Page 3 of Only You

THREE

Remy

“Cason...” I sigh, gripping my nose between my thumb and pointer finger. “How many times are you going to do this?”

The kid in question—Cason Rhodes—sits across from me at my desk, his arms folded, long legs stretched out in front of him, and his blue eyes glaring daggers at me. He’s guarded and angry.

I can’t blame him. But it’s my job as principal to reprimand him when he breaks the rules. And Cason frequently breaks the rules.

“I barely even touched him.”

I keep my lips in a firm, thin line. “Ms. Brown stated otherwise. She said you shoved him pretty hard into the locker.”

Cason doesn’t flinch. There’s barely even a flicker of change in his demeanor, other than his nostrils flaring slightly. “He wouldn’t get the hell away from me like I told him to. What would you have me do?”

“Tell someone,” I suggest. I’m not ignorant. I know sometimes bullies just don’t stop, no matter what. No matter how many times you tell someone.

A cold starts to drift through my body—a familiar cold as I try like hell not to think about the memories threatening to come forward. I try to focus fully on Cason instead.

“I have. Blake never stops.”

I clear my throat, trying to come up with another solution and failing.

The kid is sneaky. I’ve had teachers watching Blake since the day he and Cason first appeared in my office for fighting.

But so far, it’s only been Cason who’s lashed out physically, who teachers have witnessed actually fighting with Blake.

I know Blake goads him quietly. I know he pushes Cason’s buttons and taunts him every chance he gets, but I haven’t seen it with my own eyes.

I can’t prove it. And right now, it’s killing me to be the principal when all I want to do is tell the little shit to back off.

“I’ve told all my staff to keep him away from you as much as possible. ”

He snorts angrily, cold and bitter. I honestly can’t blame him. It’s incredibly frustrating. “Right. Can I go now? Or am I suspended?”

“No. You’re not.” He probably should be.

Should probably even be expelled. But I can’t do it.

I know there’s more to the story. I know there’s a lot going on that we miss, and I’ll be damned if I punish the innocent.

“I’ve talked to Blake about this many times, but I need you to report it.

You can’t push him or take the bait. And I know it’s not fair. ”

He slouches back into his chair, but he doesn’t look defeated.

Not at all. The kid is strong. Having been through so much worse than the likes of Blake.

I know it. I can see it in his eyes—even if I didn’t know from his file that he’s now in his brother’s care after their mother’s death.

“Do you want to talk about anything right now, Cason? I want you to know you can talk to me.”

His jaw ticks with barely contained annoyance as he shifts in his seat. “Nope.” I already knew that would be his answer, but it still stings nonetheless. “How do you know Tatum?”

The question takes me aback. Totally out of left field, and I didn’t see it coming.

But when I look at Cason—I know without a doubt that’s what the question was meant to do.

It was a calculated play to make me as uncomfortable as he is right now, here in my office and answering questions he doesn’t want to answer.

“Um... we were friends when we were younger,” I answer with the simplest thing I can think of.

Is that what we were? I don’t really know.

To say seeing Tatum Luck again after these years was a shock is the understatement of the century.

I was shaken to my core and haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since.

Which really pisses me off because I’d done so well for the past decade. Pushing him far into the recesses of my mind.

“So you were a foster kid too?”

A full tremor goes through my entire body at his question. Direct hit. I don’t talk about my childhood. Not ever. I don’t talk about foster care. No one knows that about me. No one.

I’ve made plenty of friends since college and starting this job, but I haven’t ever divulged that information.

Something I keep locked up tight to my chest, skirting around any questions about my younger years.

And now, one of my students is sitting here, his eyes an intense blaze, knowing he’s making me squirm.

“He told you about that?” I ask carefully, my mouth going dry.

His eyes shine with mirth now, leaning forward a little bit, studying me. “I know he was, and considering he won’t talk about you—and that haunted look he gets any time you’re brought up—I just kind of assumed.”

I do my best to keep my cool, but it feels nearly impossible.

Memories of the worst time of my life swarm through my brain.

The most beautiful smile from a totally unexpected package—that was Tatum Luck.

