Page 86 of Absolution

I’m good at what I do. Better than I’ve ever been.

Because now I know who I am.

And more importantly?

Who I’mnot.

I’m in the middle of a deposition, opposing counsel is droning on about billing discrepancies, when my phone buzzes. I ignore it at first. Then it buzzes again.

Private number.

Excusing myself, I step into the hallway, and answer.

“This is Kyle Greyson.”

“Mr. Greyson, this is Austen Preparatory,” a woman says. Her voice is tight. Controlled, but urgent. “We’ve been trying to reach Mrs. Greyson and haven’t been able to. We need you to come to the school.”

My spine straightens. “What happened?”

“I can’t discuss details over the phone,” she says. “But we need you here as soon as possible.”

Then she hangs up.

No more information. No names. No assurance. Justas soon as possible.

Rushing inside, I mutter, “Family emergency,” to the room, not slowing down. I head straight for my office, snatch up my briefcase without breaking stride, and I’m back out the door in seconds. The elevator takes too long, so I take the stairs two at a time.

By the time I reach the parking garage, my heart’s pounding. I toss the briefcase into the back seat and slide behind the wheel, pulling out like the building’s on fire.

The feeling is too familiar, too damn close. My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to break out of my chest. Last time I was in this kind of panic, I lost a son.Oh God.

I blow through every red light, every speed limit sign, my hands clenched on the wheel like I can force the world to slow down if I just grip hard enough. By the time I screech into the parking lot of Austin Prep, my breathing is shallow, my palms are soaked, and every worst-case scenario I’ve ever imagined is clawing at the back of my mind.

I barely slam the door shut behind me before I’m through the double doors of the main building. The receptionist at the front desk calls something out, but I don’t hear it, I’m already turning the corner to the administrative wing.

Outside the principal’s office, the bench is occupied by all three of my kids. Jemma and Iris sit on either side of Levi, each looking stubbornly away from the other, arms folded tight. Levi’s eyes meet mine immediately, his face pale but calm.

I crouch in front of them, voice low, breath still catching. “Are you okay? Levi?”

He gives me a short nod.

I glance at the girls. “Jem? Iris?”

They both nod too, but their expressions shift. They must see it on my face, the panic, the storm behind my eyes because guilt sets in fast. “We’re fine,” Jemma says quickly. “Really.”

“We’re okay, Dad,” Iris adds, eyes down.

Before I can ask more, the office door creaks open behind me and out steps Principal Williams, grey hair, thick glasses, a suit that hasn’t been fashionable since the early 2000s.

“Mr. Greyson,” he begins, tone formal, “would you mind stepping into my office? Just for a moment. Alone.”

I glance at the kids. Levi gives me a look like he’s trying to say it’s okay. Jemma won’t meet my eyes. Iris folds in on herself.

I nod. “Stay right here.”

Inside the office, the air is cold, the overhead light buzzing faintly. Principal Williams gestures to a chair across from his desk, then sits down with the weight of a man who’s been doing this too long.

He folds his hands on the desk. “The reason we called you is because there was a physical altercation during recess. Jemma and Iris were involved in an incident with another student from their class.”

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