.

  “All right,” I said slowly, turning the full weight of my glare on him. “But we play this by my rules. And if you break any of my rules, this is done. You don’t get a second chance. You don’t get the opportunity to screw up in front of them multiple times. Got it?”

  Relief flooded his features and almost made me feel something for him.

  Almost. But not quite.

  Because I still knew the pain he was capable of inflicting. I’d have to be fully on guard when he was around my students at all times, because I would not let him hurt them the way he’d hurt me.

  “Got it,” he said. “Tell me your rules.”

  Oh, I’d tell him my rules, all right. But first, I needed to come up with them.

  “LET’S GO,” SHE bit off. “We’re on the move, and I don’t have time to mess around.” She shoved her stack of files and envelopes into my hands. Before I could blink, she was barreling out the office door and power-walking through the hallways of the school.

  My legs were a good six inches longer than hers, give or take, so I ought to be able to keep up with her without a problem. But Bea Castillo was apparently a woman on a mission, and I almost had to jog to stay apace.

  “We in a race or something?” I asked. Because it seemed she was trying to run away from me.

  Couldn’t say I blamed her, if that was the case. I wouldn’t want to be around me, either, knowing myself the way I did.

  The moment the school secretary had told me the name of the teacher whose class I’d be volunteering with (ha-ha, not exactly volunteering, but whatever), I’d known my uphill climb would be even steeper than I’d already imagined.

  We had a history, Bea Castillo and me.

  Not a long history, per se.

  But definitely an ugly one.

  And once again, the ugliness probably all boiled down to stupid shit flying out of my mouth before I’d had the chance to think things through and realize what I was saying. If I’d taken the time to stop and think, I probably would’ve kept my mouth shut.

  Some things just don’t need to be said.

  That would apply to roughly seventy-eight percent of the things that fell from my lips, give or take. More if you asked my teammates, maybe a bit less if you asked my grandma, but whatever.

  Well, maybe I would’ve kept my trap shut. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what I’d said that had irked her so much. One minute, we’d been laughing and joking with one another and everything had seemingly been fine; the next thing I knew, she’d been glaring daggers at me—tear-filled daggers, no less, so I had known, without a doubt, that I’d said or done something that had hurt her.

  But that had been something like a year ago, and I’d never figured out what I’d done wrong. Didn’t appear she’d be filling me in any time soon, either.

  Just now, she
spared me a glance for long enough to roll her eyes. “I don’t have time to waste. There aren’t enough hours in the day to do everything I have to do. Especially now that I have to deal with you on top of the rest of it.”

  After a couple of turns I’d never be able to remember in order to reverse the process, we entered an empty but brightly lit classroom filled with red apple décor covering half the room, while the other half was decorated with pumpkins and fall leaves. She must have been in the midst of changing things over from back-to-school to an autumn theme when she’d gone to the office.

  Pointing to a chair better suited to a second grader, she said, “Sit.”

  I sat, but my knees nearly landed in my armpits because I was about ten times too big for the chair in question.

  Ignoring me, she set about sorting through the stack of files and envelopes she’d been carrying, shoving some papers into an in-tray and emptying the contents of other envelopes to file in a drawer of her desk.

  Sitting still was not conducive to me being on my best behavior. Especially not if we weren’t even talking. I needed to get up. To move around. Already, my feet started bouncing with my overwhelming urge to do something. I didn’t even care what, at this point. Sitting still was one sure way to land me in hot water, and the water I was already in was hot enough, thank you very much.

  “Where are the kids?” I asked after a moment of silence other than the sounds of Bea shuffling her paperwork around.

  “We’re picking them up from the music room in ten minutes.” She didn’t even bother to look over at me when she responded, her focus squarely on the work in front of her.

  Well, lucky for her she had something with which to occupy her mind.

  Me, on the other hand? I was liable to go nuts if I couldn’t find something to do with myself. Ten whole fucking minutes. That might as well be an eternity.