September flew by uneventfully, thank God. The worst accident I had to deal with was a minor nosebleed, when one of the girls ran into a tree during recess. I saw Dominic once in a while, when he came to pick up Nate, but we never exchanged any meaningful conversation. I thought there had been a simmering attraction between us when he took me out for that thank you dinner, but since neither of us wanted to risk anything, we remained platonic acquaintances.

Which was fine by me.

Yes, I still spent most nights in my cold bed, wondering what if. Sometimes, I fantasized about his massive body warming up my thin sheets. Spooning my frozen curves and letting me warm my icy hands and feet on his heated core. But fantasies were just that, a series of scenarios designed to help me pleasure myself. God knows no one else seemed willing to help me with my orgasms. I was in charge of my own happiness, no one else. I realized that two years ago, when I started my practicum. No one could make me happy or sad, stressed or afraid. My emotions were completely under my control, and reflected my reactions to a world that was constantly giving and taking, rewarding and punishing.

Since that revelation, I’d felt nothing short of liberation.

In the summer, when the weather had been hot and it didn’t get dark till nine, loneliness didn’t seem so palpable. But as autumn sunk in its claws and latched on tight, as the weather became dreary and rainy, it was easier to feel lonely, and harder to find light in the gloom. The only thing that kept me motivated were the kids. Always, the kids.

Ever since I was a kid myself, I wanted to be a teacher. A role model for others, a leader, an educator and an influencer of minds. A lot of responsibility came with being a teacher, especially one who guided such young, impressionable minds on a daily basis. I did not take that responsibility lightly. I knew exactly what I’d signed up for when I started my teaching degree: long (sometimes thankless and excruciating) overtime hours, constant noise (yelling, screeching, nagging, whining), daily conflicts (bullying, theft, hitting, swearing) and exhausting work. So much work. Assigning homework and tests, then marking them. Keeping the kids in line and teaching them manners. Disciplining children who didn’t want to be tamed…

I loved every second of it. Even on days when I wanted to pull all my hair out by its roots. Even on days when I’d rather have all my teeth yanked out sans anesthesia.

My class was a rowdy one, and they kept me on my toes. Which was a good thing, because a busy Winnie was a productive one. And the busier I got, the less time I had to ruminate over my singledom, and over my mother’s incessant nagging—Your biological clock, Winnie. Your reproductive years are ticking away! Tick-tock, tick-tock. We want a grandchild, honey. Your father loves kids, you know that. We just want to see you settle down.

Easier said than done, Mom.

Everything was smooth sailing until parent-teacher conferences near the end of November. I’d been dreading it all month. Most of the kids were well-behaved, and I had little to report. But a few troublemakers clearly required more discipline, and I had some recommendations for their parents which were often taken as personal attacks rather than productive feedback. Sometimes parents thought I was deliberately hard on their kid. Or that their kid deserved more than what I could provide. And very rarely did they admit that their pumpkin was the one rabble-rousing in the classroom. Even when the evidence was right under their noses. It was so much easier to blame the young inexperienced teacher for failing to do fulfill her teacherly duties.

The only thing I looked forward to was my meeting with Dominic Thursday night. It would only be a fifteen, twenty minute tops, conference, but the anticipation of seeing him one-on-one set my heart aflutter. Butterflies. I hadn’t felt those in a while.

It’d been a couple months since we had dinner, and despite my self-denial, deep down I knew that that dinner had been one of the nicest gestures a stranger had shown me since I moved to Dallas in July. It was tough relocating to a new city. I was originally from Castine, Maine, a small coastal town with a population of about 1,300. The change of pace I encountered in Dallas threw me in a loop. I had no friends or relatives in Dallas, and I lived in a shoebox apartment with no heating or A/C. During the chillier nights, I kept a portable heater close to my bed, and it ran up a mean electricity bill, but I had no other options. I ate alone. I didn’t go out on weekends, and it was very easy to see the world through a depressing grey lens. Luckily, I’d never suffered from any depression or anxiety disorders before.

