6. Nick
6
NICK
A couple of days later, Diego came through for me and hollered out that I’d be late.
“Nick!” He shouted it from the other side of the studio, working on a sketch. “Six thirty, amigo!”
Fuck. I sighed as I set my paint brush down. “Thanks!” I yelled back, not sure he’d hear me over the old alternative rock blaring from the speakers. It was a godsend that Diego had an in with the art department. They never gave us a hard time in here, and it was strictly my studio space to share with him.
Sometimes, it paid off to know the right people. It was the same reason I hurried through cleaning up to speed home for another dinner. George Lorsen would never be a replacement to my dad. He didn’t try to be a father figure, either, seeming to respect that he and I would never be close. But he was the man who was giving me and my mother a place to live. I wasn’t aware of all the details about Mr. Lorsen being an old friend of my dad’s, but I wasn’t so stupid as to treat him like he didn’t matter.
Don’t bite the hand that feeds.
I rushed home, not bothering with a helmet again because I forgot it this morning. Normally, it didn’t matter. But this time, my mother spotted me parking and setting my bike on its stand.
“Nick. Where is your helmet?” she asked from the front steps to the mansion. She was out there with George as they appeared to be leaving.
“Um. Sorry. I forgot it.” I shrugged as I approached them.
“That’s not good enough, Nick,” she said softly as I leaned in to kiss her cheek. “You’re all I’ve got left now.” Then as if remembering it wasn’t just me and her out here, she smiled—almost—at George as he stood behind her and straightened out his jacket. “Well, not all I’ve got,” she amended.
He smiled at her, not taking offense. Sometimes, I had to wonder if he and Mom were more like roommates, like Tiffany and I were. Their affection was… mild. I didn’t want to see my mom with another guy because it felt like dishonoring Dad, but I understood that she was at least trying to move on.
“What’s going on?” I furrowed my brow as a car was brought closer. “Is dinner pushed for later?”
“We’re going to a fundraising gala tonight,” George said, holding his hand out for Mom to take.
She did, but then she removed her hand from his grip to check her hair. “I might not have mentioned it,” she told me. “There is plenty of leftover BBQ from lunch for you, though.”
“Tiffany ordered takeout for herself and Rachel,” George added.
I nodded. Then I smiled at my mother. “You look nice.” It wasn’t often that she got dressed up like this, the whole nine yards.
“Thanks, Nick.” Again, her smile seemed forced. Weak. Like she wasn’t really here or invested in the present.
Dammit.
As much as I wanted to say something else, I stared back at her and wished that things could be different. That I could help pull her out of this depression.
It didn’t help that my father had told me how I was a coward not to help her when she was this down and stuck in her head. For years, he proved how he was her support system in terms of her mental health. When I was a kid and I saw her decline into depression, it scared me. I’d stay away from her and draw or color so I wouldn’t be intimidated by how vacant she seemed. Back then, I didn’t know better. I was only old enough to realize she was distant. Now that my dad was gone, it was up to me to watch out for her however I could. George was clueless, pretending she was a complacent trophy wife without a care in the world.
“See you later,” he said, jarring me from the indecision over what to say to her. The time was never right. Or she secluded herself too much.
Am I making excuses? Am I a coward? Dealing with a family member’s mental health wasn’t easy.
It shouldn’t be this hard to ask her if she needs help.
“Yeah.” I lifted my hand in a wave, seeing them off before I headed inside to find something to eat. I’d make time to talk to her later.
Tiffany and Rachel had already eaten, by the looks of the dishes they’d left out on the counter for the housekeeper to gather and clean. As I stood at the island and prepared a plate of leftovers for myself, I eyed them out on the patio, lounging near the pool.
Well, that’s out.
Rachel had a boyfriend, but I was sick of her hitting on me. I didn’t want to go near them, anyway, not with how likely Tiffany would be to whine about something or another.
Before I could finish washing my plates, before I could escape to my room and shower or avoid them, they entered the house.
“You would think that she’d fail it,” Tiffany complained as she and Rachel came into the kitchen for more water.
