After being all but rejected by the school board—because there's no other way I can really take that polite dismissal—it's hard not to feel like I'm going to fail at everything else, too.

That's why I haven't put much faith in Mr. Frazier. He might show up. Since he and his daughter have just moved here from Chicago, it's possible he's feeling out of sorts and wants to find something to ground him. But it's just as possible that he's wondering why his kid's history teacher is sending him emails before she's even started class.

I'm not even supposed to see Riley until tomorrow. GSHS likes to ease new kids into their environment, so while she's around here somewhere today, it's been in the company of the administrators and other students who are involved in the welcoming committee.

Still, I keep my supposed free period—the period I normally spend catching up on grading or preparing lesson plans for review—free, just tidying up the room after my third-period class leaves.

I'm genuinely surprised to hear a knock on the door not five minutes after I've started.

"Mr. Morrison?"

A deep, rich voice caresses my senses, and I look up to find a face that definitely matches the picture I’ve already conjured of this man from just two words.

Mr. Frazier is tall and broad, his shoulders hugged tight by his dark blue blazer. Short but messy auburn hair frames a rugged face, his square jaw accented by a scruffy goatee. He looks every bit the fantasy of a Scottish Highlander mixed with… well, a modern dad, right down to the khakis and glasses.

The contrast is striking and adorable and I can't seem to look away.

"That's me," I answer, as if it wasn't obvious.

"I'm David Frazier, Riley's dad. I emailed you about meeting up today?"

Riley's dad. I knew he must have been a parent. He looks like a parent. But those two words snap me right out of my fantasy of seeing what this man looks like in a kilt and into the reality of greeting my new student's father—a man I might as well consider a leper. It'd curb my suddenly raging libido and be safer for everyone involved.

"Right, of course," I say, crossing the room to offer my hand. "It's been a bit of a day."

"Hey, I get that," he says with a smile.

A lumberjack. He looks like a lumberjack mixed with… I don't know. A pie maker or something.

He takes my hand, and I swear I feel a jolt of electricity arc through my body. It starts in my fingertips, speeds straight to my heart, and exits somewhere around my feet.

I wonder if he feels it too, but I look away before I can get the answer. He's a student's father, I remind myself. His daughter is in your class. You're going to be teaching her every weekday for the next six months.

Then I notice the wedding band, and I feel even worse. Of course he's married. Why wouldn't he be married?

"Uh, come on in and have a seat," I say, motioning him further into the room.

Rather than interrogate him from behind my desk, I set up two chairs in front of it and sit in one of them, gesturing for him to take the other.

"Thanks for coming in. I know you've probably still got a lot to take care of at home, but I thought it would be a good idea to talk about Riley's time with us."

"Because she's repeating?"

Okay, he's a little defensive. That's understandable.

"I meant more because of the fact that it's a big adjustment. I'm sure Glen Springs High is a lot smaller than her old school, and it can be a little intimidating. There's not really anyone or anything to hide behind, so it—"

"You think my kid needs to hide?" he asks, one brow arching.

Not a great start.

"I went to school in Miami, so I know what it feels like to be one of three to five thousand in your graduating class. Nobody sees you until you make yourself seen," I tell him, my words calm despite the memories.

I don't know if my words relax him, but I can see his chest deflate as he lets out a breath. "I'm sorry. If I'm being honest, I came into this meeting a little…"

"Jumpy?" I supply with a teasing smile.

He laughs, the sound as rich as his voice. "'Wary' is the word I was going to use, but sure. Jumpy. I just… I don't think I've met any of Riley's teachers since she was in elementary school, you know? Not before she even starts. I'm used to getting a call when she's in trouble for something, and I guess I just figured…"

I don't necessarily want to jump in again, but he trails off and leaves me the perfect opening.

"That I called you in here because of her record at her old school?"

"Yeah. That."

I get up and make my way over to my desk, grabbing my tablet. Riley's transcript is already on there, so it just takes me one swipe to make it fill the screen before I present it to Mr. Frazier.

"This is the information I received from Riley's last school—the only information. I know she failed some of her classes. I know she had a lot of unexcused absences. What I don't know is why," I tell him, "and if you and Riley don't want me to know why, that's completely okay. I asked you to come in today to discuss the future, not the past, Mr. Frazier."

Those broad shoulders sag a little as he looks down at the tablet. It's clear enough that his mind is on something other than the numbers and letters in front of him.

"I'm not sure it's possible to discuss the future without knowing the past," he says.

"Maybe not."

He takes a long moment to think. His gaze is unfocused, despite the fact that he's looking down at the tablet. Eventually, he hands it back to me.

"Her mom… passed away, about halfway through her sophomore year."

Pain lances through me, spidering out into every cell of my body. There's so much repressed sorrow in those words; the telltale sign of a man who's doing everything he can just to survive.

And if it's done this to him, I can only imagine what it's done to his daughter.

"I'm so sorry," I say, knowing it's not enough.

"I think she was glad for the distraction at first, you know? Grateful to have something else to focus on. She did really well for a while, and then something just… changed. Her grades plummeted, she stopped hanging out with her friends, started skipping classes and whole days. It got so bad that the principal actually wanted to come to my home—my home—to make sure I wasn't just… I don't know. Neglecting her."

My brow furrows, a bad taste blossoming in the back of my mouth. That's appalling, for starters, and it shows a complete lack of understanding for the grieving process.

"Was she close with her mom?" I ask, hoping to redirect a little.

Mr. Frazier gives me a small, sad smile. "They were inseparable. I've never seen two people who were more alike."

My smile turns sad, as well, because it's easy to hear what he's not quite saying. "And now you feel like you've lost both of them."

