“No shit, Sherlock,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s not contagious.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to skip this place?”
I nodded.
“If I was one of those guys from those damned books you read,” he mumbled, “I’d have a monogrammed handkerchief in my pocket. But I don’t.”
I laughed shakily as I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, picturing the HRH monogram on his imaginary handkerchief. “So are you secretly reading regency romances, Lucas? Is that why I can’t find the stack I saved at Charlie’s?”
His eyes widened, but then he dropped his gaze and I would’ve sworn I saw the hint of a blush creep up his neck.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” I had to choke back a giggle at the mental picture of him reading about rogues and wallflowers. “I have lots more I can lend you—”
He shrugged, running a hand along the back of his neck. “Okay, so I read one. It was awful.”
“Then you picked a bad one. Next time I’ll pick for you.” I thought of some of the books I could lend him, especially some of the sexier ones, and it was my turn to blush.
“No thanks,” he said. “I’ll stick to my textbooks. I don’t have much time for other reading, anyway.”
I pictured the comic books on his desk and smiled. I felt awful about lashing out at him, especially after all he was doing for me. I took a breath. “I’m sorry, Lucas. For saying that you don’t care what happens to me or my mom.” I glanced at him. “Because I know you do.”
His jaw clenched and he looked away.
“Lucas?”
Sighing, he stared at the ground. “I’m sorry, too. For getting upset about what you said about Heather and me. But it’s not true…” He ran a hand through his hair.
“What’s not true?”
He still wouldn’t look at me. “Never mind.”
I sighed and pulled my jacket tighter around me. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”
His finally raised his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Like a buddy movie gone really bad.”
That made me laugh for real. “Lucas?”
“Yeah?” He watched me, his expression wary.
“I don’t even know how to thank you. The places were great.”
“Not all of them,” he said. “But you’re welcome.”
“I loved Mrs. Sandri’s house. I want my mom to see it.”
His shoulders sagged. Was that relief? “I thought you’d like that one best.”
“See?” I blinked in the sun and smiled at him for real. “Maybe you do know me pretty well.”
He dropped his gaze again, but not before I saw something indefinable flicker there.
“I’ll take you home.” He fished his keychain out of his pocket, still not looking at me.
“No.”
“No?” He looked up, his eyes shooting angry sparks again.
“I’ll take the bus. You’ve spent enough of your day with me already. I’m sure you have better things to do.”
“Darcy. Don’t be a—”
“Don’t you dare call me a martyr.”
His eyes widened. “How’d you know I was going to say that?”
I tapped my head. “I’m psychic.”
He almost smiled. “Warn me next time. I’ll bring my tin foil hat.”
“Those never work. My wicked mind-reading skills penetrate right through that stuff.”
“You’re a mind reader, huh?” He swung his keychain around his finger, watching me through narrowed eyes. “Tell me what I’m thinking right now.”
I swallowed. There were so many things I hoped he was thinking. “You’re thinking you can’t wait to drop me off and go do guy stuff. Fix cars, watch ESPN. Watch a dude action movie instead of hanging out with a girl who watches sappy movies and reads awful books.”
He shook his head, his cryptic smile making my heart flutter. “You’re a lousy psychic. Not even close.”
“Food,” I said. “That should’ve been my first guess. You’re always hungry.”
“True, but that’s not what I’m thinking about right now.” He took a step toward me and suddenly this wasn’t a game anymore. “Guess again.” His voice was soft, like a caress reaching out to me even though his hands were in his pockets. “Tell me what I want.”
You want to kiss me. You’re going to kiss me. I see it in your eyes. I wasn’t psychic, but I wasn’t blind, either. Oh. My. God.
“Crapuccino,” I croaked. “Extra dry.”
“Wrong,” he said, taking another step toward me. “Try again, Shaker Girl.” We stood inches apart, breathing in each other’s air.
The sharp ring of my cell sounded, making both of us jump and shattering the tension. Frustration shot through me as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and stared at the caller ID.
