He shoved his hands in his pockets as the girl and her tutor looked up. “At it already?”
Shay had an essay in front of her, a red pen poised over it. “London loves her quadratic equations.”
The teen rolled her eyes—once again circled with that black somewhat disturbing makeup. “I don’t love anything.”
Jace had no adequate response. But he couldn’t just walk away, either. “Do you mind if I hang out awhile?” His gaze went to Shay. “I’ll keep quiet.”
“Or not,” she murmured, sending him a significant look.
Ignoring it, he pulled out a chair on the same side of the table as his daughter. While she continued to work, he drew a science textbook toward him and began turning pages.
At the scratch of pencil on paper, he looked over. London was intent on the numbers she’d transferred there. The computer monitor had changed to screensaver mode. Photographs popped onto the screen like rabbits from a hat before being sucked down again and another moved into view. Jace stared at image after image of his ex-wife.
After a couple of minutes, he became aware of London. Her head was up and she was as focused on him as he’d been on the screen. He floundered for something to say.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Those are good. Very good likenesses of your mother. Did you take them?”
The girl nodded.
“She was a beautiful woman,” he said. Though she looked more mature in the photographs than he remembered, of course, there was still that knockout figure, the beautiful flow of light brown hair hanging down her back and her vivacious smile.
“Is that why you married her?” London asked. “Because she was beautiful?”
His grin felt rueful. “It certainly didn’t hurt. I was twenty-one.”
“She was older, right?” the teen said. “Like, a cougar.”
“No.” He laughed and he glanced across the table to gauge Shay’s reaction. She didn’t appear to be listening, her focus still on the essay, the red pen moving along. “Your mother was only five years older than me. I met her when I was doing some moonlighting at her house—where she lived with her father.”
London tilted her head. “‘Moonlighting’?”
“A second job.” He closed the science textbook and shifted his chair to more fully face the teen. “I had a day position, but I also made extra money by doing some building on the side...weekends and evenings.” Hal Olson, the construction firm owner he worked for Monday through Friday, had promised if Jace could get some cash together he’d let him buy into a slice of one of the company’s new projects. Canny as all get-out, but already feeling the ill effects of the disease that would finally take his life, the old man had tapped into Jace’s ambition and unflagging drive.
For a long time he’d thought those same qualities had doomed his marriage. Later, he’d understood that Elsa’s agenda had been part of the problem, too.
But when he was twenty-one... “I remember the first time I saw her. I was up on the roof of the garage, and she sped into the circular drive in her white convertible, her hair waving in the wind like a flag. She looked up at me, gave a jaunty wave and...”
“And?” London’s prompt was oh-so-casual.
“And we ended up getting married.” Though in his mind there’d been no hurry to get rings. He would have been content to date Elsa—yes, and bed her. Six months later, however, she’d come to him with the news of her pregnancy and the suggestion of a quick trip to Las Vegas. Jace had considered marrying the mother of his child the right thing to do, despite her father’s fury.
“But then my mom went to London.”
“Then your mom went to London. There were some issues with her family she wanted to get away from. And I...I had financial responsibilities in LA that meant I couldn’t leave with her.” By then, Hal Olson was clearly losing his fight with cancer and wanted Jace to take over the company, giving him a big piece of it so that he would keep Olson Construction in business. That way, Hal had ensured a future income for his young grandchildren.
“But I did come visit you,” Jace said. “Do you remember that?”
London was looking down now, her pencil in hand as she drew idly on her paper. What did girls doodle? He was a swords-and-stacks-of-boxes kind of guy. These looked like tiny circles or maybe a bed of flowers.
“I think I’ve seen some photos of us together,” she said, frowning a little. “Or maybe they’re memories. I’m not sure.”
“Every couple of months I came to see you, until you were about five.” Things had gotten sticky with Elsa after that. She’d filed for divorce and then he’d taken the company international, which meant long periods of time in India, Vietnam, China. He cleared his throat again, wondering how much to say. “I should have kept up my visits. Your mom...”
“You don’t have to say it.” London glanced over, her voice lowering. “I knew my mom pretty well.”
Shit. A kid shouldn’t have to sound like that, like she’d been the adult in the relationship. He wanted to punch his own face again. At the time, he’d done what he’d thought was best, sending money, sending—
“Really, it’s all right,” the teen said. “She could be lots of fun. Exciting to be around, you know? In a drama-rama kind of way.”
Yeah, he knew. But he also knew that at this moment the kid sounded like she was a fifty instead of fifteen.
London had scribbled a field of flowers now. “And you know what? She was really good at picking books.”
Everything inside Jace froze. If he moved, he thought he might crack in two. “Oh?” he managed.
“Mmm-hmm. Every month or so she’d give me two or three—some just out, others that were old but I’d never read before.”
There was pain in his chest and pain at the base of his skull. They both throbbed in time to the dirge of his heartbeat. “That’s...that’s great. A nice memory. A very nice memory.”