Time moved quickly in Dallas, but not quickly enough. It was hard to step out of my comfort zone and meet new people. I’d never been into the bar scene, and I didn’t have any hobbies that involved groups. Reading, adult coloring books, crocheting and coin collecting were all solo activities, and I wasn’t interested in seeking out book clubs or granny knitting circles just to chat. Sure, I had a few colleagues at Walnut Hill. We chatted sometimes in the teacher’s lounge. Ate lunch together. But at the end of the day, they’d drive home to their families and kids, and I’d take the bus back to my apartment and eat ramen noodles for dinner. Such was the life of an underpaid grade one teacher.

All of which left me constantly thinking about Dominic Fieri. The only man who showed me kindness in a city full of strangers. We shared a real connection, and I absolutely adored Nate. It was really too bad that we couldn’t have met under different circumstances.

* * *

On Thursday night, I dressed up a little more than I usually did for the other parent-teacher conference. I wore a yellow wool sweater and a gray and pink wool skirt, matching it with pastel pink pumps. I tied my hair up in a high ponytail, and wore a silver locket around my neck.

I literally counted down the minutes till my meeting with Dominic. But before I could see him, I first had to deal with Jason Bullock’s dad, Grayson Bullock, a bully if I ever saw one. He had a salt and pepper crew cut and wore a navy sweater with jeans. His raspy voice made our conference all the more uncomfortable.

Jason had several behavioral issues at school. He would often spit at other kids, and shove the girls around. Sometimes, Jason even tried to fondle their butts! But the more I tried to offer suggestions to Grayson, the more defensive he became.

“My son is not the problem,” he insisted, mustache shifting from side to side. “You ever asked those girls what they did to provoke poor Jason? Maybe they’re the bullies. Maybe they’re teasing him and he’s just defending himself.”

“I have spoken with those girls, and I’ve also witnessed two of the incidents myself,” I explained calmly. “He wanted to eat their snacks and they didn’t want to share, so he shoved one of the girls onto the ground. She scraped her knee and got a face full of dirt.”

“Boys will be boys. Hardly worth a talking to. He’ll snap out of it,” Grayson continued. “My Jason’s a good boy.”

“He spat in my face yesterday when I tried to help him put on his jacket,” I said more firmly. “You need to tell him this behavior is unacceptable. If he thinks you approve of his actions, he won’t change. You have to be his role model.” My words seemed to bounce right off that thick skull of his.

“He’s a six-year-old boy. He doesn’t know any better. Stop being a hard ass and give him a break.”

“Mr. Bullock—”

Grayson Bullock rose, towering over me. He was at least 6’3”, severely overweight, with a mean paunch. “For the last fucking time,” Grayson spat, “I don’t need you telling me how to raise my son!” As he spoke, flecks of his saliva landed on my face and I hurriedly wiped them off. He was humiliating me and bullying me the same way his son did to those girls, and I wasn’t about to let that shit fly in my classroom.

“Mr. Bullock—language! Now I can see where Jason gets it from. He’s a sponge at this age, and he copies the adults in his life. Your behavior—”

Out of nowhere, a pudgy hand swung towards me. A sharp sting. My skin prickled with heat, and my ears throbbed.

That bastard slapped me!

Grayson lowered his arm, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He blinked hard.

I clutched my burning cheeks, rage torpedoing through my veins. “How dare you—”

“Well if it isn’t Grayson Bullock,” came a voice behind the obese man. I recognized it immediately. Dominic.

Crap, crap, crap. Walk away, Dom.

Grayson swiveled around, his beady eyes focused on Dominic’s. Dominic scowled, folding his arms over his chest. “Apologize to Winnie right now.”

Grayson snickered. “Winnie, huh? You two on first name basis?”

“Apologize,” Dominic repeated. He blocked the doorway with his massive frame. A thick vein throbbed along his temple.

