Saylor

“Okay. I’ll text you about a time where we can chat and go through ways to make amends.”

“Okay. Thank you, Say.”

“Don’t mention it,” I breathe out. “Look, I gotta go. We’ll talk later.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hang up the phone before walking back into the silent classroom and sitting down at my computer. My anxiety kicks up a few more notches as I search for Owen’s contact information from Grady’s registration papers. When I find it, my entire body trembles like a freaking leaf. He never changed his number. Even after all this time. We used to spend hours on the phone. Talking. Texting. Soaking up each other’s words like they were gospel. Too bad I’m the only one who believed in them.

With a deep breath, I shove aside the memories before forcing myself to dial his number. It rings a few times before going to his voicemail.

“Hey, this is Owen Daniels. If you’re hearing this, I probably didn’t recognize your number, so I didn’t answer. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”

Beep.

“Um, hi. This is Say––” My face scrunches with embarrassment before I correct myself. “Miss Swenson. We had a bit of an issue with Grady during recess today. Can you please come to the school so we can have a little chat? Maybe swing by my classroom when you come to pick him up or something? Um, thank you.”

Then I hang up to stop myself from rambling on my ex’s voicemail.

Because ya know, that’s a greeeaaat tactic when it comes to proving you’ve gotten over someone.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

“Trust me, Grady, this isn’t exactly how I wanted to spend my afternoon, either,” I mutter under my breath. With his elbows on his knees and his head cradled in his hands, the poor kid looks pathetic. And adorable.

Who could stay mad at a face like that?

Especially when his apology has been on repeat since afternoon recess. It’s almost enough for me to let him off the hook for his altercation. Or maybe I’m just a coward and don’t want to face his dad. A bitter taste floods my mouth.

I got a single email from good ol’ Owen about fifteen minutes after I called him. All it said was, “Be there at three.”

Well, okay, sir. I’m waiting.

In a nearly empty classroom, I should feel in my element right now. Surrounded by desks, a couple of whiteboards, and children’s drawings lining the walls, along with a few to-be-graded assignments scattered along my desk, this is my home away from home. So why do I feel like I’m crawling out of my own skin?

Oh, right. It’s because the little boy peeking up at me between his tiny fingers is an exact replica of the boy I fell in love with before he broke my heart and went away to college. And now? Now I have to face him again.

“But I’m sorry, Miss Swenson,” Grady pleads, dropping his hands to his lap. “I swear. Please don’t call my dad. Please.”

My teeth dig into the pad of my thumb before another sigh slips out of me. “Trust me. If I could get away with not involving your dad, I’d do it. And I know you’re sorry, buddy. But we don’t hit our classmates. Even if the other person started it, that isn’t acceptable.”

His chin drops to his chest. “I know.”

“It’ll be okay,” I promise, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince. My palms are sweaty, so I rub them against my mustard yellow skirt before picking up my pen and clicking the top over and over again like a nervous tick. But I can’t stop it.

I’m freaking out inside.

Mandy owes me big time for this.

“Where is he?” I mumble under my breath, checking the white-faced clock on the wall for what feels like the thousandth time in ten minutes. He should be here by now.

Heavy footsteps echo down the otherwise empty hallway before skidding to a halt at the entrance to my room.

Speak of the devil.

My breath catches in my throat as I drink him in like an addict––slow and controlled, without any delusion in regards to how bad he is for me but unable to stop myself.