Crossing the Line (12 page)

Her arms closed tightly around his waist as she melted against him. “You’re too good to me—don’t you dare ever stop.”

“Ditto, baby.”

Her eyes when she looked up at him nearly took him out at the knees. So much fucking love there. All for him. “Deal.”

* * * * *

Shit, her car was gone. After the hellish day he’d had on the jobsite, Derrick didn’t just want to see his wife, he needed to.

He turned his Yamaha into their driveway and under the carport he’d built a couple years ago. When they bought this place, Hanna hadn’t yet landed a fulltime teaching position, and he was still low-man on the construction crew. A house with a real garage had been beyond their budget.

Hell, owning a house hadn’t been in their budget. But he sure as fuck hadn’t been willing to hear another snide remark from her mother about their one-bedroom apartment. The way Abigail Collins had said the words “rental unit” made it sound as if he’d forced Hanna to live in a box down by the river, eating scraps out of the overflowing garbage cans.

Hanna hadn’t complained about the apartment. Not once, directly or otherwise. Like him, she’d been pretty damn happy there, because they were there together. She’d made that small space the best home he’d ever had. And she’d always defended it—and more importantly, defended him—to her mother. But he hated that she’d had to do it.

So he’d sold the classic Harley he’d spent years rebuilding and babying and slapped down a meager deposit on this house. Not that the aluminum-sided bungalow was anywhere good enough in Mrs. Collins’ books. Nothing he did ever was. Kinda reminded of him of his old man. Only without the ass-kicking.

He stowed his helmet and gloves in the cupboard beside his bike, then headed into the house. He shucked his jacket but didn’t remove his shoes. He’d figure out where she was and when she’d be back, then go for a ride. This house was a hell of a lot better than their old apartment, but without her presence, it was too damn quiet.

A paper hung from the refrigerator handle. Her perfect, teacher’s printing reminded him it was open house night at her school. Leftover casserole in the fridge, home by eight and she loved him. A row of hearts, hugs and kisses completed the note.

Fuck eight o’clock. He needed her now. The rubber soles of his boots echoed as he retraced his route and left the empty house behind.

* * * * *

The school was in the upper-crust west end. A public school for children from wealthy families. Not the official motto, but it might as well be. The parking lot was packed with fancy cars and SUVs that looked as if they’d rolled off the line five minutes ago.

No sign of Jeremy’s Hummer or Vivien’s car. Maybe they weren’t coming to meet-the-teacher night. Not as if they needed to—they’d both known Hanna for years. Derrick grunted as he dropped down to first gear. Jeremy in particular did not need a meet’n’greet with his son’s teacher.

Derrick did a slow cruise of the school’s lot and came up empty. One of the many advantages of a motorcycle over a car—the ability to make a parking spot out of next to no space. He rode over the grass to the tarmac portion of the schoolyard. His bike rumbled as he killed the motor, drawing disapproving looks from pretty much everybody within range, including a couple with a small boy in tow.

“Wow, cool,” the kid said as they passed.

“No, Daniel. Dangerous.” This from the dad, who walked as if he had a stick of raw ginger up his ass. Probably wondering which little shithead kid Derrick had spawned.

The mom, on the other hand, smiled. The kind of smile that said she wouldn’t mind taking a ride on his bike…or him.

He shook his head, hung his helmet on his bike and followed the trio to the school. He quickened his pace before they reached the doors for the express purpose of holding it open for them. That seemed to burn the dad’s ass more than the imaginary ginger up the dude’s butt. Awesome.

“Thank you,” the overly made-up blonde said.

Derrick nodded, keeping his eyes on the woman’s face, even though she made no attempt to hide her examination and appreciation of his body. “Whose class is your boy in?” he asked, nodding at blondie’s son.

“Mrs. Sutter’s,” the kid piped up. “She’s the best.”

Derrick smiled at the boy. “Yeah, she is.”

“Oh, is your son or daughter in her class?” The woman’s eyes widened as they all turned the corner toward the kindergarten rooms. Yeah, the wheels were definitely turning there.

“No, no kids. She’s my wife.” And with that little bomb-drop, they reached Mrs. Sutter’s kindergarten room door. He slipped inside and out of the way, content to hang back and watch her do her thing, his constant hunger for her temporarily satisfied by the sound of her voice, the way her eyes lit up when she glanced his way.

