Page 75 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

Cameron snorted and adjusted where he was standing so he was staring straight into the sun. “Thanks for that.”

“I’ll see you tonight, I guess. And hey, we’ll finally get to learn who the mystery fifth interested party was. You guys haven’t figured out who it is yet, have you?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Not for lack of trying, though.” Then he patted the roof of my RAV 4 and closed the door, giving me a wave as I put the SUV in gear and drove off with an empty trailer.

This time tomorrow would we be the proud new owners of a new chunk of land?

A chunk of land we now planned to share with the McEvoy brothers since my youngest cousin Raina and Jagger McEvoy had buried the hatchet of their long-standing feud with each other, and fallen madly, sickeningly, adorably in love.

It helped that our visions for the land were very similar, so we just blended them to create something even more spectacular.

However, we also knew that Cameron and his fellow distillery dads also wanted the land since they each lived in different places on the island, while their distillery warehouse was outgrowing the land they rented to have it on.

And the women who owned Twisted Sister Cidery also wanted it.

Though none of us really knew why, since their land was bigger than the vineyard with their orchards and everything.

Then there was the mystery party who was also among the final five proposals the Island Elders narrowed the pitches down to. Nobody knew who this party was, where they were from, or why they wanted the land. Hopefully, they’d be there tonight and the mystery could be put to rest once and for all.

I made a mental note to Google Tommaso Barone when I got home.

The fact that this man lived on the island, and ran an animal sanctuary and I’d never heard anything about it before not only sat oddly in my craw, but it also intrigued me.

How was he able to stay that hidden from all the gossipy, meddling islanders who used rumors like their own personal oxygen tank?

I was halfway home when my phone in my back pocket rang.

Hardly anybody ever called me. Everything was done through text these days. Leave a paper trail, and let people answer you when they could.

This meant it was either a spam call, or something serious.

Careful not to drive off the road into the ditch, I leaned over and grabbed it out of my pocket, getting hit with instant dread when I saw that it was the school calling.

I hit “speaker” mode and set it in the phone holder on my dash. “Hello?”

“Danica?” Sierra, the San Camanez Elementary School secretary asked.

“Hi Sierra,” I replied with a sigh, already knowing she was calling about Sam.

“I’m afraid Sam is sitting here in the office. She’s had a bit of an … um … episode .”

The school, unfortunately, was no overly understanding or accommodating for children with any mental health issues or neurotypical diagnosis.

This wasn’t the first time Sierra, or Principal Pickford called Sam shutting down when things became too overwhelming, or she started to experience anxiety, “an episode.” Sam’s teacher, Ms. Fitzpatrick, was a bit better, however, her hands were rather tied since Otto Pickford, the principal from Hell, kept her on a very tight leash.

It seemed like most of the parents on the island were crossing their fingers that the crusty old fart with the burst capillaries on his nose would either retire, or have a stroke in his sleep in and just not wake up.

I’m not entirely sure his wife would even miss him.

“Can I speak with her?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“I’m afraid Principal Pickford would just prefer you come get her. She’s already been very disruptive in her class today.”

“Put my child on the phone, please, Sierra,” I said a little sterner, as my body temperature went up. My voice shook, since I normally wasn’t one for confrontation. But for my child, I’d confront the Devil himself.

I thought for a moment Sierra was going to comply, based on the way the phone rattled and the static over the line, but then a throat cleared and I rolled my eyes.

“Danica, this is Otto Pickford. Please come pick up Samantha. Her outbursts and unmanageable behavior is becoming a bigger and bigger problem. She will be waiting outside for you.” Then the line went dead.

Rage and worry filled every available crevice in my body as I pushed down on the accelerator and took a left at the next fork rather than a right.

We needed to figure out a way to get rid of this man once and for all.

The way he roamed that school with his hiked up brown pants, yellow short-sleeved button-up with a gravy stain and gross discolored mustache was enough to give the kids nightmares.

But it wasn’t just his personal appearance that was frightening, it was his ego.

His air of superiority. Like he was some kind of god and all the children—and their parents—should revere him.

I pulled onto school’s road and slowed my roll. A sad, short figure with blonde hair stood at the top of the drop-off roundabout in front of the front entrance. My heart ached for my child.

Sam wasn’t a bad kid by any stretch of the imagination.

And I’m not one of those parents who thinks their crotch spawn can do no wrong.

I know I have flaws and I know my child has flaws.

But she is a good kid. She’s polite, she’s kind, she’s not bossy or rude.

She doesn’t talk back. She’s just shy, and suffers from low self-esteem and anxiety.

And while I wouldn’t even consider those flaws, they are setbacks, and can make her life more difficult.

I pulled up right in front of her, parked the RAV but left it running. With sadness in her eyes, she approached the back passenger door and opened it. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said, her bottom lip wobbling.

“Stay here,” I said, climbing out and marching to the front door of the school, yanking it open and not even bothering to address Sierra and her open codfish mouth, or Otto and his wide, soulless eyes.

I made my way down the hall toward Sam’s closed classroom door and, with a shaky breath and an even shakier hand, I gently rapped on the window.

The lights were off as Ms. Fitzpatrick was using the overhead projector for something, but she glanced up, saw me and smiled, understanding dawning in her eyes.

She murmured something to the class and joined me in the hallway a moment later, just in time for Otto to join us, his face a mottled array of different shades of red.

“Danica St. Claire, you do not just march into my school and not let the secretary or myself know your purpose,” he said, hoisting up his pants and belt over his protruding belly, only for it to instantly fall again when he let go.