The computer screen had gone black now and Jace was grateful his ex’s image was gone. He put his hand to the back of his neck and tried to massage away the discomfort.
“Jace?”
Masking a wince, he shifted toward Shay, who was staring at him from the other side of the table.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
No. He’d never be all right. But his relationships with those who should be closest to him had been a disaster for years.
This conversation was only more proof that he was better on his own. The lone wolf, howling at the moon, but at least hurting as few people as possible.
“Jace?”
Shay sounded more concerned. He couldn’t look at her pretty face as it would only make the ache sharper. “It’s the altitude again,” he mumbled. “I’ll get some water and be right back.”
No lie. He went for water. And then for fresh air. He took a few minutes to stretch out on a lounge chair in the shade on the deck, letting the gentle breeze flow over him.
He awoke sometime later, disoriented. The angle of the sun said he’d slept for hours. Damn jet lag. Someone had draped a soft throw over him. He fingered it. The loosely woven wool was the same color as Shay’s eyes.
Tossing it over his arm, he got to his feet then made his way into the house. A note was left in the kitchen, he guessed in Shay’s handwriting: “Sandwich for you in the fridge.”
Another was propped on the table in the study area. “We’re out walking.” Bemused, he stared at the spray of daisies penciled in one corner. Shay’s hand again, his daughter’s drawing. Without his permission, his fingers reached out to snatch the small piece of paper.
“We’re out walking,” he read again.
Which meant he couldn’t yet tell the teen about the change of plans. Something tight inside him loosened. He breathed in deeply, breathed out. As he shoved the note in his back pocket, h
e wondered why, if it were such a good idea to make a quick, clean break with his daughter, he felt such immense relief at the postponement of imparting the news.
CHAPTER SIX
LONDON HURRIED AWAY from the house, trying to leave behind her father and all thoughts of him, as fast as her feet could carry her.
He wasn’t a bad guy, she supposed. Not pushy, and not too parental. Maybe Shay had already shared with him how London was doing with her schoolwork, but she was still glad he hadn’t hovered over her shoulder that morning, eager to insert commas or double-check her computations.
They’d conversed about her mother, and that hadn’t been so terrible, either. It was kind of interesting to picture Jace up on a roof, her mother catching his attention as she drove by. Her mother had been like that— eye-catching. London had seen other men falling all over themselves in order to get her mom’s notice...and then try to keep it.
But Elsa had been like a hummingbird. Flying high, dipping low, never stopping in one place for long...or with one man.
So London didn’t blame her father for the divorce.
And maybe it was London’s own fault that being around him made her feel...juvenile. She’d had to clamp down on the urge to turn his way and grill him on what he recalled of her baby self. To ask him if he’d ever twirled her around, her legs swinging out behind her. To wonder aloud if once upon a time she’d sat in his lap, her head against his chest, while his heartbeat was in one ear and his storytelling voice in the other. Was it a real memory or some silly ancient wish?
But it was dumb to dwell on that. She wasn’t some little girl with a need for her daddy!
Mortified by the mere idea of it, London gave an extrahard shove to the door of the abandoned boathouse. The slivered wood swung open with a creak and crashed against the wall, setting a wrinkled piece of paper scurrying along the carpeting. She kicked at the sheet, sending it on another scuttle, then she plopped onto one of the tattered cushions.
With her toe, she caught the door then pushed it closed. Sunlight was strained through the chinks and cracks in the old walls, making the unlit interior murky. Though the day was warm, it wasn’t too hot inside the boathouse, those same chinks and cracks allowing the lake breeze to worm its way in and cool the temperature. London drew up her knees and yanked the oversize black sweatshirt she wore over them. She propped her stacked hands on her knees and her chin on her knuckles.
A dark ball of teenager who didn’t need anyone.
She wriggled her butt into the thin pad and stared ahead at nothing. Her bum was turning numb and despite herself she began mentally reviewing her Spanish vocabulary when the door swung open.
London’s skin went hot beneath her clothes as she lifted her gaze to the backlit figure filling the entry. The sun dazzled her eyes, but she knew who had come to the hideout, interrupting her solitary interlude.
“England,” Colton Halliday said in greeting.
She straightened, pushing her shoulders to the wall and shoving her legs out in front of her. Her fingers tugged at the stretched-out hem of her sweatshirt. “Um, hi. Fancy, uh, seeing you again so soon.” Not for a driver’s license and a car to go with it would she admit she’d come this way—ditching Shay in the process by insisting on a solo walk—with the vague hope that she might meet him here again.
And it was vague. While she’d only been to the place once at night—last night—she’d visited other times during the day and hadn’t encountered a soul. Her breath caught as a brilliant thought flashed through her mind. Had he come in hopes of running into her?
Colton stepped inside, his leather flip-flops snapping against the bottoms of his feet. He wore with them a T-shirt, shorts and a faint shampoo smell. Leaving the door open so the light streamed inside, he looked about him. “Have you seen a wallet? I think I might have dropped mine in here yesterday.”
