“You know,” I say, “sometimes you need to stand up to bullies. Last year, when my son was in fourth grade, he was getting pushed around every day. But now—” I stop short because Shane is staring at me like I just punched him in the gut. I rewind what I just said in my head, trying to figure out why he looks that way. Then I realize. “You have a son in fifth grade?” he asks in a hoarse voice. “You said he was in kindergarten.” I open my mouth, but no words come out. Just a little squeak. “Brooke.” He squeezes his knees with his hands. Hunt must’ve made the cuffs extremely tight, because I can
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Oh shit