I didn’t need Dominic Fieri to fight my battles. “Dom—”

“For what?” Grayson interrupted. “Putting her in her place?”

At that, Dominic exploded like a grenade. I ducked, as if expecting shrapnel.

Grabbing a fistful of Grayson’s shirt, Dominic shoved the bully up against the wall, knocking off an alphabet poster and a carton of crayons. “Don’t you dare disrespect her like that again, asshole.”

Grayson sneered, unimpressed by Dominic’s show of bravado. “I could report you for this,” he grunted out. “Now let me go.”

“Dom—Just let it go. I’m fine,” I said. The situation was quickly escalating out of control, like a fire I couldn’t put out.

“I saw you hit her,” Dominic said. “Now fucking apologize before I really lose it.”

Grayson hocked back a loogie and spat in Dominic’s face. Dominic roared. Literally roared like a tiger.

I groaned audibly and fumbled for my cellphone. Something told me things were going to get out of hand really soon. “Please, cut it out,” I begged. “Before I call the cops.”

Dominic wouldn’t let it go though. Before I could say another word, his fist connected with Grayson’s nose, and I heard a sickening crunch. At first, a few drops of crimson stained Grayson’s sweat-soaked shirt. Then a steady trickle. He coughed thickly, as if a clot got stuck in the back of his throat. Grayson tried to shove Dominic away, but Dom held tight. “I didn’t hear the magic words yet,” he growled.

“P-please,” Grayson said.

Dom shook his head. “Not me be, fuckface, to her.” He cocked his head at me.

Grayson looked at me with pure evil in his eyes, as if to say, I won’t forget this. “S-sorry.”

Dom loosened his grip and Grayson struggled to stand up straight. He wiped his bleeding nose with a sleeve, but it did nothing to staunch the flow. The bridge of his nose was already bruising, and his face and neck were almost purple. I thought he would slink away, but Grayson wasn’t about to let it slide. Doms’ back was turned, and he was facing me when Grayson launched himself forward and caught Dom in a chokehold. His huge, flabby biceps quavered as he struggled to hold Dom down. In retaliation, Dom elbowed Grayson in the gut, then swung around and delivered a swift cross to his cheek. Grayson stumbled back, grasping at anything, something he could use as a weapon. His fingers landed on a pair of red safety scissors, which he brandished at his opponent. Unperturbed, Dominic karate chopped Grayson’s forearm, causing him to drop the scissors. Then, Dominic threw himself at Grayson until the two were wrestling on the floor, pulling, biting and scratching like a pair of rabid dogs.

Fuck! I pulled out my cell, tapped 9-1-1. My fingers hovered over the green dial button. Dominic worked as a firefighter. Grayson was a cop. If I called the police, both of them might get suspended from their jobs. Desperately, I fumbled around, found my rape whistle (the one I got for free at a sexual wellness fair) and blew it as hard as I could.

The shrill screech stopped both men in their tracks.

“Calm the fuck down, both of you!” I screamed. “We’re inside a school. You two are grown-ass men. Start acting your age!”

Dom backed down and stood up, straightening his shirt. Grayson tried but failed to wipe his bloody face clean. “You’ll pay for this, Dominic.” He rolled over, got up and shot Dom one last angry glare before leaving.

Dom looked at me with downcast eyes, like a boy who’d just been caught in a schoolyard scuffle. “I got carried away. I’m sorry. I—”

“Grayson’s probably going to tell the Principal. I could get in serious trouble for this.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Principal McCormack is Grayson’s brother-in-law.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“No—” I gestured to the mess all around us. “I don’t need you to fight my battles. I can handle it from here.” Him speaking to McCormack on my behalf would only make things worse.

“Let me fix this,” Dominic insisted. “It’s all my fault.”

“You’ve done enough damage already, don’t you think?” I bent down to pick up the overturned crayon carton.

