Wrecking Ball (Hard to Love 1)

“We’re not done. I ran a credit check,” he very calmly states. Turning, I cross my arms under my ample breasts. When his eyes flicker down to my chest, I drop them immediately, chalking this up to an involuntary reflex in all males because, God knows, he couldn’t possibly find udders on a cow attractive. His attention goes straight to the paper he’s holding.

“It says here that––”

No way am I going to allow him to rummage through the charred ruins of what used to be my life and dance on its ashes.

“It says that I was married. That I’m a widow. It says that everything I’ve ever owned has been repossessed, or impounded by the U.S. government. It says that I currently own nothing. Except for my dignity. And that, Mr. Shaw, cannot be taken from me without my consent. What it doesn’t say is that it took every penny I possessed for me to prove that I had zero knowledge of what my husband was up to when he embezzled millions of dollars. It also doesn’t say that I was a very good teacher before I was run out of the Connecticut district where I taught.” At his blank stare, I continue. “If you have a problem with anything I just told you, I’ll pack my bags. But I like Sam. And I think I can help him, so I would like to stay.”

I wait for him to say something. And wait…and wait some more. I start to sweat under his close examination of my person.

“How long?”

“How long, what?”

“How long have you been a widow?”

The question takes me by surprise. Usually, people are interested in how much money my husband embezzled. As if the amount somehow determines how big a scumbag he was.

“Three years.”

Nodding, he shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and shrugs up his big shoulders. His pants get pushed dangerously low. Inadvertently, my eyes gravitate to the flat band of tan skin and trail of dark hair below the hem of his t-shirt, just above the waistband of his pants. Gawd, he’s not wearing underwear. I force my eyes back up to his face. Awkward.

“Do you have any more surprises for me?” he murmurs quietly.

“Nope.”

More silence.

“You think Sam’s scared of me?” He’s inspecting his bare feet as he says this, half sitting on the back of his desk and gripping the edge. Just as quickly, he crosses his arms in front. The cut muscles of his wide chest pop up in stark relief. Even with his t-shirt hanging loosely, I can tell he’s ripped.

“He’s afraid of your temper.” That gets his attention. His eyes meet mine. “I don’t know what that boy’s life has been like up until now, but I think I can safely assume that if his mom is in rehab, it couldn’t have been all rainbows and unicorns. You need to make a conscious effort to control your emotions around him…it would also benefit your blood pressure.”

This earns me one of his signature scowls. “Anything else?” he asks gruffly.

“Yeah, it would be nice if you could purchase some furniture.” I get a hum of approval. That went better than expected. “Are we done?”

After another nod from him, I head for the exit, my feet carrying me out the door as quickly as possible. I wouldn’t want to give him time to come up with more grievances. He’s got that look about him, the one that says he’s keeping score of every little indiscretion.

Sam is quiet for the remainder of our meal. I’ve already figured out not to push him with questions when he shuts down, and just allow him to work out of it at his own pace. After I clean up, we go upstairs because, of course, there’s no furniture in the family room, and watch television together in his bedroom. A sitcom. And it pays off. It doesn’t take long for his little boy giggles to fill the room. Once he’s tucked in bed, I pull out my copy of The Box Car Children.

“Cam,” he says in a quiet voice. Our first day together, I insisted he call me Cam, Ms. DeSantis sounding too formal for our arrangement. I explained that all my friends call me Cam, and since I consider him a friend, it would be okay if he did as well. Besides, he isn’t the type of child to be disrespectful, or take advantage.

“Yes.” I wait patiently for his solemn gray eyes to meet mine.

“Are you staying?”

“I’m staying as long as you are.”

“Promise?”

“Yup,” I say and watch a brief smile appear on his face. The sense of accomplishment I feel at making one little boy smile is ridiculous. Sitting on the bed next to him, I read until he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter Six

By Thursday, we’ve settled into a pretty comfortable routine. After breakfast, I start the lesson plan and Sam and I work straight through until lunch. After lunch, we explore more creative subjects. Some days art. Other days music. By early afternoon, we both need some fresh air so we head off to the park if the weather is decent.