Not My Kind of Hero

by Pippa Grant

I want her to know she’s strong enough to do hard things. But you have to do the hard things before you know you’re strong enough.

But this is okay. This will all be okay. Soon. Hopefully. Maybe. I sigh. If not, at least the views are pretty.

There’s something wrong with this woman. Anyone who doesn’t want to take the sunset-view seat at Iron Moose is broken.

Relationships work both ways. Why am I holding one party responsible for making all the effort? And it’s not like he was her father. He was her uncle. Her eccentric, fun uncle who probably had more to offer a teenager than he did a grown woman with her own family and a career that, while she was fairly inept at it, still paid her bills and more.

Which means now I’m wondering if Maisey pulled her back a level in everything else to ease with the transition and she should’ve been advanced everywhere. Or if advanced math is wrong. Or why I’m getting involved in this at all when June Spencer will not be one of the kids coming to me for help if she struggles with anything.

Who knew she was hiding knockout calves and adorable knees under those jeans?

“Flint? Everything okay?” “You’re a girl.” Motherfucking fucker, I did not just say that.

I growl. It’s feral. And I should be ashamed, but cherry crisp. Oh, fuck.

“Mr. Jackson, has it ever occurred to you that when a woman dresses up, she’s doing it to feel good about herself, and your opinion matters for less than zero? I just divorced a man who had no respect for me or his daughter. What in the actual hell makes you think I’d try to seduce you? What makes you worthy? This?” She waves a hand at me exactly as I was waving a hand at her a moment ago. And I shrink. I shrink.

“My mom is not interested in dating right now.” “Junie.” “You just got divorced. You’re vulnerable. And I don’t like how he’s looking at you.” “Juniper Louisa Spencer.”

But I know if I, a grown adult, sometimes feel like I can’t do enough to fit in, it’s a million times worse for kids.

Once I realized the biggest thing wrong with me was that I was married to a man who thought there was something wrong with me, it was damn easy to figure out what I needed to do to solve my problem, even if executing that plan was one of the hardest things I’ve done in my life.

And five, I don’t think you’re worth taking my clothes off for.” Five makes me choke on my own shock. “I am—”

Some people are still finding themselves in high school, and they’re hurting and hormonal, and they don’t understand the damage they’re causing. But if they get therapy and do the work and overcome their traumas, I think they can be good people too. But only if they do the work, you know?” These are the times when I think teenagers could do a better job of running the world than we adults do.

“Juniper Louisa Spencer, I love you. And I don’t know if I can love you enough for both of the parents who are supposed to be here for you and all of the grandparents you never got to know or who got themselves sent to prison, but I love you. And I will put you first until the day you leave my house as an adult, and for the record, I don’t mean the day you become a legal adult and leave. I mean the day you feel like enough of an adult to spread your wings and fly on your own.”

“I hate mushrooms.” She rolls her eyes. “Like I’m actually afraid of them.” “You’re afraid of mushrooms.” “Ask Opal.” I’m almost thirty-five years old, telling a woman to ask my aunt about my fear of mushrooms. “I don’t talk about it because teenagers are assholes and I’d end up with piles of mushrooms on my desk every year if I did.” Shit.

But she’s not the bad guy. She’s done too much good around town to be the bad guy. If anything, she’s the lost guy. Girl. Woman. She’s a lady in need of being rescued. No, she’s a lady trying to rescue herself.

I don’t know a single person who has never felt lost. Some recognize it. Some don’t. Some blame other people. Some try to get help. Some try to fix it themselves. Some try to fix the world around them. Some pretend there’s nothing broken and push through.

“I miss him because he paid attention and he took the time to do things with me and he treated me like I was his favorite guest ever when I was a kid, and now it’s too late to ever tell him how much it meant to me, and I took him for granted when I should’ve been a better niece and been here, and instead everything is crap, and I don’t know how to do all the things I’m trying to do.”

Stop it, I’m crying

He strokes my back and presses a kiss to my head. “Okay. Okay. We’ll take care of June.”

I love the way I feel wanted. Needed. Desired. As a woman. As a human.

I have a love-hate relationship with teenage brains. So much potential. So much intelligence. And when we want them to aim it at things like math and learning to drive and mastering the art of power tools, instead, they get up in our business.

Maisey likes math. Maisey does math. That’s as hot as competence.

“It’s really hard to not jump you right here when you say things like that,” she whispers. “It’s really hard not to be jumped.” She cracks up. So do I. But it’s hard to keep being amused at not being able to touch this woman.

“Know that you deserve champagne and roses and bubble baths, and I’m going to do this right.”

For the first time in my life, I think I’ve found someone I want to love.

Moron, my dick scoffs. Of course you’re gonna want to go back. You have it bad in a way you’ve avoided having it bad for decades. She’s not a fling. She’s the woman you’ve waited for your whole life, and you need to take this leap or you will regret it to the end of time. It’s annoying when my second head is the smarter of the two.

The shimmer of stretch marks lit by the fire, more evidence of just how strong and capable she is, how much she’s lived.

This is home. And it’s terrifying as all fuck.

“Hurt so much by the people who are supposed to care the most. Afraid to open up to anyone again. But so desperate to fit in that you’ll bend over backward giving and giving and giving until there’s nothing left for yourself.”

“Sometimes figuring out who you are and who you want to be involves figuring out who to trust to go on the journey with you.”

If I’m hanging around, I can’t have a memory of a horrible movie that I can’t share with you.”

Being with Maisey is like being with one of my best friends, but better.

“I heard a rumor there are people who start dating single moms and engage with their kids because they know they’re getting a package deal.” “I hear the words you’re saying, and I want to believe them. And that’s the best I can do tonight.” “I’ll take it.” I twist my neck so I can look at him. “Seriously? That’s it? You’ll take it?” “No rush, Maisey. Can’t do the math if you don’t read the whole problem, and you can’t wave a wand and make a person’s feelings go away. If you could, my job would be a fuck ton simpler.”

I can bring the entire tabloid industry to their knees, so do not test me.” Jesus. This is why I work with kids. Because they’re fucking amazing.