Four

Kian

I knew they meant well, but if they really wanted to help me, then they'd drop it. Sometimes, it was better not to shake the bee's nest if you didn't want to get yourself stung. Back home, there was a two-hundred-pound grizzly who was just itching for an excuse to pull me out of school. I came here intending to keep my head down, and maybe I would finish school with a fighting chance of a future instead of earning a future by fighting.

They watched me with analyzing eyes as I placed my lunch bag down on the wheeled trolley along with everyone else's. The lunch ladies would collect them up later and wheel them away to the kitchens.

I then took a seat at my desk, waiting patiently for rollcall. I could be a real golden boy when I wanted to be. My mask of angelic innocence had been rehearsed to perfection. That came in handy for a kid like me. Most of the time I could blend in, just like everyone else.

The scent of Miss Halloway's floral perfume wafted past me as she made her way over toward her desk. She smoothed out her pleated skirt before taking a seat.

I cast my eyes down, fiddling with a loose strand of thread from the cuff of my shirt. Much to my relief, her attention turned to the task at hand. Miss Halloway began calling out our names one by one.

"Kian Jones." She eventually got to my name somewhere near the end of the list.

"Here, miss," I answered in response.

There was a momentary pause where she hesitated, trying to summarize what was different about me. I sat up straight, focusing on looking indifferent. Whatever I did worked because she moved on to the next name on the list. Nothing more was brought up about yesterday. If anything, it was one of the best days I'd had in a long while.

After school, I ate dinner with Mrs. Banks again, and together, we washed my laundry ready for school on Monday.

"I want you to take some of Charlie's old clothes. Jeans are jeans; they never go out of fashion, nor do those round-neck sweatshirts. At least you'll have plenty of clean clothes to see you through the winter," she insisted, folding the freshly laundered garments into a neat pile.

"Thank you, Mrs. B," I expressed with gratitude.

She chuckled at being called “Mrs. B”, saying it made her feel twenty years younger.

"Where's your daddy taking you tomorrow?" she asked, genuinely interested.

"He's taking me down to the Cage with Jaxton," I told her, knowing that she would probably disapprove.

And I was right. A look of horror etched across her face. "What kind of father takes a child to a place like that?" she commented with disgust. Her expression faltered and was immediately replaced with compassion. "Oh, I'm sorry, Kian. I didn't mean to bad mouth your father. It's just that the Cage is no place for children."

I understood that her intentions were good. She meant well, and I knew that she would never say or do anything that would upset me intentionally.

"That's okay, Mrs. B. I would rather go fishing down at White Lake with Jax, but Dad said he thinks we ought to be training."

She made a disapproving snort. "Yeah, fighting more like."

"Dad is sticking around more because he wants to teach me how to fight. If this is the only way that I can get him to spend time with me, then I'll do whatever it takes. Mom doesn't use as much crap when Dad stays at home," I reasoned, hoping she would see things my way. "He thinks I need to learn to be a real man."

Dad was looking forward to tomorrow. I heard him talking to Mom when I collected my dirty laundry from home. He was in a good mood and was even fixing the washing machine. He said he felt it in his bones that I would be magnificent. As long as I applied myself. He'd never spoken that way about me before, and I wanted to make him proud.

"Kian." Mrs. Banks sounded worried as she spoke my name. "A real man doesn't need to settle his quarrels with his fists. You'd do well to remember that."

"What do you mean? Men are supposed to be strong, right? We're supposed to be protectors as well as providers, aren't we?" I asked, not understanding how else we were supposed to deal with our problems.

Mrs. Banks let out a breathy chuckle. "Oh, Kian, use your noodle." She tapped my forehead gently. "One saying springs to mind: the power of the mind is infinite, whereas the power of brawn is limited. We must always use our brains before we engage our fists."

"Oh, I get it," I replied, having taken onboard the meaning. "So, you're saying that we should fight as a last resort and not just to get what we want?"

An accomplished smile curved her lips, and she ruffled my hair. I huffed, hating that it would be clipped short tomorrow. As much as my dark hair was messy and fell across my eyes, I had grown rather used to it.

"My hair's getting shaved off tomorrow," I forewarned her, knowing how much she loved my full head of hair.

"Oh no," she grumbled, smoothing it down with her fingers. "That’s a shame."

My lips twitched to one side in agreement.

"Kian, I want to show you something; come with me." She beckoned me into her room where she took an old wooden music box from her dresser. We sat on the edge of her bed as she opened the lid to the sound of a pretty melody. A tiny ballerina rotated on the spot, and I was mesmerized, having never seen anything like that before.

She took out what she told me was a white gold diamond ring and held it between her finger and thumb. "This will belong to you when I'm gone."

Her words triggered off a wave of panic inside me at the thought of her dying someday. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later with her being in her eighties, but I tried not to think about that. I guess I took it for granted that she'd always be around. Shifters generally lived to the ripe old age of one-hundred and fifty, but that was only if they took care of themselves.

"Don't look so terrified. I'm not picking out a coffin just yet," she chuckled. "Charlie knows about this, and he thinks it's a wonderful idea. That fancy mate of his from Whitevale wanted to pick out her own ring. This once belonged to my late husband's mother, who then passed it to him to give to me. I want you to have it and for you to give it to your mate when the time comes."

I was too overwhelmed to form words. This was huge. The sentimental meaning alone was worth more than any monetary value.

"Thank you. So much, Mrs. B. It's beautiful," I replied humbly.

"I'll keep it safe inside this box. So now you know that this is yours," she commented, placing it back on her dresser.

I had always been fond of Mrs. Banks, but it was at this moment I knew that I loved her. The way her soft fingertips brushed along the sides of my cheek as she cupped my face in her hands, I felt that same love returned. She cherished me as if I were her own son, showing me just how much I mattered to her. That feeling of being wanted, needed, and being of great importance made my heart swell, spreading pride throughout my chest. It made me question the choices I was making, afraid of disappointing the wrong person.

My heart and head were conflicted, torn between what I was told was right and what I felt was right. My father wanting to spend time with me was all I had ever wished for. Although I'd much rather he took me fishing or played ball with me out on the field. I had to resign myself with the fact that Dad just wasn't made that way. I just hoped that by indulging his wishes, it would give him a reason to stick around.

That night I went to bed restless, anxious about what tomorrow would bring. My mind was unable to switch off, keeping me awake for hours. My eyes followed the streak of moonlight that spilled in through the gap in the curtains. Shadows clung to the corners of my room, bracing themselves against the walls. You never know what monsters are lurking in the darkness. Although it does seem like a peaceful place to hide.