More Than I Could (84)

More importantly, when does it end?

“I hate that this is where we are,” I say. “That it got to the point that she got into a sparring match with a fucking teacher, of all people. Did I miss something?”

Megan pulls away. “In her defense, her teacher is horrible. And if I can offer some advice—someone needs to contact the superintendent or school board about her. If she’s acting this way to Kennedy, she’s probably not the only kid she’s messing with.”

“I’ll tell you what I did. Mrs. Falconbury said if I had a mother, I’d know how to behave.”

What else has she said to my daughter?

I grit my teeth. “Yeah, well, I’ll be seeing Mrs. Falconbury again, and it’ll be less pleasurable than the first.”

“Want me to go with you?”

I look at Megan. “Actually, why am I just now hearing about this? Why didn’t you call me today?”

“Because what would you have done?”

I look at her. That’s not the point.

“You asked me to handle things, Chase. I handled it. You were however many hours away, and she was safe. There was no need for you to hurry home. You can handle it now.”

I raise a brow. “That’s not your call to make.”

“What?”

“This is a big fucking deal—especially if the school isn’t doing what’s right by Kennedy. I should’ve been there to advocate for her. Why did no one call me?”

“Probably because I’m on the emergency list because you added me.”

I scrub a hand roughly down my face. This is not going well.

“If you don’t trust me with her, you shouldn’t have added me to her contacts list,” Megan says, her words sharp.

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Then explain it to me because I’m confused.”

I groan, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck and squeezing.

It’s not that I don’t trust her with Kennedy. It’s not that at all. Actually, aside from my mother, I trust Megan with her more than anyone else.

The problem is that I feel removed from what’s going on with Kennedy.

But I don’t want to fight about it. I have bigger fish to fry.

“So does this have any effect on her schoolwork?” I ask, forcing myself to mentally move on for now. “Does she get to make up whatever they do in the three days she’s gone?”

“I don’t know.”

Breathe.

“Are you mad at me, Chase? Because I get the feeling you are.”

I turn around and face her.

A genuine concern glimmers in her eye, and my heart softens as I take her in. She took care of my kid today in a situation that was probably frustrating as hell. Am I mad at her? No. I’m just mad at the situation. At myself. At Mrs. Falcon-fucking-bury.

At everything.

“No, I’m not mad at you,” I say honestly. “I’ve just hit the limit on the fucks I can give today.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t have the energy to coddle you right now.”

Her jaw drops. “I haven’t asked you to do a damn thing for me.”

Dammit. Don’t take it out on her. “Megan, I’m sorry.”

I start to tell her that I’m sorry for being a dick. Then I consider that I should probably apologize for her having to deal with Kennedy getting suspended. That’s followed by the horrible laundry in my bag that will need to be washed, the fallout from this suspension, whatever comes next with that—the fact that I want to grab a shower and fall asleep for three days.

“Your mom is coming home tomorrow,” she says. “Do you know that?”

I still. Shit. I forgot. “Yeah. She told me.” I finish my beer and toss the can in the trash.

“So …” she says.

“So what?”

“So what does this mean? What do you want me to do?” She holds her hands out to her sides. “You said we’d talk about things when you got home.”

“Now’s not the time.”

I stand across the kitchen from Megan and see reality clearly for the first time.

She’s waiting on me to answer. For direction. For my attention. And I don’t have any answers or directions, and my well of attention has officially run dry.

And that’s what does it. That’s the kicker—the one thing I can’t overcome.

If I ask her to stay with us, I’m relegating her to this. It’s a life of chaos and turmoil, of teenage drama. Me being gone. When I come home, being too tired and annoyed to be a good partner.

She didn’t ask for this shit, and she definitely deserves more. She deserves attention. Friendship. The ability to create the life she wants instead of inheriting mine.

But, dammit, if I don’t want to keep her here with me.

“What do you want to do?” I ask her.

“About what?”

“Do you want to stay here, or do you want to go home?”

She stills. “What do you want me to do?”

I shake my head and sigh.

I want to ask her to stay. To beg her not to leave me. Ever. I want to spill my guts and confess that the only time my life has made sense is the last few weeks with her. But saying all of that will affect her decision. I know it will because that’s who she is. If she thinks I need her, she won’t leave … even if it’s the best thing for her.