Читать книгу His Brother's Keeper - Dawn Atkins - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
“YOU©LOOK LIKE YOU©SAW a ghost,” Conrad said to Gabe after Cici walked away.
“I guess I did. That was Robert’s girlfriend—the one who got him arrested and sent to Adobe Mountain, while she skated free and clear.” That had been the first domino in the terrible tumble that ended in Robert’s death two years later. “She’s the new principal, believe it or not.”
“Damn. I hope you were pleasant.”
“She caught me up short.” He’d been terse, which wouldn’t make her more inclined to cut him slack. “Now she wants to talk. About rent, I guess.” Which he couldn’t afford. With the twins’ beauty-school fees to pay, he barely made ends meet driving cab and working landscaping jobs.
“What the hell. You got time for a coffee first?”
“Nah. I’ve got to drive a shift. Why? You struggling?” Conrad was two years clean and sober, but he sometimes needed company when the urge to drink got bad.
“I meant so you could blow off steam.”
“And not step on my dick?”
“Pretty much. You’ve done the same for me.” Conrad had been a professional wrestler until booze broke him. Gabe had hired him, no questions asked, reading his recovery in his determined eyes and proud stance.
“I’ll behave. I have to. Close up for me, would you? I’d better allow some time to throw myself on her mercy.”
“Only if you swear you’ll count to ten before saying anything hard.”
He raised his right hand. “I’ll do my best.”
Later, heading down the hall to see her, he noticed his pulse kick up. She’d been cute as a kid. Now she was beautiful—short and shapely, and sexy as hell. Her voice was still girlish, but it had heft to it—like a creek with a powerful current beneath its deceptively bubbling surface.
She dressed well. No surprise. Expensive and formfitting, but classy. And it was still there—that vibration in his blood when he looked at her. Less than useless at the moment.
As he neared her office door, he saw she was bent over, dragging a cardboard box into the hall, the tight blue skirt riding high on a fine pair of legs—great muscle definition and a nicely balled calf. Runners’ calves were leaner, so maybe dancing. Tennis? Some regular activity that also did great things for her glutes, now that he looked more closely.
Mm-mm-mm.
He realized he was staring like a teenager and jolted forward. “I’ll get that.” He bent for the box, but she held on, lifting with him, despite the fact the carton had about a hundred pounds of books and she was in heels.
She had color in her face from bending and her hair floated around her head like duck down. Her eyes were that same unusual color—big, bright and blue.
She gave off a familiar sweet smell.
Same as in her car the day she’d dented it. He’d figured the scent came from all the candy jewelry she wore back then. Except today she wore a gold locket and an expensive-looking watch, no candy beads to be seen.
She seemed to realize it was dumb to wrestle with him and let go of the carton. “If you’d put it on the table in the hall, I’d appreciate it.”
“Those, too?” He nodded at the boxes stacked in her doorway.
“Please. I’m going to set up a faculty library.” She tucked her shirt into her waistband. It wasn’t low-cut or lacy, but it hugged her shape like something a stripper might shimmy out of.
When he finished, she was sitting behind Charlie’s battered steel desk, which had been spiffed up. She’d dusted the computer Charlie never touched and replaced his stacks with a neat rack of color-coded folders, a legal pad and pen at the ready, and some goofy desk toys—small magnetized pieces of metal that could be shaped into a sculpture, an acrylic box of blue water over white sand balanced on a pointed pedestal, tiny Tinkertoys, small cans of Play-Doh and a gel-and-glitter-filled wand. A magic wand? Really?
He stood across from her, hands on his hip. “You kept Charlie’s poster.” He nodded behind her at the shot of Marcus Moreno, MMA star, with the fighter’s description of what made a champion.
“I haven’t finished redecorating. Have a seat please.”
He wanted to say, Just say your piece, but knew he had to seem friendly, so he sat, scooted closer to the desk and softened his expression. His sisters said he always looked too fierce.
He touched the water box, setting it rocking. “This is cool.”
“Desk toys reduce anxiety, ease tension and boost creative problem-solving abilities.”
“And cast spells?” He picked up the pink wand and waved it in the air.
“You’re missing the point.” She took it from him, her fingers soft against his for an instant. He felt a small jolt. Her eyes shot to his, wide with surprise. Damn. It was mutual.
“Watch.” She tilted the wand between her fingers so the pink beads and bits of glitter and stars slid slowly downward, then up again. It was kind of hypnotic, but he kept getting distracted by the sight of her breasts just past the wand. “See? Soothing, right?”
Depends where you look. He cleared his throat. “Like magic.”
