Chapter Fifteen Lacey
Chapter Fifteen
Lacey
I’m putting meatloaf in the oven when my cell phone rings. Only one person ever calls me, so I don’t bother looking at the screen before I answer.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hey, peanut.”
“Are you on your way home?” I ask as I close the oven. “Dinner will be ready in forty-five minutes.”
The slight hesitation before he answers tells me he’s not going to make it before he does.
“I’m sorry. I’m going to be at the office another hour or two.” He just got a new project, and the client is local, which means he’s been working there instead of from home.
“Okay.” I tamp down my disappointment. This is the third night in a row he’s worked late, and I was hoping we could have dinner together tonight.
“Save me a plate for later?”
“Of course.”
In the background it sounds like he’s rustling papers around on his desk. “Call if you need anything.”
“I will.” Even though I never need anything. I’ve been independent, not really needing his help but still wanting it, for a long time.
After we hang up, I set a timer for the food and then trudge into the living room to do my homework and study for the SATs. I struggle to get either done. I’m too bummed out.
For so long I’ve been saying that my dad’s long hours are no big deal, but ever since Vaughn asked me if it bothers me that my dad works so much, I can’t stop thinking about it.
And I guess the truth is, it does bother me.
I don’t want it to. It feels selfish to complain about it when I know I’m lucky in so many ways, but if I’m being honest, then there it is.
In the quiet moments when there are no activities, no schoolwork, no friends around, I miss my dad. It isn’t the same way I miss my mom, but it’s still a void in my life.
I text Claire to chat, but she’s with Austin and I already know Andie is at the hockey game tonight, so I try to focus on schoolwork again.
My phone vibrates on the couch next to me and with it a jolt of hope and excitement spreads through me that one of my friends is free to talk. I need a distraction. Studying isn’t cutting it tonight.
Vaughn: Hey, sorry to bother you. I have a question on complex numbers.
Me: Are you at home?
Vaughn: Yeah. Why?
Me: I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I need to draw pictures to explain.
* * *
I ring the doorbell at Vaughn’s house, holding the casserole dish in two hands in front of me.
My smile falters when the door swings open and an older man with tan skin and a beard streaked with gray fills the space. Literally fills it. He’s huge.
“Hello,” he says, voice as big as the man.
I glance behind me, like maybe I have the wrong house, but Vaughn’s Range Rover is in the driveway.
“I’m looking for Vaughn,” I say hesitantly.
“Come in.” He steps back and angles his body. “I’m Rick, a friend of his dad.”
Before he can call for him, Vaughn appears.
He’s in black joggers and pulling a Frost Lake High School soccer T-shirt over his head.
But not before I get an eyeful of his bare chest and stomach.
He’s muscular and cut in a way that high school guys are shown on TV but never are in real life.
My throat feels thick as I try to swallow.
“Lacey,” Vaughn says my name, gaze dropping to the casserole dish and then back up to me. It hits me now standing in front of these two tall, intimidating men that I might have interrupted something.
I shift awkwardly from foot to foot. I’d like to thrust the meatloaf at him and hightail it out of here, but Rick closes the door behind me. Too late to make a run for it, I guess.
“I brought food in case you’re hungry.”
“Smells delicious,” Rick says. He takes the dish from me and heads toward the kitchen, leaving me with Vaughn.
“You didn’t have to come over in person. I know you’re busy.”
“The night before your big test, are you kidding? Besides, it’s my last shot to torture you with numbers and equations.”
His lips curve up into a smile.
I follow him through the house. Rick has cut himself a big slice of meatloaf and is groaning as he chews.
“Did you make this?” he asks me.
“Yeah.” I nod, feeling my face flush hot.
“She’s a keeper.” He winks at Vaughn and my cheeks somehow flame even hotter.
Vaughn rolls his eyes.
“A pretty girl who can cook…” He takes another bite and groans louder. “If I were twenty years younger, I’d fight my godson here for you.”
“We’re not dating,” Vaughn tells him. “And you’re married. I’m going to tell Dan you’re hitting on my friends.”
Rick laughs good-naturedly. “My husband is a smart man; he’d understand.”
I find myself smiling back at him. There’s something about his deep timbre and sparkling gray eyes that make him less intimidating the longer you’re in his presence.
“Come on. We can study in my room,” Vaughn says.
In the hallway we pass by tall, standing lights and sound equipment and a rack of men’s clothes.
“My dad is doing some interviews for a documentary,” he explains.
“That’s cool.”
Vaughn shrugs.
“Or not,” I say with a laugh as he steps into a room at the end of the hall.
“They’ve completely taken over the house. The TV in the living room is gone and all the furniture is different. This morning, I had to wait to shower because they were afraid the microphones would pick up the sounds.”
“What is the documentary about?”
“His soccer career mostly. Probably stuff about my mom and their life when he was playing too. The media loved them together.”
“Is that weird?”
“Probably, but it’s been weird my whole life. Now it’s just normal.”
I glance around his room as I shrug out of my backpack and drop it to the floor.
It’s neat and organized. Navy walls make the space feel moody and dark.
There’s a bookcase on one wall, filled with more trophies than books.
A soccer ball rests on top of a dark-wood dresser.
I pick it up and run my palms over it as I face him.
Vaughn sits on his bed. His notebook and laptop are spread out in front of him.
“I like your room.”
He looks up as if just seeing it, but his gaze quickly settles on the ball I’m holding.
“That’s the first soccer ball my dad ever bought me.”
“Really?” I glance down at the worn, grass-stained ball.
He nods.
“I played soccer once.”
“Really?” One brow lifts with the inflection in his voice.
“One season when I was a kid.”
“I’d have liked to see that.”
I spin the ball around in my hands and then place it back on top of the dresser. The way he watches me makes butterflies fill my stomach.
“So,” I say suddenly feeling shy again. “Imaginary numbers. I’ll give you a hint; they aren’t imaginary.”
“Right.” His stare drops to his laptop.
I move to sit on the bed next to him. He explains the issue and I talk him through it.
It’s clear quickly that it really wasn’t necessary for me to come all the way here to help him.
Vaughn has learned a lot in a short time.
There are still areas where he needs more practice to feel confident, but he’s more than capable of passing the test and keeping his grade up if he continues to put in the time.
“Do you feel ready?” I ask him after we’ve gone over every section that will be on the makeup test tomorrow.
He blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I think so.”
“You’re ready,” I say definitively. “You can do this.”
I place my hand over his on the bed without thinking. Warmth spreads up my arm as awareness for what I’ve done hits me. I start to move my hand off his, but then his pinky finger hooks over my thumb as if to keep it there.
“Thank you.”
I nod, heart hammering, as every nerve in my fingertips pulses. “You’re welcome.”