His eyes widen just slightly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. After a moment, he nods. "Yeah. I moved us here because I thought it would help. I have no idea if it was the right call. I'm honestly not sure if I've ever made the right call with her, and I—"

He shakes his head slowly, then lets out a self-deprecating laugh. When he meets my gaze again, I can practically see the wall he's erected.

"This is exactly the sort of stuff a teacher wants to hear, right?" He drags his hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, Mr. Morrison. I planned for this to go a lot differently."

"First off, call me Jake," I tell him. "Second: I'll be honest, man. None of us know what the fuck we're doing. Not really."

It's a gamble, for sure. There's a chance he could take offense, and if he brings this to the principal, I'm not sure how many more of these meetings I'll be able to have.

But fortunately he lets out a startled, half-choked laugh. "That's one thing they never tell you about being an adult, yeah? Doesn't matter how old you get or how experienced you are. You're never really going to know what the fuck you're doing."

The corner of my mouth kicks up in a grin. "It's the universal truth everybody refuses to acknowledge." My expression sobers then, and I look at him with what I hope comes across as understanding, not pity. "The fact that you're here, the fact that you even care about how Riley's doing? It means you're doing things right."

"You'd think that would be Parenting 101," he says, taken aback.

"You'd think," I agree, "but you'd be surprised how many parents don't come to these meetings, or open house, or anything that involves their kid."

I spend every other weekend with kids like that. Kids whose parents have all but abandoned them, even if they're still giving them the bare minimum of care.

"Well, I'm here," he says, and there's a resolve in his eyes that wasn't there before, "and I'll come to any and every meeting you want to set up if it means Riley has the best possible shot."

I smile at that, touched by the conviction in his words. By his own admission, he's struggling. But it's obvious he adores his daughter and truly wants her to succeed, and I intend to do everything in my power to help.

"For starters, this doesn't have to be our only contact. We can email back and forth about Riley's progress, or even meet up to talk about how things are going and strategize."

Mr. Frazier nods. "I like that idea."

"I also don't just want this to be about my class. Of course I want her to succeed when she steps through my door, but it's more important to me that she has a good experience overall."

He looks at me like he's just seen a unicorn. That rapt, awed attention honestly makes me start to flush a little before he shakes his head and snaps out of it.

"Sorry, I'm… it's nice to talk to someone as invested in her future as I am."

"I get it," I tell him with a smile. Ignoring how pleased I am by his words, I continue on. "Why don't you tell me about your daughter, Mr. Frazier. What is she good at? What is she passionate about? What does she struggle with?"

"David," he says. "Call me David."

It's silly to feel a little thrill over a simple intimacy like calling someone by their first name, but I do.

"And… I think this is going to be another area where I don't know what the fuck I'm doing," he says with an apologetic smile. "She's changed so much in the last couple of years alone, and she always shared so much more with my wife than me."

"It's okay, David," I tell him. "Just tell me what you do know."

"I know she hates lima beans. Like… dramatically detests them." I laugh softly at that. "She likes all kinds of music, but she's been on an EDM kick lately. She's really into Skrillex. Do you know who that is?"

"Unfortunately."

David grins. "Yeah, that's about how I feel, too." He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "She's good at science and math. She just seems to 'get' those concepts a lot easier than I ever could. Not as good at English and history."

"That's not uncommon," I say.

"It was the complete opposite with me. I go into cold sweats whenever someone asks me to solve for x."

I grin. "Same."

"She loves sports. Another thing I was never good at. She's really into football, especially. Used to play for the powderpuff team."

Now that's interesting. My brain immediately seizes on it, building connections like multi-layered bridges, all crisscrossing the various different pathways in my mind.

"My brother loves football. He used to play for the NFL, and he's actually taking on the coaching job here next year."

"Seriously?"

He looks impressed, but also like he doesn't know a thing about football. I'm pretty much in the same boat, so I can empathize.

"If you think she'd like to meet him, I can set something up. I actually help run this… unofficial program every other Saturday. I take some of my students to my friend's ranch and we all go riding through the foothills. We've got a ride coming up this weekend, if you're interested."

My brain makes that connection seamlessly, though I leave off the unnecessary details. Like the fact that the school board's in the process of turning me down for government funding to make it a legitimate after-school program.

He doesn't need to hear about my failures. Not when he's already so worried about his own.

"Riding?" he asks skeptically, his green eyes narrowing. "As in horseback riding?"

"It's safe," I assure him. "The horses are docile, and my friend is an excellent instructor. There's always three adults on hand at all times—him, my brother, and me—and you'd be welcome to join us as well."

David laughs, ruffling a hand through his hair. He looks around the room absently, and I can practically feel the nervous energy coming off him.

"You've seen the movie City Slickers, right? Me on a horse would be a lot like that."

"No judgment here," I say with a grin. "I slid right off the first time I ever got on a horse."

Maybe not the best thing to say to an overprotective parent, but David laughs again.

"Oh, great. That makes me feel a lot better."

It seems like I've lost him—like he's going to find some way to politely decline. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, but from the way he's described Riley, it sounds like she could really use this.

Honestly it sounds like David could, as well.

"It does seem like something she'd get a kick out of," he admits, and my hope surges anew.

"Think about it. Talk to her about it." I get up and head over to my desk again, grabbing one of the business cards I had made. "This is my cell number. Just let me know, whatever you decide."

We talk for the rest of my free period, and time flies by as I listen to this man who so earnestly wants to do right by his daughter. When he leaves, I feel like I'm stuck in some kind of weirdly pleasant fog.

And then the bell rings and my fourth period students filter in and I remember where I am, what I am, and what I'm here to do. And—surprise, surprise—none of that meshes with having a thing for a student's father.