She set the wand on her desk and smiled uncertainly, her face now pink. He’d made her nervous, he could tell. “It was a shock to see you.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Let’s get to the point so I can get out.
“How have you been?”
She wanted to chitchat? “Good. You?”
“I’ve been good. And your mother? How is she?”
Now she cared? She hadn’t given a crap while she was getting Robert to steal jewelry for her, keeping him out all night, scaring their mom to death. After Robert’s murder, his mother had dissolved into painkillers, becoming a shadow for five long years, her eyes empty even when they were open. She’d gotten clean, but relapsed again. For the past five years, she’d been solid, thank God.
“She’s fine,” he said flatly.
Cici’s smile faltered, but she rattled on. “Gosh, your sisters must be in college by now.”
That’s it. The twins were none of her business. “Look, let’s skip the small talk and get to the point.”
She recoiled as though he’d slapped her, her cheeks flaring red. Before he could apologize, she recovered. “The point,” she snapped, “is that I need your gym for my after-school program. Without a lease, I could make it effective today, but I’ll give you two weeks to find another location and move.”
This was worse than he’d expected. Much worse.
“In the meantime, I need to see the liability waivers for each student. Mr. Hopkins doesn’t appear to have held on to our copies.”
“You’re kicking us out?”
“Yes. That is my point.” Her blue eyes lit with fire, her chin was up, her jaw firm, no give at all. “I’m sure you can find a more appropriate venue for a fight club than a middle school.”
Anger flashed like a series of struck matches along his nerves. There were no venues he could afford, appropriate or otherwise. Not nearby, anyway. “What about the Discovery kids I train?”
“They’ll join my program. We offer tutors, workshops, guest speakers and other enrichment activities.”
“My guys aren’t into any of that.”
“That’s no wonder, considering your attitude.”
“What does that mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You made Devin fight when he had homework to do. This is a school. Studying comes first.”
“Are you kidding? Devin lives for homework. What he needs is the balls to defend himself from bullies.”
“So you teach him to be a bigger one?”
“Bullying is a head game. To beat it, you need better game. Trust me, without STRIKE, Devin Muller’s back to getting swirlies in the girls’ john.”
“These kids experience enough violence in their lives without you teaching them how to do it better.”
He gave a half laugh. “What I teach them is self- discipline, self-control and physical confidence. They fight in my gym, not the streets.”
She held his gaze. “A good principal’s focus has to be on helping students perform better in school.”
“A good principal knows kids need different approaches and trusts her staff to do what works for each kid.”
“You’re not on my staff, G.”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped. “It’s Gabe or Coach Cassidy. No one calls me G.” Robert had given Gabe the nickname to make him sound more gangster. Hearing it was like sandpaper on a sunburn. “Look, Charlie was a great principal. He got fired for defending the kids no matter what scores showed up in the newspaper.”
“You assume I won’t stand up for my students?” Clearly riled, she tapped her desk with a short wooden dowel from the Tinkertoys.
“All I know is that Charlie got done in by politics. You’re clearly better connected than he was.”
She sucked in a breath. “My uncle had nothing to do with me getting this job.”
“Your uncle? Who’s your uncle?” Where the hell had that come from?
She blinked, startled. “Phil Evers is my— But that’s not the point—”
“Wait. The superintendent is your uncle? Oh, I get it. Phil Evers’s niece needs a job, so Charlie gets the boot.”
“That is not true.” Her face went from milk-white to bright red. “Phil wouldn’t know me on sight—not that it’s any of your business. My program works. That’s why I was hired. And I will implement it no matter what obstacles I have to jump, sidestep or knock to the ground.” She was completely fired up, ready to fight—body tensed, jaw locked, eyes hot, lips a stubborn line.
Part of him—his caveman soul—enjoyed seeing her this way, wanted to go chest to chest with her, hip to hip, thigh to thi— Uh, forget that.
He was chagrined to realize that this entire time the undercurrent of sexual attraction had been humming through him like a supercharged V-8 on idle, ready to blast to life, zero to sixty in four seconds flat.
Enough. He lifted his hands in surrender. “I get it. You’ve got something to prove. All I’m saying is that kicking out STRIKE won’t help.”
“It might. Parents have complained that you condone gang activity.”
“That is total bullshit. STRIKE is what keeps half my kids out of gangs. I don’t allow gang colors, signs or talk in my gym. And who complained? Beatrice Milton? The parent-group lady? She’s pissed because she wanted the space for her craft business.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t believe boxing is appropriate in a school.”
“I coach Muay Thai, which is a revered martial art, for your information. And you’re flat-out wrong. You don’t know this neighborhood or these kids, what their lives are like, what they need.”