“It’s my mom. I need to answer.” Why oh why hadn’t I put it on silent?
“No worries,” Lucas said, stepping back. His gaze had lost its heat and intensity, and I missed it already. We started walking, and he hung back a few steps to give me privacy.
The raw pain of Mom’s sobs pushed away all my fantasies about Lucas. “Mom? What is it? Is it Dad?” Please, God. Don’t let him be dead.
Lucas caught up to me. I barely registered his hand on my shoulder.
“Not Dad, me. It’s me. Oh, Darcy, I’ve failed us,” her voice wailed in my ear.
I turned away from Lucas, afraid he’d hear her. “Mom, just tell me what happened.”
“Pam fired me today. She said I was…un(hic)reliable. And un(hic)professional. She said I looked like something the cat dragged in.”
I closed my eyes and sagged against Lucas, dimly aware of his arm encircling my shoulders. “Oh, Mom,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Where are you? When are you coming home?”
“I’m with Lucas. Looking at apartments, remember?” Oh no. How could we rent a place now, without any income? Oh my God. Don’t think about it. Just do the next thing…do the next thing. Breathe. “I’ll be home soon, Mom. I’m almost at the bus stop.”
“I’ll come get you,” she said, slurring her words.
“No, Mom. You’ve been drinking. You can’t drive.”
Lucas took the phone from my hand. “Mrs. Covington? This is Lucas. I’ll drive Darcy home. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” He paused. “Yes, ma’am. Good-bye.”
He handed the phone back to me then tightened his grip around my shoulders.
He put a finger on my lips. “Don’t argue. I’m driving you home.”
“But…but.” What could I say? That I didn’t want him to see my mom drunk? That I wanted him to see me as…not perfect, exactly, but maybe…acceptable?
That hardly mattered now.
Lucas drove fast, but not so fast that I worried. “Should we bring food to your mom?” He hesitated. “If she’s drinking, she should eat.”
I leaned my head against the passenger side window, closing my eyes, relishing the feel of the cool glass on my skin. “We have leftover enchiladas. I made them last night. And some burned rice.”
“Sounds great. Is there enough for me, too?”
I opened my eyes to stare at him. “What?”
His eyebrows knotted. “I’m not going to just drop you off, Darcy. I’ll come in to help. Stay for a while.”
“You know what? You’re really taking this rescuing-the-damsel-in-distress role way too seriously. Stop reading my books.”
He shot me a hooded glance. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Be careful. You’re veering away from buddy-flick territory back toward mortal-enemies-locked-in-combat territory.”
“Maybe I’ll just be quiet.”
“Excellent choice.” He picked up his iPod and the sounds of one of my favorite indie bands filled the car.
“Maybe you’re
the one who’s psychic,” I said, my eyes closing again as I rested against the window.
“How so?”
“This is my de-stress music. It chills me out.” I sighed, pulling my jacket tight around me. I wanted to stay in his car forever, eyes closed, music playing, just driving.
“It’s going to be okay, Darcy,” he said softly.
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re strong. You’ll get through this.”
I opened my eyes to watch his profile as he drove. “Tough girls always finish last.”
He glanced at me with that smile that turned me to jelly. “You’re watching the wrong movies.” He paused. “Maybe you should read more of your lame romances. Don’t they always have happy endings?”
“They do. But life doesn’t always tie up in a pretty bow at the end like it does in those books.”
He nodded. “Life’s messy,” he agreed. “But sometimes amazing things can happen, even when it seems like it’s all falling apart.”
He couldn’t possibly be talking about us. He was just trying to distract me from the nightmare that was my life. “Ah, Master Martinez,” I said. “You speak such words of wisdom. Grasshopper can only hope to learn from you.”
He shot me a dark look. “You should stop talking now.”
