Bad Dad Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Other Books

  Connect with Sloane Howell

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Bonus Material

  Chapter One

  About the Author

  Other Books

  Connect with Sloane Howell

  Acknowledgements

  Sloane Howell

  Copyright 2017 © Sloane Howell

  Cover Design: BTP Designs

  Copy Editing: Spellbound

  Stock photography courtesy of Depositphotos (www.depositphotos.com)

  All rights reserved

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Sloane Howell. Please do not participate in piracy of books or other creative works.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes, violence, and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Please store your files wisely, away from under-aged readers.

  OTHER BOOKS BY SLOANE HOWELL

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  Scored

  The Matriarch

  Panty Whisperer

  NOVELLAS:

  Tommy Boy

  Alpha Bad Boys

  Chloe Comes for Christmas

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  For my son. Never be afraid to feel sad. Always be a warrior for your family. Dream big and do what makes you happy. I’ll always love you, no matter what.

  CHAPTER 1

  Cora Chapman

  YOU’D THINK TEN YEARS OF reading everything from Shakespeare to Jane Austen to Stephen King would prepare you for any crazy shit that could happen to you in reality. Life couldn’t possibly get stranger than fiction—couldn’t shock you more than a well-constructed plot reveal from a master storyteller. It hadn’t happened to me, well, until the day a thunderstorm blew into the school hallway in Desire, Montana and turned my life upside down.

  Principal Williams power-walked down the corridor at a quarter past three. I was pretty sure he saw me, but he soldiered on toward the bathroom and ignored my glare.

  Bastard.

  I huffed and continued through the nearly-empty building toward his office. I stared down at my blue Chucks with red laces. One foot in front of the other. That’s how I got through the days of my life it seemed.

  Thunder rocked the walls and I startled, shook my head, and plowed onward. Pictures in blue frames of each graduating class going back fifty years lined the top half of one wall. A trophy case with a blue frame stretched underneath. Royal blue lockers flanked the other side with small gaps for classroom doors. Everything else was ecru. I strode forward and glanced at the hairstyles as they changed with the decades—bobs to power bangs to the Rachel. The town wasn’t large enough for separate schools and this building was it—K through twelve.

  I spent eighteen years trying to escape the place, and yet there I was at twenty-five, trapped between the same walls once more. Wonderful.

  A seven-year-old boy, one of my students, Logan Lane, sat on a chair twiddling his thumbs outside Principal Williams’ office. I walked up. His legs dangled over the edge and his feet kicked back and forth through the air a few inches off the floor.

  “Your parents not here yet, sweetie?” I stopped and kneeled in front of him.

  He stared at the ground and I couldn’t get him to look at me. He shook his head.

  “You’re not in trouble, okay?” My words didn’t seem to comfort him at all. Everyone else had left for the day and the school was a ghost town. We needed to talk to the parents about what had happened though. Some kind of policy that made no sense. I was still new so what did I know?

  I reached out and ran my hands up and down his arms.

  Logan sniffled.

  “It’s okay. I promise. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I’d only been Logan’s teacher for a few weeks, but I’d warmed to him in a hurry. He was quiet but always willing to help—incredibly kind, good manners, sharp for seven. Anytime I asked him to do something it was done. Probably the most well-behaved child I’d ever taught. The fact he was adorable only helped his cause.

  “This is ridiculous! I can’t believe this place!” The voice boomed from inside Williams’ office door, and echoed down the empty hallway just as Logan began to calm.

  Logan sniffled again, and his swollen bottom lip trembled.

  I glared at the door. No wonder Principal Williams ran off in a hurry. Confrontation wasn’t his strong suit. Never had been. Never would be.

  I pushed a few strands of hair out of Logan’s eyes. His lip was split open and the blood had crusted a little. My heart pinched, and I squeezed him in a bear hug, running one of my palms up and down his back. His whole body trembled against my fingers, and a tingling sensation ran up the bridge of my nose. Tears threatened the corners of my eyes. I didn’t cry often, but scared children were the most effective means to get the job done.

  I finally leaned back and covered both of his hands in his lap with mine. I mustered a smile. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure your dad will be here any minute and we can get you home.”

  He rubbed a tiny fist in one of his eyes and a hint of a smile formed on his lips. My heart warmed over. I’d take it. He nodded at me.