“I’ve studied and worked with at-risk kids for several years. And I used to live near here, too, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Oh, I remember, all right. You were slumming and when things went bad you beat it out of town in a hurry.”
“My mother got a job in Flagstaff, so we moved.” She was breathing hard, turning a glass paperweight over and over in her hand.
He considered telling her exactly what her spoiled selfishness had done to Robert and his family, but that wouldn’t help his cause. “Look, I’m sure you mean well, but a lot of these kids have messed-up lives. School is not a priority.” Gabe softened his tone, fighting to stay calm. “STRIKE changes that. They have to go to school, get good grades and stay out of trouble. They gain physical and mental skills every day. At the very least, they forget for a few hours all the crap they endure trying to survive around here.”
He stopped, breathing hard, blood pounding in his skull. He’d raised his voice at the end and was leaning across the desk glaring at her.
She didn’t back down, he’d give her that. She had a muscle-bound, tatted-up cholo yelling in her face, and she hadn’t called the police or even flinched.
“You’re obviously very passionate about your gym,” she said. “I respect that, but that doesn’t change my decision.”
He stared at her.
“Find a place that wants you, Gabe. You’ll be better off and so will we.”
Frustration boiled inside him. His stomach churned, his muscles tightened, ready to fight. Count to ten before you say something hard. He was too pissed to count. “Look, I need to get to work now,” he said, pushing to his feet. “We’ll have to talk later.”
“I believe I made my point. Two weeks. Be sure I get those waivers.”
Waivers? Charlie never gave him any waivers.
Gabe stalked off, fuming. Damn it all to hell. This was worse than getting let go from the South Mountain recreation-director job. They’d claimed the position suddenly required a college degree, but the real deal was that a scary-looking half-Mexican dude didn’t present the right image for the yuppies the city wanted to attract from the pricey houses that had recently been built. He’d seen their point, but that didn’t mean he’d liked it.
He’d been low until he got word about Kurt’s bequest and Charlie had offered him the space for the gym. That had been the silver lining to losing the job. It was a way to honor Robert. Every kid he trained was Robert to him and that felt worthwhile. Corny as it sounded, that meant more than the ego stroke or cash from the city job.
And now he might lose it all. Talk about a kick in the teeth. And from Cici, of all people. She’d wrecked his brother and now she was going after him. If he weren’t so pissed, he might laugh.
What would he do? Try to find another space? Scrape up rent somehow? That would take a while, and what would happen to Alex in the meantime? Or the boys from North Central? Or, hell, Devin?
Nothing good, that was certain. Gang life loomed always, ever ready to sink its claws into his boys, like a lion peeling off the weak from a herd.
He stopped walking and gathered himself together. He never backed down from a fight. He tended to butt his head against the wall until the wall gave or he passed out from blood loss. To win with Cici, he’d have to be smart, think outside the box.
Not easy for him. It was funny. He’d wanted to be a lawyer, work in civil rights, help the underdog, until he’d had to quit school to support his family. He knew now he would have made a lousy lawyer. Lawyers compromised, made deals, sold out, gave in. That was not Gabe’s way. Not at all.
What would get through to Felicity Spencer? He had no idea, but he’d better figure it out before he and his boys ended up on the street.
FELICITY STABBED©AT©A Tinkertoy wheel with a red dowel, her hands still shaking, her breathing coming fast and hard. She was still angry. And hurt, if she were honest with herself.
She dropped her head to her desk. You let him get to you. He’d accused her of running away, of slumming.
As if she and her mother were living in that run-down, bug-infested apartment for fun. As if Felicity couldn’t wait to attend that seriously scary middle school. They’d been utterly broke after her father’s business failed and her parents’ marriage fell apart. That apartment had been all they could afford.
After the case settled, she’d been relieved when a friend offered her mother a bookkeeping job in Flagstaff. Who wouldn’t be happier living in a better neighborhood, going to a nicer school? And Felicity had been glad to leave the kids who knew what had happened to her and Robert.
That didn’t mean she didn’t understand what these kids faced. She knew to her bones what it was like to feel ashamed and afraid and trapped because you were poor. And she knew how to help them. She had piles of research and fieldwork to support her system. Gabe was wrong about her.
She tried to jam the dowel into the spoke opening, but it wouldn’t go. What the hell? She threw the pieces across her office.
Settle down. Get control.
Anger was her enemy. Her father was an angry man, and Felicity refused to be like him in any way. She wouldn’t define herself by her net worth or wallow in self-pity or lose her temper when things went wrong the way he did.