Parents and little people continued to flow in and out of the room. He’d been in her classroom before, plenty of times the past few years. It was always bright and inviting. Homey. A place kids wanted to be, with a teacher who gave a shit about her students. He hoped they, and their parents, realized and appreciated their good fortune. The same kind he’d had when Linda Cruz was his teacher.

He’d been an average student on his best days. A sometimes troublemaker. But he’d never willing missed a day of school. School was sanctuary, a place Jim Sutter couldn’t smack him around. He’d cheered along with the rest of the kids when they counted down to long weekends, Christmas or spring break and of course, summer vacation. But he’d fucking hated those times. Hated the extra time at home.

He looked around at Hanna’s students. Scanned their small bodies and innocent faces for signs of trouble. None that he could see. Good. For the kids and for Hanna’s sake.

“Hey, Luke, look who’s here.” Jeremy’s voice cut through the haze of Derrick’s reminiscing.

“Hiya, Uncle Derrick.” Jeremy’s boy bounded at him, wrapping his arms around Derrick’s waist in the world’s tiniest bear hug. “Aunt Hanna’s my teacher, but I don’t call her that at school. Well…sometimes I forget, but I don’t get in trouble for it.”

“’Course not, buddy. You’re her favorite.”

“That’s what Mommy and Daddy say too.”

Speaking of… He glanced at Vivien and Jeremy. Not looking any too cozy, but not looking as if they loathed each other, either. Basically, they looked like your average married couple with a kid.

Jer had gone to Japan on a business trip right after the night with Hanna, so he and Derrick hadn’t been in touch a whole lot. Maybe he had reconciliation news. Much as Derrick wanted to rip a strip off Vivien for putting his buddy’s heart in the grinder, he kinda hoped they were putting things back together. A good guy like Jeremy deserved to be happy. Having his family back would do that.

He’d have to catch up with Jer soon, get the lowdown. For now, somebody else required his attention. He crouched to Luke’s level. “You like school so far?”

“I love it.” Luke was positively beaming. “You and Aunt Hanna should have a baby. Then she could be his mommy
and
his teacher.”

“Luke.”
Vivien’s fair skin now matched the big red crayon on the poster behind her. “I’m so sorry, Derrick.”

“S’okay, Viv, no worries.” He stood and offered his hand to the boy. “I’m gonna say hello and goodbye to your teacher. Want to come with me? I’ll butt you to the front of that line of kids waiting to talk to her.”

“We’re supposed to wait nicely for our turn…”

“Rules are good, but sometimes you gotta break them, kid.” He waved his empty hand once more. “You with me?”

Luke’s small hand slid over his palm, the stubby fingers barely able to lace with his big, callused ones. “I’m with you. Let’s do it.”

The kid cracked him up. Behind him, Viv groaned and Jeremy laughed. Like old times. He led the way across the room, stopping directly in front of Hanna, much to the annoyance of everybody with better manners.

“Hi, Luke. I’m glad you came tonight.” She’d bent at the waist, hands on her knees. She looked up and yes, totally caught Derrick gawking down the neck of her blouse. Cue the adorable headshake…yep, there it was. “There’s a line, sir.”

Sir, huh. He’d remind her of that later. For now, he grinned. “Yeah, saw it. I’m teaching Luke here to be assertive and go after what he wants.” That actually got a chuckle from somebody in the line. Nice. “But if you want to give me a detention, I’ll stay late and bang the dust off your brushes.” The chuckler behind him appreciated that one too. As did Hanna, though she tamped down her amusement and issued him the
not here
face. Hint taken. “I’m gonna leave you to it now, Mrs. Sutter. See you at home.” He gave his pint-sized accomplice a squeeze on the shoulder. “And I’ll see you soon, buddy.”

Aside from that quick exchange, he’d spent the last half hour in her classroom observing Hanna in teacher mode, not making out in the supply closet—an activity that was still on his bucket list. They’d have to do that before she bit the bullet and left teaching behind in favor of her other dream—social work. Even though he hadn’t kissed her, had barely talked to her, he walked out of the building with a smile on his face. Seeing Hanna happy made everything right in his world. Made him think anything was possible.

He was sliding the chinstrap through the D-rings of his helmet when the hair on the back of his neck rose.

