Chapter 11

"Hey sweetheart, how's your day going?" I ask Liam, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I scrub the kitchen counter.

His voice bursts through the line, loud enough to make me wince. "It's amazing! We had ice cream, and now we're going to the slides! They go straight into the ocean!"

His excitement is infectious. Just hearing him happy makes my chest warm. As long as he's safe and having fun, nothing else matters.

"That's awesome, baby. See? I told you you'd love it."

Abandoning the cleaning, I sink onto the couch. Might as well give him my full attention.

"What about you, Mommy? How's your weekend?"

What could I say? Dull as dishwater. My eight-year-old was living his best life while I was stuck in an empty house. No plans, no friends—just me and the echo of my own thoughts.

My coworkers used to invite me out, but they stopped after I kept declining. Deep down, I knew those invites were just polite gestures. They didn’t actually want me there.

"Uh, it's fine. Just cleaning," I murmur.

He sighs dramatically. "Mom, you need to go have fun too. Don’t stay home alone just because I’m not there."

Why did I suddenly feel like I was being scolded by a child?

"I will, I just need to finish up here first," I lie.

After this, I’d probably just binge a movie and drown in junk food. Or take a nap. Neither option sounded terrible.

"Okay, gotta go! Pa’s calling me!"

"Alright, love. Talk to you tonight."

"Bye! Grandma says hi!"

Liam calls my mother "Grandma" and used to call my father "Grandpa." As for Ethan Blackwood’s parents? Pa and Ma.

"Be careful on the slides," I say, pointedly ignoring the mention of my so-called mother.

He hangs up before catching my evasion. Normally, Liam notices everything—a trait he definitely got from his father. But today, his mind was all about fun.

Smiling, I set my phone down and finish cleaning. Instead of watching a movie, I decide to grade my students' biology essays. So far, they’ve done brilliantly. Not to brag, but I’m a damn good teacher—my subject consistently tops the school’s performance charts.

Just as I’m wrapping up, my phone rings. My pulse stutters when I see Daniel Carter’s name flashing on the screen.

"Hello?" I answer cautiously, half-convinced it’s a misdial.

"Hey, Sophia. You busy?"

Guess not.

"Not really. Why?"

"I heard you weren’t at the shooting range. Thought maybe we could drive over together."

I frown. "Why would I be at a shooting range?"

"Because the rest of your family is there. They were all advised to train and get firearm licenses—just in case."

Well, that was news to me. Not that I cared. If they wanted to play cops and robbers, they could do it without me.

"Can I pick you up?" Daniel cuts in.

I have nothing better to do. Plus, it might be fun. And spending time with Daniel? Not exactly a hardship.

"Sure."

"Great. Be there in ten."

He hangs up, and I bolt to my room to throw on something decent. Flats, jeans, a simple top—done.

Daniel arrives right on time, and we head out.

"So," I ask, turning to him, "what made you become a cop?"

The atmosphere is easy, comfortable. It’s nice—I haven’t felt this relaxed around someone in ages.

"My dad was killed by a cop," he says with a shrug.

I blink. "That… usually doesn’t inspire people to join the force."

"I know. But my dad wasn’t a good man. Or a good father. When the cops gunned him down for selling illegal firearms? I was relieved." His voice hardens. "Watching them take out trash like him—someone who thought he was untouchable—made me want to do the same. Clean up the streets."

There’s more there, unspoken. The way he says "dad" with such disdain tells me the man was worse than bad.

I’ve had students like that—kids with abusive parents. I do what I can for them. Abuse is abuse, whether it’s fists or words.

"And you?" he asks. "Why teaching?"

Normally, I’d deflect. But for some reason, I answer.

"My parents weren’t great. I was neglected. But when I was nine, I had this teacher—Miss Olivia. She was everything I wished my mom could be. Kind, supportive, present. I never forgot her. When I grew up, I wanted to be that for someone else."

"Wow," he murmurs, sounding genuinely impressed.

A comfortable silence settles before he catches me off guard.

"You’re single, right?"

I raise a brow. "Divorced."

He smirks. "Good. That means I can shoot my shot."

I laugh, certain he’s joking. Even if he’s not, the moment he sees Isabella, he’ll forget I exist. Just like every other guy in high school.

We pull up to the shooting range. Daniel introduces me to a few colleagues before we head inside.

And there they are. Ethan Blackwood, Isabella, Tristan, and Sebastian.

Tristan and Sebastian are shooting. Isabella’s seated, and Ethan turns the second we walk in. His expression darkens.

"Who invited you?" he snaps, stepping toward us.

"Not you, obviously."

"I called. You didn’t answer."

"Didn’t try hard enough," I shoot back.

Already, irritation prickles under my skin. I regret coming. Should’ve asked Daniel to reschedule.

Before Ethan can retort, Daniel tugs me away. "C’mon, let’s get you fitted."

I glance back just in time to catch Isabella’s glare. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under.

I sigh. This is going to be a headache.

I should’ve stayed home.