He was big—even when we were young. He always towered over me, but I didn’t fear him.

I felt safe and protected when Tatum would show back up in my life, time and time again—until I didn’t anymore.

Until everything was taken from me. Even him.

“Do you have anything you’d like to talk to me about pertaining to school and yourself?” I ask, keeping my tone professional.

“What are you doing for dinner, Principal Valentine?”

My eyes go huge, and I can tell it amuses him. “What?”

“You should come to dinner tonight at my house. Tatum will be there. It would be good for you two to catch up.”

I’m not sure what he’s playing at, but the thought of seeing Tatum both terrifies and intrigues me.

I don’t have his phone number—I never did.

I didn’t expect to see him ever again, and then he just showed up in my office out of nowhere, and I didn’t get his number or any way to contact him. I couldn’t move. Or speak.

“That’s probably not a good idea,” I say, even though I’m itching to say yes.

I don’t want to talk about my past, not even with Tatum—especially not with Tatum—but the thought of getting to hear his voice again? To see that calming smile?

“Why not? My brother’s other half would be ecstatic to have you over. He’ll talk your ear off, but he’s not so bad, even though he’s a social worker.”

I smile at that slightly. Cason may try to seem like a little badass who doesn’t care about anything, but I hear the fondness in his tone when he’s talking about his brother’s partner. “I couldn’t do that,” I say, trying to reclaim my professionalism. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

He stands but doesn’t head toward the door.

Instead, he grabs the Post-It notes I have on my desk and a pen—just helping himself.

He scribbles something on the paper and then slides it over to me.

“I know you can probably get my address from my file, but it’s probably more ethical if I write it down.

We usually eat around seven. You should come. He misses you.”

I open my mouth to ask him if that’s true but stop when I see the gleam in his eyes. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. I can’t use a student to find my way back to Tatum. It’s just not right.

And I know he’s likely lying anyway. Tatum seemed relatively unbothered by seeing me again. It’s likely he wrote me off all those years ago anyway.

Cason is confident as he strides toward my door, playing it off well that he couldn’t care either way. But when he stops and looks back at me over his shoulder, I know he does. He wants this because he delivers the perfect line to get me to do what he so clearly wants.

“You know you want to talk to him again.” My heart stutters, and I struggle to take a deep breath because I do want that.

So desperately. I want to know so many things.

I want to know if he thinks about me. If he hates me.

If he’s truly indifferent. And I’m totally crazy to think he could think about that time all these years later.

Just because it made a huge impact on my life doesn’t mean it was even more than a blip on his radar.

God knows how many foster kids he met during his time in the system.

“This is your in—as my guest.” The kid has guts because he actually winks at me before grabbing the door handle and slipping out of my office like he didn’t just totally rock my world, shaking everything loose I’ve spent years trying to put away.

A mere four hours later, I’m adjusting my tie nervously as I stand on the front porch of the address Cason gave me. It’s not too late to back out. I can just head back to my car and floor it out of here, hopefully undetected.

But the thought of seeing Tatum again after all these years... Of being able to say actual words to him... it’s too much to turn away from. It’s not the smart thing to do—professionally or in any sense—but I can’t walk away now.

I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell, my heart in my throat as I wait. It’s Cason who pulls the door open with a totally unsurprised, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Well hello, Principal Valentine. You made it.”

I half expected him to deny he invited me, but he seems to be quite pleased with himself as he sweeps his hand in a wide motion, making for a dramatic entrance for me. Encouraging me to walk inside their home.

“Remy.” I hear Tatum’s deep voice before I even find him where he’s sitting at the table. It’s strange to see him as a grown man. The last time I saw him, he was sixteen and a giant but not nearly as large as he is now. His shoulders are broad, and he’s somehow grown even taller over the years.

Tonight, he’s wearing a tight gray, V-neck t-shirt that allows me to see the copious amount of ink he’s added to his skin over the years.

Last time I saw him, he didn’t have any.

It’s almost jarring but no less fitting for him.

The intricate, vibrant designs going all the way down both arms and over the back of his hands.

Even his chest appears to be nearly all the way covered.