Page 42 of Love Complicated

I should be upset my son is acting like a dick at school. But. . . I’m not. And I’ll tell you why.

He’s going through a hard time. Divorce is hard on children. I’m sure this isn’t an excuse parents should use. . . but, it’s a valid one. This isn’t me saying, oh, he’s eight. What’s the harm?

I know what allowing this behavior can turn into.

Take a look at Ridge. I’ll pause here for a moment because I know you’re probably thinking to yourself, Oh Aly, he’s a school teacher. . . how bad can Ridge really be?

All right. Since you clearly don’t believe me, let me tell you a story about this crazy fuck.

He once drove a car—whose? No clue—on the sidewalk through Calistoga. His mother owns half the town, so maybe that’s why he felt he could get away with it, but regardless, people let him, going about their business like they hadn’t seen him doing it.

I’d like to add he was fifteen at the time and didn’t have a damn driver’s license. Didn’t stop him. At times he was a sadistic delinquent, violent fuck no one messed with. And he liked me. Lucky me. Being friends with him was like emotional terrorism.

Now do you seewhyit’s so odd that he’s a teacher?

Thank you.

I’m called back to the school because this time Cash and Grady got into a fight in the classroom over what Ridge said was a family tree project. I can see where this would cause problems.

While Grady loves everyone and is welcoming of Brie, Cash holds a grudge and refuses to speak to Brie or acknowledge his mom’s best friend turned wannabe mommy into his life.

I love him for this, but I can’t exactly say that. In reality, I want to buy him whatever he wants.

So there I am, in the classroom after having lunch with Tori. The kids are outside at their lunch recess.

But let’s pause here before Ridge approaches me at the table in the classroom. You remember those guys from school, right? The ones who were hot shit and knew it. Then there were the ones who were just hot shit and didn't give a goddamn if anyone else knew it. That was Ridge Lucas. He didn't give a flying fuck what you thought about him or his lazy walk, and if you looked his way he’d probably knock you in the mouth for looking at him.

I stand when he comes closer. Ridge takes a step forward, his face so close to mine I see the crazy dancing in his black irises.

He grins. “Looking for trouble?” His lips are dangerously close to my ear. Warmth spreads over me, a delicious shiver running down my spine. To have him this close, it’s a reminder of what I gave up, of what could have been mine.

He’s referring to my shirt. I think. I might have changed into something a little more revealing. Might being the keyword here.

“No. I’m not.” I sit down and cross my legs over one another. Fuck yeah, I’m looking for trouble. I haven’t had sex in six months. I need trouble! “So from one troublemaker to another, what do I do about Cash? Or I’ll probably be in this school every day.”

He chuckles, and I notice his voice sounds different and his eyes look glossed over. And then he sneezes into his bent arm. “Excuse me. These little shits gave me a cold.”

I laugh, and his eyes snap to mine as if the sound is appealing to him. We smile, both of us, and I remember him as a child for a brief moment. He was such a nice boy. . . until he wasn’t.

“While I certainly wouldn’t mind you being at the school every day, I think I can help with Cash,” he tells me, his face sincere.

“And how’s that?”

“Don’t pressure him. When he’s ready to accept it, he will.” And then he’s quiet again, just staring, the tension thick.

My gaze drifts to the window where the kids are playing outside. “What do I do about him acting out? He’s so mean to Grady sometimes, and poor Grady, he tries so hard to make him happy.”

Ridge’s brow knits together, his jaw tightening. He sighs, his words low and pushed out on his exhale. “Yeah, I see it. I can’t say I didn’t act that way,” he states casually, but I know that tone, and it’s anything but casual. “I. . .,” he begins, and pauses, swallowing over words I’m not sure he wants to admit. Shifting in his chair, he faces me and then glances at the clock behind him. “I’ll try to help with what I can, but I think it’s best to just try to redirect his anger, not force him to be a certain way.”

Now I see it. The emotion, the admittance he doesn’t want to give me just yet. I was Ridge’s redirection. It didn’t matter what he did or said to me, I stood up for him when my friends told me he was using me, and I lied to my parents when he needed me to talk him off the ledge in the middle of the night. All because I knew what Ridge had been going through was far more than he led on.

And now look at me, raising a son just as defiant and not knowing how to handle him. Underneath the stubble and the sharp jawline, Ridge is still that same boy struggling to find his place in the world, a world his mother ripped apart.

Ridge stands, his face falters, and he stares at the clock on the wall again. “Lunch is almost over.”

I know it’s my cue to leave, so I stand as well. “Thank you,” I tell him, not knowing what else to say.

He walks me to the door, leaning into it after he opens it for me. “Are you coming to the track tomorrow night?”

I nod, resting my hand on the handle of the door. “Yeah, I take the boys every Saturday night.”

His hand squeezes mine on the handle of the door, just for a second, then he lets go.

As I walk to my car, I can’t help but wonder what just happened. Ridge wasn’t suggestive or teasing this time. He was. . . compassionate, something I wasn’t sure he could be.

Ha. Don’t let him fool you. He’s still the same guy looking for trouble. Compassionate, sure. But still looking for something I didn’t give him ten years ago.

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