The one you cant keep, p.1
The One You Can't Keep, page 1
The One You Can't Keep
A Single Dad Holiday Romance
Sadira Stone
Sadira Stone
The One You Can’t Keep: ASingle Dad Holiday Romance
Copyright © 2024 Sadira Stone
All rights reserved.
ISBN: Digital: 978-1-961130-08-1
Cover design by SadiraStone
Edited by Red Quill Editing, LLC
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
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QUALITY CONTROL: I strive to produce error-free books, but even with all the critique partners, beta readers, and editors, sometimes an error slips through. Pretty please, if you find a typo or formatting issue, let me know at sadirastoneauthor@gmail.com so I may correct it.Thank you!
Note to Readers
I hope you enjoy Klara and Logan’s Christmas love story, a tale that’s interwoven with lots of my own experience and fondest memories. I served in Germany as a US Army legal clerk, then again as a teacher in the Department of Defense school system (DoDDS). My respect and thanks go out to all who serve our country and our military families.
This story was previously published in the 2023 Heroes, Holidays, and Hope anthology and has been updated and expanded.
And no, the author’s shift key isn’t broken. When writing in German, all nouns are capitalized.
Contents
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
About the author
Chapter One
Klara
Five minutes before the dismissal bell, my students cluster around the classroom door, raucous and rowdy. Normally, I’d keep them in their seats, but the week before winter break, calm is a lost cause. The kids are itching for vacation.
And honestly, so am I.
A flash of motion catches my eye. “Cody, nein,” I snap at the gangly boy peeling photos from my bulletin board of German Christmas customs.
He shoots me a glare, crosses his arms, and slumps against the wall.
Really? You want to start some Scheisse right before your dad’s arrival for a parent-teacher conference?
I meet one like this every year—a kid who grew up in the same place all his life, until BAM! He lands in on a US Army base in Germany, usually because a new military stepparent got transfer orders. And nobody sulks more intensely than a teen yanked away from friends, family, and home. I feel for Cody. Truly, I do.
But this last week of class is a killer. I’m struggling to keep the students’ attention while organizing their combined holiday party with Señora Sanchez’s Spanish classes and Monsieur Williamson’s French students. Once again, Herr Müller, our senior German teacher who’s been at Kittburg American High School since the dawn of time, declined to participate. Grumpy old Schweinehund.
I suspect he’s still holding a grudge because our principal hired an American to cover the overflow of German classes. Doesn’t matter to Herr Müller how well-qualified I am; I’m not German—ergo, I’m not up to the job.
And I’m worried about our class trip to Trier. Kids love the big outdoor Christmas market, and they get to use their German language skills to navigate a real-life cultural experience. Win, win!
But there’s no way I’m taking a troublemaker like Cody without parental support. It’s far too easy to melt into the crowd the minute my back is turned. I can just imagine him getting loopy on Glühwein, maybe even shoplifting, and I do not need our field trip interrupted by the Polizei.
“Tschüss, Frau Schaffer,” the kids chorus as the bell sets them free.
I heave a sigh and switch on my electric kettle. If Cody’s dad is on time, I’ve got exactly ten minutes to enjoy a relaxing cup of tea before I put my teacher face back on.
Christmas break can’t come soon enough. My gift to myself will be two weeks of self-indulgent pampering—a spa day, a rom-com movie marathon, some relaxed shopping, and a traditional German Christmas Eve with my landlady Frau Zitterbart, AKA my adopted grandmother. Plus a ski trip in the Bavarian Alps the week after Christmas. It’s going to be pure heaven, or at least enough relaxing fun to ward off the woulda/coulda/shoulda holiday blues.
I pull up Cody’s grades on my computer in preparation for meeting his dad. Yikes! With the two assignments he didn’t turn in last week and the vocabulary quiz he bombed, he’s down to a forty-seven percent. His transfer grade from his high school in California was a solid B. Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face—or your dad’s face, in this case.
A loud rap on the open door pulls my focus from the bad news, and the man standing there sends my pulse galloping. Holy Christmas, this is Cody’s father?
I didn’t know BDUs could fit so well. This tall drink of yum makes camo look like Gucci. Sharp jaw, blade-straight nose, dark hair shaved regulation-close on the sides with just a hint of curl on top. His intense, steely-blue eyes pierce my calm façade, boring right to my long-neglected core and making me feel things I have no business feeling at work.
I remind myself of the very good reasons for my single status and paste on a bland, welcoming smile. “Master Sergeant Hendriks, thanks for coming in. Would you like a cup of tea? I’ve got Earl Grey, peppermint, and Waldfrüchte—that’s mixed berries.” Bad news goes down easier with refreshments, I’ve found.
“No thank you,” he replies from the doorway with a curt nod. “Come on, Cody.”
Grumbling and glaring at the floor, Cody trudges into the room.
