Daddy’s Law by K.C. Crowne

Chapter 5

Ava

Icaught them picking on Cory the next week at art club, relentlessly teasing him about the size of his ears. They weren’t even that big, in my opinion. It was just the way his hair was cropped that made them seem larger than they were.

“Come on, Dumbo,” one of the older boys jeered.

“That’s probably why he’s always late,” snickered another. “He’s got to deal with drag.”

I stomped over immediately, placing myself between Cory and his bullies. “You two. Apologize to him. Right now.”

The first boy put his hands up in mock surrender. “But we didn’t do anything, Miss Cruise.”

I shook my head. “I heard you making fun of him. That’s not nice at all. How would you feel if someone picked on you like that?”

The second boy snorted. “We were only joking, Miss Cruise. Isn’t that right, Cory?”

Cory squirmed in his seat, picking at the corner of his sketchpad. He said nothing.

“The thing about jokes,” I said sternly, “is that they’re supposed to make everyone laugh. I didn’t hear anyone laughing.”

The first boy crossed his arms. “Maybe they don’t have a good sense of humor.”

I’d never truly snapped at one of my students before, mostly because I didn’t believe in outright scolding. But this attitude, this privileged backtalk wasn’t going to fly. I might have been the sweet art teacher, the one who never yelled, but that didn’t mean I was a doormat.

“You will both be writing me a report on bullying,” I stated. “Ten pages on why it isn’t nice or acceptable.”

He gaped at me, his mouth open. “What? You can’t do that.”

“I just did. And you can call your parents to come pick you up early. After school clubs are a privilege, not a right.”

The second boy rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

It was a little disheartening to see that my little art club was now whittled down from six to four, but I wasn’t going to stand for that kind of behavior. They gathered their things and left in a hurry, muttering colorful comments under their breath. They slammed the door on the way out, the impact vibrating through the room.

“You didn’t have to do that, Miss Cruise,” Cory mumbled. “But thank you.”

“They had it coming. I think I’ve been too lax.” I smiled softly, hoping to pivot the conversation. “Do you plan on working on your watercolor again today?”

His face flushed pink. “I forgot my paints at home.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You can just borrow mine.”

“Really?”

I nodded. “Sure. Between you and me, I have quality stuff. Easier to handle. You can give them back once you’re ready to move on to another medium.”

Cory’s eyes lit up in a way I hadn’t seen in quite a while. It resonated with me, seeing that spark of inspiration. “Thank you, Miss Cruise. I promise to take good care of them.”

“I know you will.”

“Maybe I’ll paint something for the summer’s-end exhibition,” he said hopefully.

“The summer’s-end exhibition is only for the high school seniors,” I explained gently. “You might be a bit young to enter it.”

Cory’s face fell slightly, the spark from before fading fast. “Oh. I understand.”

I held my breath. The exhibition in question was intended to help my twelfth-grade art students show off their portfolios in a public setting. Parents, other students, faculty, and even members of the public were invited to attend. Guests were encouraged to vote for their favorite art piece, and the winner would receive a scholarship to the Art Institute of Chicago.

Cory was still much too young, years away from actually attending a post-secondary institution. But I knew he had talent and drive. The showcase might actually be the perfect opportunity to showcase his natural artistic capabilities.

“You know what?” I said, hands on my hips. “That’s actually a good idea.”

“Y-you think so?”

“I’ll warn you, it’ll take a lot of hard work and dedication.”

Cory beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his smile almost blinding. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I have no doubt. I’ll still have to ask your dad’s permission, though. You’ll be competing against people much older than you, and I want to make sure the workload isn’t too much.”

“It won’t be too much, I promise. My dad’s picking me up tonight. Can you talk to him then?”

I raised my eyebrows. In the six months I’d known Cory, I’d never actually been introduced to his father. The teaching staff were aware that Cory’s mother passed away two years ago, but his father was rarely around. Constantly busy with work. Normally, a sitter picked him up.

That’s a song I know all too well.

“Sure,” I said. “We can walk out together, and you can introduce me.”

Cory nodded cheerfully before immediately getting to work. I could see the infinite possibilities swimming through his mind. He was so excited he couldn’t sit still.

Nothing made my heart happier.

* * *

Cory and I walked out together. It fascinated me how he could talk a mile a minute about why he thought Banksy was overrated and how the street artist’s little stunt with shredding one of his own works at an auction was pretentious. I could listen to him ramble on and on for hours if I had the time.

But then I saw him.

The man from the coffee house.

