Page 7 of Burn It Down

Elijah is in his own little world, so I do my best to get his attention. “You ready for school tomorrow, buddy?”

He just shrugs his shoulders, his face not giving much away.

“Of course you are! First grade is a blast,” Bowen says, squeezing my son’s shoulder. “Well, that’s if your teacher doesn’t take out his hatred of your dad on you.”

I punch Bowen in the shoulder. “Shut. Up.”

But Elijah just snickers, and for once, he’s smiling. He does love his uncle and his antics. Why? I don’t know. “Thanks a lot, Dad.”

I grin over at my son, relieved to see him happy. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Suuure,” Bowen says and then winks at Elijah, who giggles again, and something settles in my chest, seeing the joy there.

I was worried I’d messed that up for good, but the little glimpses my son shows me—it gives me hope. Though Bowen could have a point. What if Spencer really does have some sort of vendetta against Bowen or me? Would he really take it out on Elijah?

I still havethat sinking feeling in my gut, thinking about Spencer possibly taking out whatever problem he has with me on my son, and I can’t seem to shake it, even as I park my car in the school’s lot and help Elijah out of the back seat.

He’s dressed in shorts and a t-shirt he picked out with Bowen and me for his first day, his hair all gelled and styled—like Uncle Bowen—and his backpack on his shoulders. The kid is cute as hell.

The thought of anyone being cruel to him sends hot rage through my system as we walk up to his new school. “You ready for this?” I ask him, trying to keep my own nerves out of it.

“Yeah. It’s just school, Dad. I’ve been to school.” I grin because he’s so unbothered and clearly thinks I’m crazy. Becoming a parent for sure made me crazy in ways I never saw coming, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. Not even becoming a father at eighteen. Because I wound up with the world’s greatest kid.

The school allows the parents to walk the kids into their classroom on the first day—so I take full advantage of that. When we get to his locker, he leaves his bag in there, and I kneel down, my hands on his shoulders and part of me not wanting to let him go. I look into his eyes. “Okay, so Uncle Bowen will pick you up because I start my first shift at the firehouse today.” He flinches at that, and part of me dies, hating that I have him so worried. I squeeze his shoulders gently but want his attention. “Hey, it’s safe. I promise you I’ll always come back to you.” A promise I probably shouldn’t make—because honestly, no one can ever make that promise. Life doesn’t work that way. I can promise I’ll always fight like hell to come back to him though.

He nods, his chin wobbling slightly, but he quells it. Like father, like son. “Okay, Dad.”

I smile at him, seeing only the best parts of me in him, even if he barely looks like me at all. He’s mine. And I hope he knows just how much that means to me. “Uncle Bowen will pick you up and feed you. Hopefully, not junk...” I tease and finally get a small smile out of my kid. “He’ll put you to bed and then take you to school, but I’ll be here to pick you up tomorrow after school. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says, and he does look a little happier now. Thank God. “Okay, I love you, buddy.”

I hug him tight, and his grip is strong when he hugs me back. “Love you too, Dad.”

I release him, standing up to my full height, and he walks past Spencer, who greets him happily and directs him to his desk before his eyes settle on me. There’s that coldness again. “Can I speak to you for a moment?” I ask.

His eyes sweep the halls at all the other students walking in, his mouth in a firm frown, but he gives me a quick nod. “Of course, Mr. Mitchell.”

I don’t know why the formality irritates me, but it does. We walk a little left of the door but not far enough where he can’t keep an eye on the students, so I just get right to it. “Look, I don’t know if I did something to you in school...” I grip the back of my neck with my hand, letting my fingers dig into the skin because I’m nervous. I’m not really one for a confrontation—never have been. But when it comes to my kid, I’ll do it if I need to. “Or if my idiot brother did.”

Spencer crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw clenched tight. “What are you talking about?”

“You clearly don’t like me,” I sputter, dropping my hand from my neck. “And that’s fine, but I can’t just sit back and let you take it out on my kid. I need to know you aren’t going to do that or I’ll request a new teacher right now.”

I see the spark of anger in his eyes before he moves slightly closer to me, leaning in and keeping his voice low. “You really think I would ever harm a child because of the past, or for any reason?”

I have to fight actually shrinking back, feeling a little sheepish because it does feel silly, accusing him of that. “I just need to know he’ll be safe here.”

His eyes darken, and his brow furrows. He’s standing so close to me, I can smell his woodsy scent and the minty smell of his toothpaste. My stomach clenches almost violently. “I would never hurt a child in any way. Ever. No matter how I feel about hisfather.”

I look into his eyes, shaken, and not sure by what exactly, but I can’t seem to move or pull my eyes off his. I stand there, frozen, my knees weak as he stares me down.

“Am I clear?”

I nod my head stupidly. “Yes.”

“Good. Have a good day, Mr. Mitchell.” He brushes past me, and I swear I feel the brief touch everywhere, a spark shooting through every nerve.

What the hell was that about?

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