I ignored him and smiled at Cheryl Fitzpatrick. “What happened today?” I asked, as softly and gently as I could, even though inside I wanted to punch Otto, but also run outside and comfort my kid.

“She had another episode ,” Otto said, just as Cheryl went to open her mouth. “She’s a troublemaker that child of yours. Nothing but trouble.”

I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and released it in a quivering staccato a moment later as I tried my best to rein in my desire to stomp on Otto’s foot hard enough to break every bone. Or at the very least a few toes.

“I’d like to hear it from Sam’s teacher, please,” I said through gritted teeth. “Since she was there and witnessed it.”

Otto huffed.

“We had to partner up, and unfortunately, Sam got partnered with Clyde.”

Crap .

Clyde was a real piece of work. He was relentless in his torment of not just Sam, but a few other kids as well.

However, he wasn’t an idiot and dolled out his in creative and sneaky ways.

No wedgies or ponytail pulls. This kid went for the jugular.

He was like a leech that grew bigger and stronger the more he emotionally and psychologically taunted his peers.

The kid—in my totally non- expert opinion—was a sociopath and needed to be put on a government watchlist. An expert and figuring out a person’s weakness and exploiting it, he was well-known for making several kids in his class cry by only muttering a few words.

And Sam’s weakness was her shyness and low self-esteem.

Or at least, that was what he chose to prey on her about.

He would comment on how it took her longer to figure out math equations, and that she wasn’t a fast runner, or was a terrible kicker when they played soccer.

He teased her when she was forced to read aloud—something she hated.

Stuttering and lisping under his breath to throw her off.

And while my kid had neither a stutter nor a lisp, she became increasingly self-conscious when he did this, believing there was something wrong with her speech.

Clyde seemed to make it his life’s mission to just ruin her day. She came home in tears quite often because he said something nasty to her that hit a nerve, and my little love, who already didn’t think very highly of herself, didn’t have the strength not to believe him.

“Why did she get partnered with Clyde?” I asked.

Cheryl sighed. “She was in the bathroom, and Clyde was getting a bandage from the nurse when we selected partners, so it was a default thing since they were the only two left without a partner.” The remorse in her eyes eased my frustration a little.

“I should have broken up another pair and reassigned them. I’m sorry. ”

“Nonsense. Kids need to learn to work together,” Otto said. “There’s no special treatment at this school. And certainly not for disruptors like Samantha.”

Gritting my teeth, I did my best to lift the corners of my mouth a little while continuing to face Sam. “What happened exactly?”

“Sam wouldn’t say much, but from what a few other kids said, Clyde told her she was an idiot and couldn’t draw.

Her writing was terrible. She was a horrible speller, and he hated that he got partnered with the stupidest person in the class.

That if they got a bad grade, it was going to be all her fault and he wouldn’t let her forget it. ”

My fists bunched at my sides. “And what did Sam do?”

She put her head down on the desk and started using her scissors to destroy her white eraser.”

“And she made an enormous mess all over the floor,” Otto added. “A disrupter.”

Cheryl glanced at him. “I used my hand vacuum. Took fifteen seconds to clean up. Not a big deal. Or a big mess.”

“That was it?” I asked.

Cheryl grimaced. “Not quite. He started to harass her that she wasn’t helping. That she was useless, and—”

“Where were you during this?” I asked her.

Guilt shimmered in her gray eyes. “I was trying to get him to stop. But as you know, Clyde is … difficult.”

“Okay. Then what?’

“She had an episode,” Otto blurted out. “I told you that.”

“She lifted her head, got right up into his face and just started screaming,” Cheryl finally said. “She backed him into a corner, yelling loudly in his face until I put a hand on her shoulder. Then she blinked and kind of snapped out of it, only to burst into tears and run out of the room.”

I nodded slowly and swallowed. “Thank you.”

“I’m really sorry, Danica,” she said. “It’s not an easy class or group of kids. I really am trying my best.”

“I know you are,” I whispered, reaching out and giving her arm a squeeze.

Cheryl’s head bobbed and she opened the door to her class, closing it a moment later.

I didn’t even bother to look at, let alone address, Otto Pickford. I just spun around on my heel and stalked back down the corridor toward the front door. But he was right behind me. Like wasp at a picnic. Buzzing and bothersome, and in need of a good swat.

“Your daughter is a menace,” he prattled on, following me to the front door. “The way she yelled at that young boy. You should be ashamed.”

I continued to ignore him, yanked open the front door and marched to the driver’s side of my RAV.

“Did you hear me, Danica?” he hollered. “You need to get control of your child. Or she won’t be welcome here at San Camanez Elementary anymore.”

I considered meeting his gaze before I slid behind the steering wheel, but if I did, I’d probably say something I’d regret. I already knew it was going to take every ounce of self-control not to drive up onto the curb and run him over.

So instead, I simply climbed into my seat, fastened my belt and drove off, leaving his ruddy, flustered face in my rearview mirror.

Neither Sam nor I said anything for a while as I drove. Not until I pulled up to Heaven’s Leap, a lovely little view spot on the top of a cliff, and turned off the ignition.

“Up here,” I said to her, jerking my head to indicate she should climb into the front passenger seat.

It was too cold and windy to sit outside, but we could still watch the seabirds ride the wind gusts like kitesurfers and have our mother-daughter chat.

She clambered into the front seat, watching me warily.

I sucked in a deep breath, unbuckled my belt and pivoted to face her tear-stained face. “All right, now let’s hear your version.”

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