  My stare darted back and forth from his lip to the office door again. My jaw clenched when I thought about the prick on the other side of it.

  Another blast of thunder rattled all the M
aster Locks against the thin metal lockers. It echoed down the long corridor. I nearly shrieked. Storms always had a way of sneaking up on me. Rain drops thumped on the roof of the building overhead—a few at first—and then came the steady hammer of a downpour. I smelled the rain in the air. I missed that about Montana. Clean air.

  The door at the entrance to the school, down at the end of the hallway, slammed shut like a shotgun had fired. I jolted and tried to catch my breath. Logan grinned a little wider, which still wasn’t much.

  “This place is so loud.” I inhaled a deep breath and brushed off my own embarrassment. Anything was worth it to set him at ease a little.

  Footsteps pounded in my ears as whoever came through the door approached in a hurry.

  Logan’s head tilted up and he leaped from his seat. I barely leaned out of his way in time. He took off in a dead sprint. My head craned around to the man’s shoes first—ordinary Nike cross trainers. Nothing special.

  But the way they traversed the ground—Montague soles pounded the Capulet tiles.

  My gaze roamed to the jeans—Levi’s, boot-cut, regular denim, frayed at the seams—worked in and worn.

  Damn.

  My stare tilted up and drank the scenery. A charcoal-gray hood dipped down and cast a shadow over his eyes.

  A breath cut too short and some sound I’d never made in my life escaped my lungs and dissolved into the tension saturating the room.

  Logan’s father (I assumed) dropped to a knee, and Logan sprinted straight into his massive arms. His hoodie remained pulled up over his head. It’d probably been to shield him from the rain outside. I’d never seen Logan move so fast. He disappeared into the giant thunderhead biceps that engulfed him in a hug.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Logan sobbed into the man’s shoulder.

  A giant hand wrapped around the back of his head and pulled him in tight. The hood dipped down and nuzzled up next to his cheek then turned and whispered in his ear.

  I stood up about twenty feet away and noticed myself leaning toward them, trying to get a better view or hear what was said. I’d only met an older woman named Janet who usually brought Logan to and from school. She rarely spoke to anyone, but she was always polite.

  “How long are they going to make us wait in here? Jesus Christ!” Charles Hastings’ voice roared once again from the office. Principal Williams was still nowhere to be found.

  The hood-covered head popped up and turned in the direction of the words, but I still couldn’t make out his eyes.

  God, what I would have given for a peek at his face.

  The dark shadow under the hood turned to me. My heart threatened to explode out of my chest and my lungs stopped functioning. I still couldn’t see his eyes, couldn’t see his stare. Somehow, he managed to make my palms sweat. My palms never sweat.

  Why’s he staring at me?

  “Fucking ridiculous!”

  My head whipped to the door.

  Hastings.

  I inhaled a deep breath and stomped toward the office. I’d learned long ago that if I didn’t set a certain tone with unruly parents they’d walk all over me.

  Throwing the door open, I glared at the short balding man of maybe fifty. “It will be a few more minutes. Watch your language, please. This is a school. Not your living room.”

  I slammed the door shut before he could get out another word.

  Where the hell is Principal Williams?

  I wasn’t one to shirk duties or get out of responsibility, but I really could use some back up. Parents had fought over pettier things than the words Hastings was slinging left and right, in front of his son no less. Maybe if I’d been at this school longer I’d have a better idea of how they handled these situations.

  I froze in front of the door for a quick second and schooled my features. Could I go back out and face the enigma comforting his son in the hall? I had to. It was my job.

  I walked back out to make sure Logan was okay, each step with a pair of concrete bricks attached to my feet.

  “My son didn’t hit that little shit out there! We shouldn’t even be here!”

  I paused and gritted my teeth. The moment now took a firm seat at the top of the podium as the number one awkward situation of my career, and I’d taught at a low-income New York City elementary school.

  Jesus.

  Other teachers had warned me about Hastings. The general consensus was that the guy was a raging jerk with little-man syndrome. I had no choice but to concur.

  The man in the hood squeezed Logan once more into a bear hug, seemed to whisper something else, and then released him.

  Hastings railed off even more expletives and threats from the office.

  Logan’s father didn’t take off his hood, just advanced straight toward me. Logan stood in the hallway behind him.