She made herself take a slow, deep breath and forced a smile, since the gesture automatically reduced tension.
She regretted what she’d blurted about her uncle. Now Gabe had joined the crowd who thought she’d got the job because of who she knew, not what she’d achieved. So infuriating. So unfair.
Let it go. So what? Her work would prove her worth to the district doubters, to her staff, to the Discovery parents, even to Gabe Cassidy. She always worked hard, strove to be the best. That was the point, wasn’t it? To be better every day.
Gabe’s accusations stung all the same.
Of course, she realized teens would be more challenging than elementary kids. Peer pressure meant far more to them. On top of that, Discovery Charter was a last-chance school for last-chance kids. So it wouldn’t be easy. She knew that. What if she failed? What if Gabe was right?
She swiveled back and forth in her chair and noticed the poster Gabe had commented on. It was of a fighter, for God’s sake. That was the last thing she needed in here. She yanked it down and marched it to the tall trash can she’d been filling with Charlie’s useless junk.
The quote at the bottom snagged her attention:
Champions are built, not born.
The drive comes from inside, fed by dreams, fueled by desire.
Champions fight harder, longer, faster than all the rest.
They have the moves, yeah, but what counts is the heart.
A champion’s heart beats a rhythm only he hears.
El corazón es todo—the heart is all.
That was kind of touching, actually. Without thinking it through, she rolled the poster into a tube and set it in the corner to deal with later.
THE NEXT©AFTERNOON, Gabe arrived at the gym an hour later than usual. He’d asked Conrad to start training because he’d had to pick up the engraved marble vase his family would add to Robert’s grave when they visited on the anniversary of Robert’s funeral in two days.
As he pulled up to the school, he noticed that his fighters were crowded onto the sidewalk, marching and carrying signs. Picket signs. What the hell?
He got out of the car, his eyes scanning the slogans, all drawn in Alex’s fat-cap graffiti style. Jorge Largo’s said Kids Need Gyms. Digger Jones carried Strike Back for STRIKE. Tony Lizardi jiggled On Strike for STRIKE.
The boys were chanting, responding to Victor’s shouts from a mic hooked to a boom box. “What do we want?” he yelled.
“STRIKE back!”
“When do we want it?”
“Now!”
“What’s going on?” Gabe asked Conrad, who was standing near the curb.
“Dave Scott chased us out for not having some forms. Then he tells us we’re getting kicked out for good. What the hell did you say to the principal?”
“We’re still talking,” he said, angry that the vice principal had gotten involved prematurely. “Damn. He had no business saying that.”
Alex noticed Gabe and came over. “We’re gonna be on the news, Coach. I called that TV 6 On Your Side hotline.” He looked so proud Gabe didn’t have the heart to tell him that unless this turned into a drive-by or a drug bust, he doubted a reporter would show.
“So what’s the story on this?” he asked Alex. Watching his boys march, their voices loud, strides firm, faces determined, he got a tight feeling in his chest. They were standing up for what they believed in. They weren’t beaten down. If they could stay that way long enough to make good lives for themselves, Gabe would be happy.
“We have a right to the gym, so I got the idea to protest.”
“It’s the principal’s call. We don’t have a lease. But I’m impressed with what you got going here.” He noticed Devin fidgeting near the door. “Devin! Get in there with a sign.” Damn, that kid needed to nut up.
Victor started a new chant. “Strike back for STRIKE… On strike for STRIKE… Strike back for STRIKE…” The fading afternoon sun glinted off the windows, making the signs flash golden. Cars driving by honked their support, hip-hop blaring from open windows.
Smalls Griggs ran up to the group carrying a case of water bottles and bags of tortilla chips Feliz Mercado had donated to their cause.
The kids broke for snacks until a cop car pulled up. Then they picked up their protest signs and started marching again.
A female officer stepped out, face stern. “Who’s in charge here?”
“Gabe Cassidy. I coach these boys. They’re protesting the loss of their gym.” He figured she was mentally skimming statutes for possible violations, so he jumped in. “This is legal, since they’re not disrupting traffic or interfering with commerce. And a permit is not required.” This kind of deal was why he’d wanted to become a lawyer—to defend people who got mowed down or tossed aside, work toward fair play and justice.
He’d been naive.
She stared at him, deciding if he was being a smart-ass.
He had to smooth that. “If it helps, I’ve got the number to the principal’s office.” He wondered why Felicity wasn’t already out here having a fit.
Seeing that he wasn’t challenging her authority, the cop relaxed, took the number and went to her cruiser. When she returned, she told him the principal was on her way from the district office, and asked him to keep a lid on things until she returned from a dispatch call.
