Daddy's Stepstalker (Daddy's Little Deviants)

“I don’t want your advice, Shaw. All I need from this shithole of a school is for my kid to graduate with his high school diploma. Now make that happen. Or else.”

Bullies like Judd never truly changed. His son was a danger to the school, and as much as I would like to have him in the system so he would get the chance to grow up into a responsible adult, I couldn’t take that risk with the other students I was responsible for.

I made a note of Judd’s visit, jotting down a brief summary of his threats. In my job, written records were all that mattered if I wanted to get things done, and even an informal log of the meeting was good enough in case the situation got ugly. I didn’t trust Judd any farther than I could throw him, but I wouldn’t let his threats get to me. Bullies rarely acted on them, especially when someone stood their ground.

After the end-of-day bell rang, I forced myself to stay put in my chair and not take off like the kids, overjoyed the day was over. I had too many calls to make and documents that needed my signature before I could leave.

When the last item on my to-do list had been ticked off, I grabbed my cell phone and punched in my ex-wife’s number, but this time, I let it ring. I swallowed past the nerves gathered in a bundle in my throat. Our divorce hadn’t been peaceful. We’d fought. I’d accused. She blamed. Nothing remained of the affection we felt for each other when we got married.

“Hello?” She sounded groggy like she was just waking up.

I cleared my throat. “Anne, it’s me, Shaw.”

“I know. I recognize the number. What do you want?”

My mind went blank. I hadn’t thought this through properly. What to say to her when she answered the phone?

“Shaw, what do you want?” she snapped.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have called.”

“But you did, so tell me what this call is about. You haven’t talked to me since the divorce.”

“You didn’t call me either.”

“Because I was pissed at you for ruining our marriage because of my son,” she grunted. Then the line went quiet.

“Anne?”

“It’s him, isn’t it? You’re calling me because of Aristotle. He’s the only one you ever cared about.”

Here we go again.

“That’s not true. I cared about you.”

“Never as much as you cared about that boy. Just tell me something, Shaw. Was that the reason you asked me to marry you? To get close to my son?”

My stomach roiled at the thought of that Ari, a timid boy who came out of his shell whenever I bestowed some kindness on him. I liked the effect I’d been able to have on his life. Even now that I discovered my attraction to Ari, the young man, I still couldn’t think of the teen Ari with anything else but tenderness in a completely nonsexual way.

“No, Anne,” I said simply. Elaborate answers never seemed to work. “I liked being with you, plus we were both single. I wanted to settle down and get married.”

“Did you ever love me?”

The lie wouldn’t come. “I cared for you.” Even to my ears, the words sounded like a cop-out. I pinched the bridge of my nose. This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I called her.

“Did you call me to tell me Ari’s dead?” she asked. “I’m not paying for the funeral.”

“What?” How could she be so callous? Her own son. Anger boiled inside me. “Why would you even think that?”

She gave a loud sigh. “He’s alive, then. Or don’t you know?”

“Ari’s fine. He’s back here with me.”

She laughed, but it ended in a coughing fit. “I told you he’d come back, didn’t I? Maybe now you’ll start to believe everything else I told you. Did he say why he left willingly and never called to tell you how much he hated his home?”

She knew Ari hadn’t been in a good place? That conniving bitch.

“You convinced him he would ruin our marriage,” I said.