His guidance counsellor gave me the lowdown when he arrived in October. Age fifteen, can’t get along with his newest stepdad, so Mom sent him overseas to live with his father on an army base. And now MSG Hendriks has a bitter, pissed-off teen on his hands. That’s got to be tough on both of them.
“Straighten up and mind your manners, son.” The father’s brisk stride is marred by a slight limp. He gives me a firm handshake before taking one of the seats facing my desk. Cody sinks into the other, his ashen face belying his defiant posture.
Looks like this dad is the no-nonsense type. Good. In my experience, teen passive-aggressive BS is best met head-on, with firmness and love. I hope Cody has both of those in his new home.
MSG Hendriks faces me with the stern expression of a man not to be messed with. “I’ve checked Cody’s grades, Ms. Schaffer, and I’m not pleased. I want you to know he’ll be spending his winter break making up his missed assignments.”
Cody winces.
Well, kiddo, that’s what you get. At least you have a parent who cares enough to make you do the work. I can’t say that for all my students.
I fold my hands on the desk. “Thank you, Master Sergeant.”
The corners of his full lips quirk up. “Please, call me Logan.”
Cody rolls his eyes and snorts. His dad shoots eyeball daggers.
“Sorry,” Cody mutters.
“Right,” I continue. “Grades can be made up, but we also need to address Cody’s attitude and behavior.” I give the squirming boy a sharp glance of my own. “Since his arrival, he’s been snarky and rude in class, both to me and to the other students. I can’t let that fly.”
Logan glares at his son. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Cody scowls and mumbles under his breath.
Logan’s frown is thunderous as he looms over his son. “What’s that? Speak up.”
The kid’s face reddens, and tears leak from his eyes. “I fuckin’ hate it here, okay? I hate Germany, I hate this school, and I hate my life.” Pain rolls off him, palpable in the sudden silence.
Witnessing this kind of family strife is beyond awkward, but if I’m going to be part of the solution, I have to share these uncomfortable moments.
Now it’s Logan’s turn to slump in his chair, misery twisting his handsome face. He scrubs a hand through his dark hair. “You want to go back, live with your mom and Gary?”
Eyes squinched shut, Cody shakes his head.
“Well then, until you’re eighteen, you’ve got to live with one of us.”
“Why can’t I stay with Gramma and Gramps?”
Logan’s voice roughens. “You know damn well why.” Father and son ex
“To an asshole,” Cody grumbles.
“Hey,” Logan snaps, “we don’t talk like that in front of a lady.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
Logan grips his son’s shoulder. “Your mom and I have our differences, but I know she’s raised you better than to take out your hurt on innocent people like your teacher. I promised I’d do my best to help you through this change, but you’ve gotta do your part too.” His voice and expression soften. “I love you, son, but you’re not a little kid anymore. Time to handle your business like the man you’re becoming.”
Tears prickle my eyes as Cody grumbles his assent. Poor kid, slammed by huge changes without any input, and without the emotional maturity to handle it. He’s being forced to grow up fast.
If Logan notices my reaction, he has the grace to hide it. “Now, ma’am, what do you need from Cody and me?”
I blow out a long breath to clear the wobble from my voice. “I’d like you to check Cody’s work on the grade portal twice a week.” I hand him a sheet with instructions. “And if Cody comes on our field trip this Thursday, I’ll need you to chaperone.”
It took me a ton of arm twisting to set up this outing, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let one spiteful student ruin the experience for the others.
Cody grimaces. “Aw, shi—I mean shoot.”
I lean onto my elbows. “Look, I understand. No one wants their parent on a field trip. But after the stunts you’ve pulled in class, I don’t trust you to behave without your dad there.”
I address his distractingly hunky father. “I’m sure you’re very busy with your work duties, but can you swing it? Our German pen pals from Wagner Gymnasium will join us, and I’d hate for Cody to miss his chance to meet the student he’s been corresponding with.” I called in a favor to match him with a really sweet girl I know personally.
Father and son stare at each other in silent negotiation. Finally, Logan claps Cody’s shoulder in a gesture that looks, from my end, more affectionate than teed off.
“I’ll make it happen.” He rises and tells Cody to wait for him outside. Holding his uniform cap over an area I definitely should not be looking at, he drops his gaze to the floor, then regards me from beneath thick, dark lashes.
“First of all, I apologize for my son’s behavior. And I’m going to support you a hundred percent.” His broad chest rises and falls. “Cody asked to come here—demanded, really—and now he’s regretting it. But he’s pretty much stuck. His new stepdad’s an ass, and his mom isn’t much help. Her focus is on her new kids, not her eldest. My parents love Cody, but Mom’s too sick to deal with his emotional, self-destructive bullsh—sorry, his nonsense. Anyway, I’m doing my best to make this easier for him. If you’ve got any suggestions, hit me.” He gives me a crooked grin that squeezes my heart. “Seriously, I’m struggling here.”