  He was not a small man by any means. The closer he came, the tighter my stomach twisted into a knot. The walls closed in on me and the thunder seemed to rumble with each of his footsteps. I gulped when he was about five feet away.

  His shoes squeaked against the tile when he stopped and crossed his arms over his chest. It stretched the fabric across his shoulders and I realized just how large he was. It was one hundred percent muscle. I tried to keep my thighs from squeezing together and nearly failed.

  Compose yourself.

  My father named me Courage—even though I went by Cora—when I was born, but I was not living up to it at that moment.

  I stretched out a hand toward him. “Hi, I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances. I’m Cora—”

  I barely made out two eyes in the shadow of his hood. He sized me up and down, and gestured like he might actually reach out for my hand. Hastings belted out more empty threats from inside the office. The hood turned in that direction and left my hand abandoned mid-air.

  I’d never had trouble speaking in front of a parent before, but something about Logan’s dad was just—I didn’t know what it was, to be honest—scary, exciting, mysterious.

  I lowered my hand to my side. My mouth was drier than the Sahara. “I, umm, there was an incident, on the playground.”

  I tried to keep my voice down. If Hastings knew Logan’s father had shown up there was no telling what might happen. Looking at the man in front of me, it wouldn’t be much of a fight, and I was definitely in no position to stop him if things escalated beyond a discussion.

  My eyes strayed to the Levi’s again for a split-second before I caught myself. I had certainly missed Montana men and their jeans. Some might’ve called it a weakness of mine.

  He turned back to me, slowly. I watched every move. He took in every piece of information the scene had to offer and actually listened before speaking. People didn’t do that anymore, and I silently appreciated it.

  “What happened?” His baritone voice vibrated through me like the encroaching thunder outside.

  I stood there, blood pounding through my veins, heart racing down a quarter mile track with no parachute or brakes. His voice demanded an answer, but it didn’t seem coercive. There was a hint of concern laced in it.

  “Logan didn’t do anything wrong. Like I said before, there was an incident. We just called both—”

  The sound of a chair shuffling and footsteps from the office cut me off. I froze. Hastings must’ve heard me talking.

  A tingling sensation radiated through my limbs and goosebumps pebbled down my arms. I had to force a slight smile from my face and mashed my lips into a thin line.

  Logan’s father took a few commanding steps toward the door and made sure he’d be the first thing Hastings would see. He put himself right between us and his shoulders were so broad I couldn’t see around him. My thighs tried to squeeze together again. I cursed them silently and stepped out to the side so I could at least see Hastings’ face.

  “I’m not waiting for this bullshit any—” The door to Williams’ office burst open. Hastings froze right along with his sentence when he saw Logan’s dad.

&nbs
p; His voice went down an octave, barely noticeable. His chest deflated a little too and he tried to recover. “You the dad of the little shit making up stories about my kid?” His words were shaky, and he nodded up the hall toward Logan.

  Uh oh.

  The hood turned to Logan and looked right through me. “Wait in the car.”

  I glanced back. Logan didn’t dare question him. Hell, I don’t think anyone would’ve. I nearly took a step toward the parking lot and caught myself. Logan turned on a dime and took off.

  I wasn’t about to stand by and let a dick measuring contest happen on my watch. Both of my hands found my hips and I side-stepped farther so that Hastings could see more than just my face. “Mr. Hastings, get back in the office. Now!”

  He ignored me, as expected. I wasn’t a threat to him. The ballsy bastard took a couple of steps toward Logan’s dad until he was a few feet away from him.

  Where is Williams? Probably peeking around a corner somewhere, watching.

  “Mister Hastings, that is enough.” I started toward him.

  Hastings sneered at Logan as he walked toward the door, then he turned to me and his chest puffed out a little more. “You fucking people have—”

  Where the hell are you, Williams? Help!

  A single finger.

  I stopped in my tracks.

  He held it up. The man in the hood.

  One powerful index finger in the air.

  It was just a finger.

  That index finger stole the words from Hastings’ mouth and the breath from my lungs.

  One gorgeous, forceful finger commanded everything in the room and even the storm outside seemed to shut the hell up.

  His left hand balled into a fist at his side.

  And we’ve now reached the ‘Oh shit’ portion of the night’s show.

  Complete silence fell on the school.