Hopes dashed, London shook her head. No, he hadn’t anticipated seeing her again. Lying about being seventeen hadn’t made her a jot more interesting. Or maybe he’d caught on to her freak-ness. How could he not? Hadn’t she spilled about her mother’s death and then about being homeschooled?
She couldn’t imagine what he’d think if he knew she’d been separated from her father for ten years. Well, yes, she could very well imagine. Colton would think...
Freak.
“That’s some fierce expression you’re wearing.” He crouched beside her, then made a small cry of triumph. “There it is.” One long tanned arm stretched out to snatch a wallet from beneath a ragged piece of beach towel. “Whew.”
He stood to shove it in his front pocket, then dropped onto the floor beside her. “I would’ve hated to lose that.”
Lost in her low mood, London didn’t answer.
“Hey,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his. “Is it something I said?” He lifted his elbow and pretended to sniff his armpit. “Do I stink or something?”
“No!” A smile tried tugging at the corners of her mouth. This close he smelled even more strongly of shampoo. His hair, she realized, was still damp from a recent wash. “Isn’t it a little early for you to be out of school?”
“Minimum day. Played some pickup roundball once we got out, then when I was showering after, I remembered where I might have left my wallet.”
London thought of him naked, water running over his skin, and felt herself go hot again. To disguise her blush, she tried pulling more of her hair over her face.
“You’re pretty, you know,” he said, all casual and cool, as if doling out compliments was something that came naturally to him.
“No, I’m not.” How else was she supposed to answer?
He nudged her with his shoulder again. “Sure, you are. Though I’m not certain black is your best color.”
Mortification sluiced through her and she hunched in on herself. “So you’re a fashion consultant?”
He grinned. “Nope. Have a younger sister. Go to school with a bunch of other girls.”
London sniffed. “Black is classic.”
“Whatever.” He shrugged. “But it’s almost summer. Pretty soon it’ll get too hot for jeans and hoodies.”
It was too hot for jeans and hoodies now. Upon arriving at Blue Arrow Lake she’d realized that she didn’t dress like the other girls—and that her dark makeup and dyed hair didn’t make her fit in, either. But London hadn’t a clue how to shop...and hadn’t anyone to ask to go to stores with her.
Though she wanted so badly to be like any other American teen, she had no idea how to remake herself. A girl at her last school had dared her into the black hair and black eyeliner and mascara and she’d kept up with the style because...because...
Because it was something to hide behind.
The bright colors and limb-baring clothes the Southern California mountain girls wore wouldn’t allow that. Short shorts with suede boots. Sun dresses with surfer-girl sandals.
If she wore things like that, would Colton like what they revealed?
“England,” he said, his voice serious, “things can’t go on like this.”
She glanced over at him. “Like what?”
“I usually amaze girls, you know. I don’t make them frown. I hardly ever get the silent treatment.”
Now she detected humor and it eased her discomfort a little. “Is that so? You amaze them?”
He nodded. “Absolutely. And with little effort. But you seem to be an especially hard nut to crack. Which means I’m going to have to bring out the big gun.”
When he reached for his front pocket, she felt her eyes go buggy. “Wh-what?”
Peering more closely at her face, he started to laugh. “Geez, England. Not that. I’m going to show you magic.”
That didn’t sound much better, but she stayed silent as he yanked out his wallet and withdrew a dollar bill. Then h
e made a big show of tapping it, straightening it, letting go of one end and then the other to flick it with his fingers.
“A single, right? Nothing more than a simple dollar bill?”
“Um, yes.” She shifted her glance from his hands to his face. “You’re really going to do a magic trick?”
“My one and only. Pay attention.”
Dutiful now, London focused on the bill. He made a show of folding it this way and that, until it was a square. Then, with his other hand cupped beneath, he pinched it between two fingers. A quarter plopped into his cupped palm.
London blinked. “Hey...” She frowned. “Do it again.”
“Say please.”
“Please.”
He slid his hands behind his back and then brought them forward again, the coin gone, the dollar straightened once more. For a second time, he squeezed a quarter from the folded bill.
“Let me see that,” she said, reaching for the cash.
“Nuh-uh-uh,” he said, holding it over his head. “Magicians never give away their secrets.”
Too dignified to pout, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Then show me again.”
At the third performance of the trick, she finally shook her head. “I give up. You are amazing.”
His expression turned smug. “I knew I could make you smile.”
And she was, she realized. Smiling. At some silly parlor game that would entertain a child. London yanked at her hair again, wishing she could disappear behind it forever. “I probably seem like some weird little kid to you. Who wears the wrong clothes and smiles at the wrong things.”
“Hey—”
“You said I was a nut. A freak.”
“Hey.” He grabbed her hand, squeezed. “Hard nut to crack. It’s an expression.”
“I know that,” she mumbled, her attention focused on her fingers. No, on his. Those long, bony, boy fingers.
This was a first. No boy had ever touched her. No boy had ever held her hand.
“You’re not a freak,” Colton said.
Make Me Lose Control Page 8