“You stupid little shit.” A child’s high-pitched cry followed the angry, male rasp.

The helmet thudded against the tarmac. Derrick did a quick scan and found the source of the noise. One row over, between the overpriced cars. Guy in a suit, steam practically shooting from his ears, and a cowering kid who couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old. Jesus.

“Look what you did.” The guy grabbed the boy by the jaw and turned his face toward the open rear door of the car. “Had to bring that goddamn juice box along. You’re as useless and uncoordinated as your idiot mother.”

“Hey…” Derrick pounded his fist on the back of the car and stared the guy down. “You need to calm down and get your hand off that boy.”

“You need to mind your own business.” An abrupt shove forced the boy into the car. Sphincter-in-a-suit whipped the door closed, and the kid wailed again. Words barely discernible to Derrick, but clear to the douchebag dad, apparently. “Then move your ass when I tell you to get in the car.”

Derrick stepped closer and looked in the window. Tears streamed down the boy’s face as he rocked back and forth, cradling one hand with the other. “You slammed his fingers in the door, you piece of shit.”

“He’s fine. Get lost.” He glared through the glass at his whimpering son and growled, “Shut up.”

“You’re done—I’m calling the cops,” Derrick said, digging into his pocket for his cell.

“Fuck you,” the asswipe said, then spat at him.
Spat.
The glob of spittle missed Derrick’s face by an inch, landing on his shoulder instead.

Motherfucker had a death wish. “You should’ve dealt with the cops.” The satisfying sound of cartilage popping filled his ears. Blood gushed from the guy’s nose, but Derrick wasn’t done with him. Not by a fucking longshot. “Now you’re gonna deal with me…”

The guy issued another “Fuck you,” then took a swing of his own, his fist grazing Derrick’s jaw.

Derrick landed a second punch to the douchebag’s face. For the boy in the car. For the boy
he
used to be. For his older brother, who’d taken extra abuse to lessen Derrick’s whooping, many times. For all the kids like them, making themselves into tiny balls and hiding in musty boxes or piles of trash just to try to escape another beating at the hands of some monster they called “dad”.

Voices flooded in, past the rage—the buzz of a crowd, a man yelling for Derrick step away. Hanna, calling his name.

He turned in what had to be slow motion. Saw her face, the one that’d smiled at him mere minutes ago, pale and streaked with tears. He blinked. Looked down at his bloody jacket and fists. At the man he’d knocked to the pavement.

Didn’t matter that the scumbag deserved what he’d gotten. Only what Derrick had done. Beaten the shit out of another person with his bare hands. He’d become a monster. A typical Sutter male.

Fuck.

* * * * *

Hanna tugged Derrick’s arm for the third time. She had to get him off the couch and out of the house. Break him out of this self-imposed prison. “I want to go out and have some fun. Come on, take me out.”

“Not in the mood.” His gaze remained glued to the TV screen. He shook her hand loose as if it were nothing more than an annoying fly that’d landed on his skin.

She’d let him stew for over a week. Enough already. “I know what this is about.”

“Yeah, the game.”

“Bullshit.” Yup, that got his attention. And now that she had it, they were getting past all the broody crap. “You’re afraid somebody from the school will see us.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what anybody from your school thinks.”

“More bullshit.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. Getting there. He wanted to smile at the cursing, but he was trying to hold back. Guess she’d have to ramp it up a bit.

She hopped off the couch and planted herself directly in front of him, blocking his view of the TV. Of anything but her, actually. “If that’s how you really feel, you won’t mind turning off the goddamn game and taking your wife out for some bitchin’ fun.”

“Bitchin’?” He burst out laughing. “That’s hardcore.”

“You wait, I’m just getting started. You’ll have to start a swear jar for me, just to get my mouth under control.” She stomped one foot. “Oh snap. I guess I should’ve added some colorful adjectives in there.”

He laughed hard enough to make him wheeze. “Baby,” he reached out and pulled her onto his lap, “I don’t deserve you.” His beard rasped her neck. Warm breath from a long, low sigh tickled her skin. “And you don’t deserve the shitstorm I caused.”

Men—so frustrating. She cupped his jaw and lifted his face. “If you’d taken the time to listen to me over the past week, instead of attempting to become one with this couch, you’d know the storm died before it got started.”