I wished he’d just kiss me to shut me up, like in the movies, but instead we kept driving in silence, while I prayed my mom wouldn’t be a total wreck by the time we got home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mom was lying on the couch when we walked in, surrounded by the clutter of our messy family room. I’d been meaning to clean it, but there just wasn’t time with school and work and starting to pack for the move. Besides, we never had company anymore so what was the point?
Lucas was gracious, as always. “Hello, Mrs. Covington. It’s good to see you again.”
She stared up at him, her eyes unfocused. Pam was right. She did look like something the cat had dragged in. It was amazing she hadn’t been fired sooner. I blinked back tears. I could not fall apart. Not in front of Lucas.
“Well, look who’s here.” Her words slurred as she tried to focus on me. “I knew there was something going on with you two.”
“Mom. Please.” I shot her a pleading look.
“Well, it’s true. Darcy never brings guys home, but I’m not surprised to see you.” She pointed a wobbly finger at Lucas.
I thought I would faint or hurl, or both. I hated how alcohol did this to her. I didn’t dare look at Lucas, who’d busied himself gathering up the dirty plates and glasses scattered over our coffee table. Toby danced around him, thrilled to see the dog whisperer. Lucas caught my eye as he walked toward the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” I mouthed, using every power in me to keep my tears at bay.
He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he whispered.
Once he’d left the room, I tried to get Mom to sit up. “You’ve got to get to bed. You’re completely wasted.”
“Damn straight,” she said, her stinking breath blowing in my face. “I have every right to be. That damn Pam had no right to fire me. She knows how much I needed that job.”
“She’s running a business, Mom. Not a charity.” I couldn’t believe I was defending Fake-Bake Pam. I stood up, pulling Mom to her feet. She swayed and leaned into me. Suddenly Lucas was there, propping her up from the other side.
Our eyes met as we supported her. I wasn’t sure what I thought I’d see. Disgust maybe. But that wasn’t it. His eyes burned with all sorts of emotions, too many for me to untangle. I looked away.
“Upstairs, Mom. You need to sleep it off.”
She laughed bitterly, leaning most of her weight on Lucas. “Why? ’Cause everything will be perfec’ in the morning? Darcy thinks she’s gonna find her dad and drag him home. Thinks he’s gonna come riding in on a white horse with a bag full of money. Gonna stand on his stage and turn this pile of shit into a pile of gold.”
“Mom. Don’t.” I couldn’t stop the tears now. I shook with anger and fear.
“Darcy, go sit down,” Lucas said, adjusting Mom so that he bore all her weight. “I’ll get her upstairs.”
“Mine’s the biggest bedroom. Can’t miss it, kid.” Mom cackled like a crazy woman. “Ty always had to have the biggest everything. And look where it got him.”
I remembered Lucas telling me about Heather puking at the Homecoming dance. I prayed my mom wouldn’t complete my humiliation by doing that.
Lucas pinned me with his eyes again. “I’ve got her, Darcy. It’s okay.”
Tears streamed down my face as I watched them leave the room. It was a relief having someone else here, but it shouldn’t be Lucas helping her up the stairs. It should be Dad. But if Dad were here, none of this would be happening.
Toby hovered at my feet, tail wagging.
“Come on, boy. At least I can take care of you.” He followed me into the kitchen where I fed him. I loaded the dishwasher and cleaned off the counters. I heated the leftover enchiladas in the microwave, wondering if Lucas would be so appalled by my mom that he’d leave without eating.
“How often does that happen?” Lucas’s voice startled me from the doorway.
I spun around to face him. “What do you mean?”
He walked toward me slowly, watching me as if I were a trapped animal ready to flee. “How often do you come home to that? How often do you have to help her to bed?”
I focused on Toby, who’d rushed to Lucas as soon as he’d heard his voice.
“Darcy, look at me.”
That was the last thing I wanted to do, but he closed the gap between us and tilted my chin up. “Tell me how often you come home to this.”
