Page 6 of Curveball (Tennessee Terrors #9)

Murph assumes that regulated tone from earlier, and this time, I witness the softening of his eyes that accompanies it. It’s kind of sweet, and last night I could have easily believed he has a softer side. This morning, not so much.

Dylan’s on a roll, and clearly not intimidated that the girl’s father is in the room, no matter how many millions of people know who he is and wear his jersey.

“It wasn’t her idea. I knew she didn’t have enough time to study, so I told her to copy off my paper.”

He did fucking what?

“You did what ?” All my good intentions fly out the window because why are boys so dumb?

“You did what?” Bryan’s somewhat less incredulous voice is in sync with mine as he echoes my sentiment.

“Natalie?” Max’s jaw is clenched violently, and I’m impressed that lone word found a way to escape.

“But Daddy!”

Here we go again.

“Natalie. Is what he said true?” Max’s gaze is laser focused on his daughter, and though the vein in his neck throbs, his tone is moderate.

Natalie peers at him with tears in her eyes and her lips pouted. Max doesn’t stand a chance.

“But . . but . . he said I could copy him and I said no but then he said he didn’t want me to get a bad grade so how could I hurt his feelings when he was only trying to help?”

My head whips back and forth between Natalie and Dylan and lands on my son. “How did you know she didn’t study?”

Dylan lowers his chin and mumbles, “Because I called her and maybe we were talking until she started yawning and then maybe she told me she hadn’t studied yet but she wanted to sleep. But I didn’t know until it was already so late, I swear!”

I drop my head into my hand. How am I ever going to dig my way out of the Worst Mom Ever camp? At this rate, I have a lifetime membership, paid in full.

“Natalie, do you agree that the events are as Dylan described?” Bryan interrupts before this meeting devolves any further, but he’s stuck in his stick-up-his-butt manner.

Natalie nods, her gaze sliding sideways to view her father in her periphery. “Yes, sir.”

It’s hard to tell how Max is feeling because his expression is a blank mask.

“All right, then. It seems clear you are both at fault, and deserving of censure. Would you both agree.”

“Yes, sir.” Natalie’s and Dylan’s voices overlap in the otherwise quiet room.

“And parents?” Why do I feel as though we are being censured as well?

“I agree.” I keep my response short.

“I’m still not convinced Natalie should?—”

Bryan cuts off any objections with a look that has The Max Murphy shuffling in his seat and offering a curt nod of acquiescence.

“Agree.”

Bryan nods as if he’s satisfied with the outcome and ready to wrap up this fiasco. “Fine. Three days’ suspension is standard policy for this indiscretion. We’ll start today.”

Max leaps to his feet. “Impossible. I don’t allow Natalie at home alone, and her grandmother is away and unavailable.”

Max is towering over us all, and damn, he commands a lot of space.

Bryan looks up, then up a bit further till he meets his eye. I have a definite sense of déjà vu from last night.

“Mr. Murphy, do you mind taking your seat? Please.”

Max scowls, but sits.

I lift my hand from my lap and raise one finger shoulder height, as though waiting to be called on but also afraid I will be. Bryan just looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Bryan, er, Headmaster Grady . . . personal problems notwithstanding for both of us, I also foresee challenges . . . in the classroom.”

Bryan sighs and drops his chin, his gaze lowered as though the solution resides somewhere in the polished surface of his desktop. After several moments of silent contemplation, he lifts his head.

“Normally, individual circumstances have no bearing in proceedings such as these. However, I concede the logistics bear further consideration. Namely, the end of the school year is fast-approaching and there’s a good deal of testing to accomplish before then.

” His narrowed eyes drill into Dylan, and then Natalie.

They both fidget. “Can anyone suggest an answer to this unusual dilemma?”

Dylan shoots his hand into the air. I take hold of his wrist and lower his arm. He’s caused enough trouble already.

Max unfolds from his chair to rise, then apparently reconsiders and sits back down.

“What about community service? Would that be a suitable alternative?”

Bryan nods thoughtfully. “I could accept that. I’d like to hear a proposal before I approve it, though, and assurance there’ll be an adequate number of hours performed. Do you have something in mind?”

Max shifts his long legs, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, and the length of his thigh brushes against mine. His firm flesh feels delicious, even through two layers of clothing. Snarly attitude aside, how much better would that feel skin to skin?

“My foundation hosts a couple of events throughout the year. There’s a gala, scheduled for late next month.

I can reach out to the planner for those specifics.

But there’s also something this Saturday morning on the outfield at Music City Park.

You know, casual. Field day sort of fun for kids and their folks, and they can get pictures and autographs with some of the players.

We’re still short of volunteers, I hear. We’ll keep these two plenty busy.”

Natalie bolts upright and squawks, “On a Saturday ?” but silences when Max scowls at her. Apparently, he has his limit and she just found it.

Bryan flips through a file in front of him, then looks up and nods. “Of course. You donate a good amount of money for local youth sporting activities. My wife and I have supported this for years. We appreciate your generosity.”

Rather than basking in the offered praise, Max’s expression remains sober.

“It’s a worthy cause, and it’s important to give back to the community. Their support is what allows me to play, after all.”

He has a foundation. Of course he does. And it’s for children. My heart dips.

“Ms. Sloan, are you agreeable?”

I glance at Dylan, but he hasn’t been paying attention for a good part of this negotiation. Besides, his options are limited; he’s doing this whether he wants to or not.

“It’s a good solution, and he may learn something other than the pitfalls of cheating.”

“Fine. Good.” Bryan stands. I guess we’re dismissed.

I raise my hand again, this time, a little further up.

“But in the meantime? The students can attend?—”

“They may remain in class. But they must adhere to the volunteer hours required, no exceptions. I’ll expect reports.”