“Hi, Nick,” Rachel purred.
I nodded once as a hello.
“Fucking Angus makes us handwrite it all,” Tiffany said, shaking her head. “I mean, who does that? Who actually expects students to turn in work done by hand?”
I huffed. “I have to.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t count.”
I knew what she really meant. That art didn’t count. That anything outside of law school was inferior and frivolous. I didn’t want to make art my career, but I still hated how others could treat it like it was meaningless.
“I think it counts.” Rachel licked her lower lip, trying to overdose her sultriness. “Is it true that the dean’s daughter asked you to paint her?”
I smirked at her. “No.” But then because I loved riling them up, I added, “She begged me to.” The dean’s daughter was the last so-called exposé in a series of my artwork being shared online.
“Hello?” Tiffany snapped her fingers in front of Rachel. “We’re talking about my problem here.”
“I don’t think Sabrina turning that paper in is your problem,” Rachel said as she sat at the island, watching my arms as I washed my dishes.
“Sabrina?” I furrowed my brow. Now that I had a face to put to that name, I couldn’t help but be intrigued. I’d only seen Sabrina twice, but both times had me curious about her. Between the impatient, soaking-wet law student and the dressed-down, casual late-night researcher, I couldn’t tell what to make of her. I’d followed her that night, from a distance, just to see her go to the library and focus. “What paper?” I hated asking, but I blurted it out before I could catch myself.
“Some assignment we had to turn in. Her first copy got wet after we got her pushed into the fountain on the square,” Tiffany explained, “and it’s bullshit that she’d be able to redo it on time.”
I raised my brows. I knew Tiffany was a bitch, but I never realized how far she’d go to sabotage someone else to get ahead.
“But she did,” Rachel finished for her. “And the prof praised her hard work.”
“Angus is always talking about fucking Sabrina,” Tiffany whined. “It’s like she shits gold.”
“This is the one you are worried about getting that intern spot?” I asked. Again, I wanted to kick myself for asking. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about Tiffany, but I couldn’t help this intrigue about Sabrina.
“Yes,” Tiffany snapped, as if it should be obvious. “The profs are always praising her for being such a ‘hard worker’.”
“Then you’ll just have to thwart her in more creative ways,” Rachel said devilishly. “If you’re this desperate for that intern spot, think outside the box.”
I snorted then shook my head, done with my dishes and leaving them out to dry. Some habits were impossible to break. I’d never get completely used to a housekeeper doing this for me. “George will obviously give you this intern thing,” I told her.
“I’m not so sure,” Tiffany said, frowning as I walked away, dismissing their conversation.
Even though my sense of limbo about my life left me untethered and without direction, stuck between majors and no feeling of ever being home , I didn’t want Tiffany’s so-called ambition. She was obsessed with being the star student of her class and earning George’s approval. Being that infatuated with getting that intern spot was bizarre, not admirable.
After I showered and fiddled with some sketches for paintings in my room, I checked out the window that Tiffany and Rachel were gone. Night had fallen hours ago. George and my mom would be out late, as they usually were for those fundraising things.
Finally. My turn to have the pool to myself.
Glistening under the moonlight, the surface of the pool remained flat and unbroken, like a mirror inviting me to sink in deep. To escape. This restlessness would keep me up all night, and going for a late-night swim seemed like a decent way to while away the hours until Pierce might want to meet at the Cricket again.
I changed and headed down to the patio, glad that I had the whole place to myself.
The second I jumped in and let the water surround me, I felt calmer. Hidden. Buoyant. And not stuck in this rut that I couldn’t escape on land.
Like I always did, I shifted into a fast breaststroke. Laps of that led into the need to switch it up with a backstroke. Back and forth, I cut my arms and legs through the warm water, venting some of my frustration at the world through the exercise.
It was the closest I could get to peace.
But that illusion was shattered the second I surfaced and spotted Tiffany standing at the end.
Dammit.
With just a glance at her, I knew she expected something of me. That stance with her arms crossed, one hip jutted out, and the frowning expression of impatience.