“A lot,” I breathed. Tingles ran down my jaw to my neck from his touch. I couldn’t look away from him. “Especially lately.”
He let go of my chin and shoved his hands in his pockets. “She needs help, Darcy. So do you. You can’t do this by yourself.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I just keep hoping…”
“I don’t want to be the one who tells you to stop hoping. But you have to deal with what’s right in front of you.”
“But I am dealing with it.” Anger flashed through me. “I got us extra time to move. I set up the estate sale. I’m going to get us moved.” Tears pushed away the anger and I was crying again. “Once we’re out of here, maybe she’ll stop. When she’s not surrounded by all these…reminders…of what life isn’t anymore.”
His arms were around me before I could say anything else. “I know,” he whispered into my hair. “I know.”
I let myself be held. I’d imagined him holding me a million times, but not for this reason. He still felt amazing. The universe had a cruel sense of irony.
The microwave pinged. I was reluctant to step out of his grasp, but I did. “Dinner is served,” I said, grabbing a dishtowel to wipe away my tears. “Unless you want to blow this pop stand, which I’d totally understand.”
He looked surprised. “Do you want me to go? I thought you wouldn’t want to be alone.”
I focused on using hot pads to pull the casserole dish out of the microwave. “You’ve pretty much spent your whole day dealing with the Covington shit storm. I’m sure you have somewhere else to be on a Saturday night.”
“I chose to spend the day with you. And I’m choosing now to have dinner with you.”
I shrugged like it didn’t matter, but relief washed over me. I didn’t want to be alone. Having him stay was like having a net stretched under the tightrope of my screwed up life.
He found plates and silverware. “Do we eat under the scary chandelier?” He tilted his head toward the dining room.
“No.” That was the last place I wanted to sit. “We could watch a movie or something.” I forced a smile. “Something with lots of explosions.”
“Sure,” he said. “After we eat. I want to talk to you first.” He set the plates on th
e granite counter in front of the barstools.
Panic washed over me. I didn’t want a serious chat right now. Experiencing my reality was bad enough; we didn’t need to talk about it.
“What about that buddy-flick situation we discussed earlier?” I said, forcing a lightness I didn’t feel into my voice. “I’d rather we didn’t end up in another fight.”
“Not my first choice, either. But we’re still going to talk.”
A huge sigh gushed out of me. “Sometimes I wish I did drink. Now would be a good time.”
He frowned at me. “You don’t really mean that.”
I slid onto the stool next to him, hyper-aware of his closeness. “No, I don’t.” I took a long gulp of water. “How about a smoke instead?”
He almost choked on his water. Once he’d swallowed, he shook his head at me. “You’re not very observant. I quit smoking weeks ago.”
Huh. He was right; I hadn’t noticed. In my mind, he was often leaning against the old brick wall of Charlie’s store, smoking and talking to whoever wandered by. The thought flitted through my mind that he wouldn’t taste like an ashtray. If a person were to kiss him. Not that I’d ever know.
“That’s good,” I said. “One less cancer to worry about when you’re old and gray.”
He narrowed his eyes. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can watch your buddy flick.”
Inhale calm. Exhale stress. “Explosions and car crashes. No buddy flicks tonight. But by all means, let the lecture begin.”
He closed his eyes briefly, frustration etching his perfect face. “I don’t want to lecture you. I just had a suggestion. Maybe a couple of them.”
“Can I ask you something, Lucas?”
He sighed. “Go ahead. I knew you couldn’t just sit there and listen.”
I pointed my fork at him. “I could if I wanted. But what I’m wondering is, are you one of those guys who needs to feel like they’re Lancelot coming to the rescue all the time? Like on the daytime TV shrink shows? Those guys who pick women who…” My voice trailed away as I realized I’d just implied he was my knight. And that he’d picked me as his lady to rescue. My cheeks flamed.
His lips compressed into a thin line. I couldn’t tell if he was biting back a laugh or an argument.
How (Not) to Fall in Love Page 20