“Aren’t we getting arrested?” Alex asked him as the cop drove off.
“You’re already in the system, Alex. You don’t want juvenile hall.” Robert’s stint there had sunk him. That and Cici abandoning him. That had broken him in two. And what was her excuse? She moved. They don’t write letters in Flagstaff? Use phones?
“But it’s publicity. We need publicity.”
“Keep your nose clean. I’m not kidding, Alex.”
A few minutes later, a white van with the district logo on the door pulled up and Felicity jumped down from the driver’s seat. She headed over, her mouth an angry line. “I got pulled out of a district meeting to take a police call. You organized this?”
“Just got here myself. This is on your guy. Dave told the kids they were being evicted, so they got understandably upset.”
“I did not authorize him to do that. I asked him to call the district to find out if the waivers you’re having the kids sign would suffice.”
“Hell, no, we won’t go!” was the current chant.
Tyrell, from North Central, waved his sign: STRIKE a Blow for STRIKE. Beside him Devin waved a piece of notebook paper that said Defend Our Right to Fight. The kid had a way with words, at least.
“This is not good,” Felicity said. She was maintaining her cool, but was clearly flipped out. Maybe he had some leverage here.
“It’s about to get worse. The TV 6 investigative team should be here any minute. I believe the police will be back, too.”
Felicity’s eyes went wide, but she kept her voice calm. “You need to stop this right now.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Come on. You can’t control these boys?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t. Aren’t you impressed with their initiative? This is democracy in action. Don’t you teach kids to stand up for their rights? Isn’t that a lesson these poor barrio kids need to learn?”
“You think sarcasm helps?”
“Probably not,” he said. “Couldn’t resist.”
Anger made her eyes flash in the fading light. He doubted she’d appreciate him telling her she looked pretty when she was pissed.
She glanced over his shoulder. “Damn it.”
He turned to see a TV 6 van turning the corner. “Looks like the media circus is about to raise a tent.”
“You’re an ass, you know that?”
“No doubt.” He fought a grin.
“What do you want, Gabe?”
“What the kids want. The gym back.”
She glared at him, then glanced nervously past him.
“Getting closer?”
“All right. You can stay four weeks, but you’ll have to split the space with my after-school program, fifty-fifty.”
He considered that. They could condense the equipment, he supposed. Clear out a few mats. “Make it eight weeks and then we negotiate.”
She glared at him. “This is not over.” She went to the gym entrance. “Attention, please,” she said. The boys stopped marching and looked her way.
“I need to speak to your leader.”
Silence. They glanced at each other, not sure who to name.
“Okay, who called the TV station?”
“I did,” Alex said.
“Then it’s you. The rest of you go in and take your signs with you. Alex and I will finalize an agreement on your behalf.” She unlocked the door and pushed it open for them. The boys ran into the gym yelling in triumph.
Alex stared at Felicity, a look of mild awe on his face. Good God. He had a crush on her. Gabe hoped to hell the kid wouldn’t fold at her first demand.
“Your coach and I agreed that we’ll keep the gym open for eight weeks, Alex, but only if you and I can keep the protest out of the news.”
“But the TV people are already here.”
“That won’t matter if you tell them we’ve worked out our differences.”
“But I want to explain about our rights and fighting for them and all.”
“If you want your gym back, you need to shut down the story. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
“Shit.” Alex cringed over the swearword. “Sorry.”
They all watched as a guy in a golf shirt with the station’s logo began unloading a camera from the back of the SUV.
“Do we have a deal?” Felicity held out her hand, looking at him steadily.
“I wanted to be on TV so bad.”
“When you’re a leader you have to look out for the group’s interests, not just your own.”
Alex nodded and squared his shoulders, as if taking on a heavy burden. He shook her hand.
“Great. Let’s go straighten this out.” She looked over her shoulder at Gabe. “After this, we need to talk.”
He watched her walk away, her hand on Alex’s shoulder. She wore another designer business suit, this one pale yellow, tailored to fit every dip and swell of her figure. She looked fresh for this late in the day. He could watch her hair float around her head for hours. Not to mention her hips, the way they swayed. And those legs, striding fast on swanky heels. For the first time, he saw why women got obsessed with shoes. The ones she had on made her legs look great. Mm-mm-mm.
She reminded him of an actress. Who? Cameron Diaz. Yeah, in her early films. No doubt men tried to take care of Felicity, though he’d bet she shut them down right quick. She was soft, but steely. The girl next door with a shotgun under her bed she could strip and clean blindfolded.
He’d bet she got underestimated a lot.
He’d be sure not to.