He leaned against the side of a black pickup truck, hands in his pockets. He looked sorely out of place, waiting in front of Willingham Academy, like maybe he took the wrong turn trying to get to an action movie set or something. One of those films with the loud explosions and excessively long car chases. I wasn’t a huge fan of action, but I’d pay to watch if he starred in it.

Especially if there’s a sexy shirtless scene.

Cory rushed over, skipping. “Hi, Dad! Guess what?”

I swallowed. Dad?

The man crouched down, his hulking frame still impossibly large. “What is it, buddy?” he asked, voice just as deep and soothing and mesmerizing as I remembered it.

“I’m going to enter the summer’s-end art exhibition!” He looked like he might jump up and down, he was so excited. “I think I’m going to submit a watercolor. Or maybe an acrylic. Or maybe a sculpture? I haven’t decided yet.”

Cory’s father glanced at me, a flash of recognition washing over his face. He stood up again, towering over me by a good foot and a half. My God, he was massive. Deliciously so. I wanted to know what it felt like to be wrapped in his arms and—

“You look familiar,” he said, any of the warmth from when he spoke to Cory melting away. He was cold. Brusque. It took me by total surprise.

“Oh, uh…” I cleared my throat, offering my hand. “I’m Ava. Ava Cruise.”

“Theo Phillips.”

“Theo,” I echoed, testing his name. It suited him. Strong and a little mysterious. “It’s lovely to finally meet—”

“You work here?” he asked, cutting me off.

“I’m Cory’s art teacher.”

Theo’s eyes swept over me. He regarded me with such intensity that I felt almost naked beneath his gaze. His eyes lingered on my lips, but I told myself it was my imagination. It was fleeting. Barely there.

I was suddenly very self-conscious of the paint stains on the front of my shirt. I was in nothing more than a plain black blouse and jeans with specks of color everywhere. My hands, under my nails, on my shirt, in my hair. I probably didn’t look as professional as the other teachers at the academy, but it was honestly just a hazard of the job. Acrylic paint was a pain in the ass to wash out.

My cheeks grew hot regardless, uncomfortable with his study. He was just so… present. Impossible to ignore.

“And we, um…” I stammered. “We met the other day. You found my driver’s license and gave it back to me.”

He shook my hand like it was perfunctory and let go, like some kind of chore.

“Cory’s already got a lot of homework,” he said flatly. “I don’t want him feeling overwhelmed.”

A flicker of annoyance licked at the pit of my stomach. Maybe it was Theo’s tone or his puffed chest or the general indifference in his expression that ticked me off.

Mr. Tight Shirt was turning out to be kind of a dick.

“I think Cory’s incredibly gifted in his art as well as his academics,” I said, keeping my words level. “He’d benefit greatly from the experience. There’s no better way to learn than by doing. He’d get tons of exposure and—”

“He’s eleven. He doesn’t need exposure.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’d be open to all sorts of criticism. Do you honestly think he’s ready to deal with that level of scrutiny?”

“Dad,” Cory whined. “I really, really want to do this.”

Theo’s tough guy act dissipated in an instant. “Listen, buddy. I’m just trying to protect you. You already seem to have a lot on your plate right now.”

I sighed. “Look, maybe you can take tonight to think about it. We can discuss this tomorrow, if you’d like. There’s actually something else I’d like to talk to you about. Uh, about Cory’s school performance.”

Cory frowned. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, no. I just thought it’d be a good chance to tell your father how well you’ve been doing since I haven’t had the opportunity to see him at parent-teacher interviews before.”

Something almost guilty tugged at Theo’s lips. “Fine. Tomorrow before school.”

I set my jaw. “Fine by me.” Dick.

Cory climbed into the truck and waved goodbye through the window. Theo got behind the wheel and pulled away. I was almost relieved when the truck disappeared from view. I hadn’t realized just how potent the smell of his cologne was until a breeze swept through. The scent of sandalwood and pine surrounded me, left me intoxicated from a proximity high.

I groaned.

Why are the hot ones always such assholes?

No matter. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen, anyway. For one, Theo was the father of one of my students. That was a line I was never willing to cross. It could put my job at risk.

At most, we’d have a professional relationship with Cory as our common denominator. We’d meet once a year —if that— to talk about Cory’s grades, maybe see each other around the city, but that was it. I could live with that. He was just another guy.

I started toward my car, which was parked at the back of the teacher’s lot. I was just about to unlock the door when my phone buzzed. Another text message from Dad.

Make sure your windows are locked tonight.

My thumbs flew over the screen, confusion nagging at the back of my mind.

What are you talking about? What’s this all about?

I didn’t get a response.

I checked my windows when I got home, either way, just so I could say I did. Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe Dad was slowly starting to lose his mind.