Poor man. Teens can be baffling, but thirteen years of teaching them have taught me a little about their jumbled brains and hearts.
“When kids Cody’s age act out, they seem to be pushing us away, but I’ll bet what he craves most is your attention. Maybe over the holidays, you two could spend some quality time and explore the area together. Or you could take him skiing? Some father-son bonding on the slopes?”
A grimace twists his mouth as he gestures to his right knee. “I’m on profile. Blew out my ACL in an accident downrange.”
I’ve learned that downrange is Army talk for deployment. I shudder at the thought of Logan dodging enemy fire and roadside explosives.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is it painful?”
He gives me another tilted grin. “Not as painful as parent-teacher conferences. Physical therapy’s going well. I should be off profile soon if I don’t do anything stupid, like skiing on a bum knee.”
“That’s too bad.”
He lifts a shoulder. “The timing sucks, but most of my unit is downrange for the holidays, so I can’t really complain. Besides, someone’s gotta pull Christmas duty. Might as well be me, so my troops can enjoy time with their families.”
A sour twinge twists beneath my ribs. This guy could be building happy memories with his kid, a chance I never got, and he’s spending the holidays at work?
I hook a thumb toward the hallway. “What about your family?”
Logan scoffs. “Cody? He doesn’t give a crap about Christmas. So far, all he wants to do is play online games and pout. If sulking was an Olympic sport, that boy would earn a gold medal. Anyway, we’ll spend most of the holiday break setting up our new apartment in Goldorf. Can’t keep a kid in the Senior Enlisted Quarters.”
A happy little buzz tickles my chest. “Was für ein Zufall!”
Logan tilts his head like a confused puppy.
“Means ‘what a coincidence.’ I live in Goldorf.”
“Huh.” Grinning, he fingers his cap. “Guess I’ll see you around town.”
“Probably. Hey, make sure you try the pizza place on Hauptstrasse. Pizzeria Vesuvio.” I almost suggest meeting him there during winter break—but no, he’s my student’s dad. Off limits. What a cosmic injustice. It’s been a long time since I felt a tingle of interest from a gorgeous man.
Logan straightens and drops the smile, all business again. “I’d better get back to work. I’ll let you know about the field trip by oh-eight-hundred tomorrow.” He clears his throat. “That means—”
“Eight in the morning. Got it.” I give him a wink. “Nice meeting you, Logan.”
“Nice meeting you too…” He cocks an eyebrow.
“Klara. With a K.”
He nods, turns on his heel, and strides out of my classroom.
Oof! I sink back into my chair. Until this moment, I’ve never thought about dating a military guy—well, not seriously, anyway. Most soldiers my age are married, and even the single ones are gone on deployment for long stretches. On a small base like ours, the pickings are slim. There are no single male teachers on staff, and Janice, my biology teacher friend, keeps trying to set me up with German guys she knows through her boyfriend Rolf. So far, I’ve declined her invitations to meet Hans or Jürgen or whoever. But if my body perks up like this for a few minutes of non-sexy conversation with a handsome man, perhaps it’s time to rethink that strategy?
After all, it’s been three years since my divorce. Even a heart as squashed as mine has to heal eventually, right?
Chapter Two
Logan
How long since I’ve been on a school bus? Seventeen years, at least. Of course, this luxury tourist coach is nothing like the battle-scarred yellow buses I rode as a kid in SoCal. I glance over my shoulder at my son, slumped in his seat like a sack of dirty laundry. Will he ever learn to appreciate his overseas adventure, or will he pout through the next two years?
The girl next to him asks him something, but he just slouches further down. Gotta teach that kid some manners. And social skills. With that attitude, he’s never going to make friends. Feels like he wants to hate it here.
Guilt gut-punches me for the umpteenth time since his arrival—correction, since his mom divorced me.
I should’ve been there. I should’ve left the Army after my first enlistment and moved back to California. One month with Cody each summer was not enough to forge a real connection.
He was three when my first overseas orders arrived, and his mom lost her everlovin’ shit. We were only eighteen when she got pregnant, and I figured enlisting in the Army was my best shot at providing for my family. It was hard enough convincing Cassie to move to Fort Irwin, just a few hours from the little Southern California town where we both grew up. But she flat-out refused to move overseas, and I still had eighteen months to go on my enlistment, so I had no choice.
It broke my heart to leave my son behind, but I figured he’d have a stable home with his mom and grandparents until I left the service. Hah! Stable, my ass. In the time I was gone, Cassie’s dad drank himself to death; her mom took up with some biker and moved to Mexico; her sister got arrested for dealing meth, and Cassie found another guy to take my place. Then another. With each new husband came a new baby or two.
