Page 2 of She's the Star

Her screams hit a high note that took me years to master. Maybe I should have started her on voice lessons rather than swimming. Is learning to sing before she can talk the equivalent of learning to swim before she can walk?

I look down into her scrunched face and thrashing body, and I can’t do it. I can’t torture her like this. I pull her out of the water, press her into my chest, and dash toward the stairs while she trembles in my arms. Without glancing back, I exit the pool and barrel into the locker room, then I strip off her watermelon swimsuit, bundle her in a towel, and move in front of one of the hand dryers.

The dryer turns on, warmth envelopes us, and it feels wonderful.

She doesn’t stop crying, but at least she stops screaming, which is a marked improvement.

“I’m so sorry. We’re never doing that again,” I assure her, and even though she doesn’t understand, I feel a bit better after promising her. I may not be winning at this whole parenting thing, but I am flexible enough to admit when I’ve made a mistake—and to adjust if things go awry.

When Maddy is warm and starting to get a bit sweaty, we move away from the dryer and into the changing area. I grab a diaper and manage to get it on. Then, while she continues crying softly, I wrestle her into a cute tank and skort set.

She resists when I try to put on her sporty little jacket, so before she can start screaming again, I toss it back into my bag and pull an oversized shirt over my wet swimsuit. I sling the bag over my shoulder, pick her up, and hightail it out of the building.

Thankfully, the parking lot is empty when we get outside. With any luck, we’ll be gone before anyone appears. The last thing I need is someone witnessing us fleeing swim lessons.

I stop next to my Range Rover and grab the back door handle, but it doesn’t budge.

I try the front, but it doesn’t open, either. I yank on it a couple more times and then push the little button on the handle. Still nothing.

Where are my keys? I stick my hand into my bag and rifle around. No keys. Sweat pools on my back as I plop the bag on the hood and peer inside. It’s stuffed full of junk, so I start to dig through the mess while Maddy’s whimpers get a touch louder.

“Please don’t start screaming,” I beg her as I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember if I set my keys down in the locker room. Unfortunately, I have no recollection of ever touching them. My assistant told me she put them in my bag, and obviously she did, because I drove here.

The question is, where are they now?

Operation Independence: miserable failure.

I root around for another minute before accepting that I have no choice but to sneak inside to see if they’re there. Tears leak from Maddy’s eyes as we head back into the building.

TWO

NOLAN

Eleven minutes ago

The hope I’ve been clinging to for the last sixteen hours dies a swift death when I enter the chilly conference room and am met with a wall of scowls. Their expressions make it all too clear this meeting is not a formality. I’m not just getting a slap on the wrist.

Will they fire me?

The woman I met at a bar and took back to my place last weekend wasn’t the unattached stranger I thought she’d been.

Nope.

She’s married. And not just married. She’s married to Stuart, who was elected head of the Little Acres Board of Directors last year. Technically, he isn’t my boss. However, the headmaster of the preschool answers to the board, so I’m basically fucked. And not in a good way.

I swallow the lump in my throat and shuffle forward.

Stuart’s cheeks are even ruddier than normal as he glares at me like I’m scum beneath his shoe. I can’t believe I slept with his wife. I wonder if she knew who I was.

At this point, I suppose it doesn’t matter.

Determined not to show my discomfort, I maintain a casual demeanor, keeping my limbs loose and my expression relaxed, as I take a seat. It isn’t easy with the way my palms are sweating or the way my shirt collar is choking me.

I cling to my dignity like it’ll somehow protect me.

Judging by the look on Stuart’s face, it isn’t going to be enough. The board members’ averted gazes and uncomfortable shifting convinces me that they aren’t going to support me. Not on this. I’m on my own.

I probably shouldn’t blame them, but I do. I’ve been an excellent headmaster, and they know it.

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