Page 7 of Creed

One of my classes was canceled, and no one cared to mention it to me. It was one of the many irritations that came with being a professor at a community college with zero leadership. Despite how I missed all the aspects of being a police officer when I left the force, I couldn’t face another day of wearing that badge.

Not after that night.

I just couldn’t do it.

And while the admin wasn’t great at the college, the kids were, and it was close to home. The whole canceled class thing ended up being somewhat of a blessing.

I was half an hour late, my aide was nowhere to be found, and I still had fifty or so tests that needed to be graded. So, I didn’t complain. I left my empty classroom and headed back out to my car, and that’s when things really took a turn.

I walked out of the building, and just as I started down the steps, I tripped on my own two feet. And when I say tripped, I mean I went sailing.

Everything I was holding went flying. Pens, paperclips, my school laptop, and over a hundred tests—graded and ungraded. I was trying to catch my breath as I watched them all flutter down around me like a nightmare.

No one came to my rescue. They all just walked by like they didn’t notice me sprawled out on the ground. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it started to rain.

Not that cute, light mist, sprinkling kind of rain.

No, this was a monsoon kind of rain that came down with a vengeance.

It stung against my skin, but I didn’t rush to pick everything up. There was no point. In a matter of seconds, I was soaked to the bone, so I took my time and made sure I grabbed everything before continuing to my car. I tossed everything into the back seat and drove home.

It wasn’t a pleasant drive home. I was sopping wet and in a foul mood, but I pressed on. I wasn’t giving in just yet. So, I got to the house and rushed inside to change clothes. I’d just slipped on a fresh T-shirt when I heard the front door open, followed by the thump of a backpack hitting the floor.

Austin was home.

My fourteen-year-old hormone with two feet and a tread-lightly attitude had finally decided to bless us with his presence. He walked into the kitchen, and there was a rustle of a chip bag before he even bothered to say hello. I stuck my head out and smiled as I said, "Hey, bud. Where ya been?”

"Scotty’s," he muttered, as he turned and started down the hall.

"Whoa, wait a sec."

I pulled my damp hair into a ponytail as I followed him into the living room. He was already sprawled out on the couch, scrolling his phone like it was glued to his hand. His hair was down in his face, shielding his eyes. It reminded me that I needed to get him a haircut. Oh, how I missed the days when he’d let me cut it.

“Yeah?” Without looking up, he grumbled, "What’s up?"

“I’m about to start working on our grocery list. Is there anything special you’d like me to add?”

“Some Gatorades would be good.”

“Yellow or blue?”

“Yellow.”

“Okay. Can do.” Since I had him talking, I dared to add, "So, I was thinking maybe we could go to the movies this weekend. Or maybe that food truck thing downtown? I’m not sure what Chrissy has going on, but she could…”

“I’m going to Dad’s this weekend.”

“Wait, what? That’s not the schedule.” He sighed like I’d asked him to donate a kidney when I said, “This is my weekend.”

“Yeah, I know. But Dad said he was good with it.” He finally looked up at me with indifference, and somehow, it stung more than my anger. “I already told him I was coming.”

“You didn’t think to ask me?”

“What’s the big deal?” He shrugged. “It’s not like we were gonna do anything.”

“We could’ve.” I stood there with my hands on my hips, and my heart was thudding with a mix of frustration and heartbreak. “I wanted to spend some time with you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t feel like hanging out.” He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his phone. “Dad’s taking us to the lake.”