Dom crouched down beside me and helped me pick up the crayons. We were so close our shoulders touched. “I really am sorry. I don’t know what overcame me. I saw him slap you and then I saw red. Pure anger.”

I swallowed thickly, my eyes stinging a little. Heat radiated from my hurt cheek. “He’s a jerk, but I was handling the situation.”

“What would you have done?” Dom demanded. “If I didn’t step in? Just let him get away with it?”

“No, I would’ve—” I paused. What would I have done? I couldn’t have hit him back, an eye for an eye. I was weaker than Grayson, and besides, violence never solved anything. But Grayson also wasn’t the type of man to respond to logic or words.

“That’s what I thought,” Grayson huffed. “I was just trying to do what you couldn’t: beat his sorry ass. Protect you.”

After a moment I relaxed my shoulders and nodded. “You’re right. I probably would’ve let him get away with it.” I wasn’t proud to admit that fact, but there was too much at stake for me to stand up to a bully cop.

“That man’s a disgrace on the Bullock name,” Dom gritted out. “While he was alive, Grayon’s dad was the best mayor Dallas ever had. A shiny role model everyone looked up to. But Grayson…he and I grew up together. Went to the same high school. That douchebag has always been a disgusting piece of shit.”

“I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” I mumbled, tacking the alphabet poster back on the cork board.

“Oh, we know each other all right. Very well. He almost raped my sister in high school. And I beat him to a pulp back then, too. Damn bastard got away with it, though. Just got a slap on the wrist. Me? I was suspended for two months.”

“He’s got connections, then.”

“His so-called connections won’t protect him forever,” Dom spat. “He’s a dirty cop and sooner rather than later, he’ll pay for his crimes.

“Take a breather,” I suggested. “He’s gone now. Don’t let him have any more power over you.”

“He has nothing on me. Next time, if I see that orangutang harassing you again, I won’t be so nice.”

Even though Dom was going all alpha male apeshit on Grayson’s ass, I kind of liked it. It felt nice having him step up and defend me. Not that I couldn’t throw a few good punches myself, but that would’ve definitely gotten me fired. I had too much at stake to risk my position at Walnut Hill.

“Hey, Dom, thanks…for defending me.”

Dom nodded. “Somebody had to whoop his bigoted ass.”

“Seriously. You stepped up when you could’ve stood by doing nothing.” Heroism was in his veins. All of sudden, I remembered Nate. “Where’s Nate?”

“Sleepover at his grandparents.”

“You didn’t bring him tonight?”

“It’s a parent-teacher conference. Not a parent-teacher-student conference.”

“I wanted him to show you his artwork. He’s really talented,” I mumbled. “He drew this really cool giraffe.”

“Do you still want to talk about my son’s school performance or do you want to ditch this joint?” Dom asked.

“To be honest, it’s been a really long day,” I admitted.

“Let me give you a ride home then, no ands, ifs or buts.”

I was too exhausted and paranoid to wait outside for the bus anyway, so I took up Dom’s offer. Once we slipped into Dom’s Toyota Highlander, and the interior dome light automatically switched on, I noticed that his cheek had developed a huge bruise. His skin had split open at the cheekbone. There were a few scratches on his neck too, as if he’d been attacked by an animal. I groaned. People would ask questions about that.

“We should get that cleaned up,” I pointed out. “And probably medicate you too, before the adrenaline wears off and pain kicks in.”

“I’m fine,” Dom said, waving his arm. “What’s your address?”

I told him where I lived. Then, I added, “I have a first aid kit at home. At least let me clean you up.”

“Okay, if you insist,” Dom conceded. “I did duel in your honor tonight.”

I frowned slightly, until Dom flashed me a snarky grin. “Lighten up, Buttercup. Grouchiness doesn’t suit you.”

“I feel terrible for involving you in all of this.”

“You didn’t involve me, I involved myself,” Dom said. “And for you, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.”