But I didn’t know what she’d want from me. We coexisted with a rule of distance.
“What?” I asked once I surfaced, then shook my head to fling the water from my hair and face.
She cringed, stepping back once. “Ew.”
“It’s fucking water. What do you want?” I wanted her to leave me alone so I could go back to the laps and ride the endorphins from using my muscles this hard.
“I have a proposition for you.” She stepped back to the edge.
I rolled my eyes. “No.” Turning, I gave her my back.
“You want to hear me out.”
I hesitated, swimming again. “I doubt it.”
“I want you to make Sabrina Rosario look bad.”
I furrowed my brow, staring at the surface of the water.
That thought had already crossed my mind. When Diego and I were walking back toward the art building after getting the models a few drinks, I spotted Sabrina looking so… normal. Not high-strung but casual. Tired and messy, even. And when I gave her a closer study, checking out all those curves and her big tits hiding behind that band T-shirt, I resisted the fleeting urge to mess her up a little more. Like she was too good, and it made my life more off-balance.
“You’re the bad boy,” Tiffany said. “You can make her look like a dirty, stupid slut. Woo her. Fuck her. Humiliate her. Bully her and tease her. Make her miss class and fall behind.”
Without facing her, I realized she’d stooped to crouch on her haunches. Her voice was lower, closer. “Ruin her, Nick.”
It wasn’t like it’d be hard. When I first started college, I had enjoyed earning the reputation of being the partier, the womanizer, the fun-loving rebel. I hadn’t gotten any for a year now, but before things went downhill with my dad, I was that guy she described, the bad boy no girl would want to bring home to meet the parents.
Spinning to face Tiffany, I kept my eyes narrowed. “What’s in it for me?” I wasn’t considering it, but I was curious why she might think I would.
“You ruin Sabrina Rosario for me, and I won’t tell my dad that Leslie is cheating on him.” She didn’t flinch. Her flawless skin remained stiff and serious with a cool smirk.
Blood drained from my face. I felt the redirection of it as my heart thundered faster. In a pool of water, I experienced this kick of adrenaline in a strange fight-or-flight reaction. My limbs felt heavy as they floated. My skin prickled with more than the sting of over-chlorinated water.
“What?”
Tiffany nodded, rising to stand straight again. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s noticed how funny she’s been acting lately?”
Fuck. I swiped my hand over my face.
“She’s cheating on him.” She lifted her chin, looking down her nose at me. “I saw her on the surveillance cameras, bringing a couple of guys in.”
“No.” I started to shake my head.
“Yes.” Now, she smiled. It was a sinister stretch of triumph crossing over her face. “Yes, she is, Nick. Daddy doesn’t know. Not yet.”
“She’s not?—”
“She is, Nick. And if Daddy hears about this…” She shrugged, lifting her hand to study her cuticles with a feigned indifference. “Well, I doubt he’ll be so forgiving.”
Fuck! George Lorsen wouldn’t forgive my mom for cheating on him. He was a stickler for loyalty, which was ironic considering he was a lawyer and often represented liars and cheats.
I didn’t want to believe Tiffany. She was a manipulative, horrible person to the core. But with this, it wasn’t so hard for me to be convinced she was on to something here. My mom had been acting weird lately. Secretive. Suspicious. There was a damned real possibility that it was because she was hiding an infidelity, not depression.
If George found out, we’d have nothing. No home. No money. Nothing. No insurance or means to help Mom get back on antidepressants that might work.
Panic enveloped me that my stepsister could be right.
“Don’t believe me?” She sighed and got her phone out, showing me a short bit of footage of my mom kissing one of George’s assistants in his office. It was grainy, but I recognized her easily.
“Fuck.”
She hummed. “You’d be fucked,” she agreed.
I couldn’t believe my mom would do this. That she’d threaten the stability we had here!
After all we’ve suffered.
After all we’ve lost.
This is how she wanted to move on with her life?
Glaring up at Tiffany, I nodded once and ignored how it felt like I was selling my soul to the devil. “Fine.”
She grinned.
“I’ll do it.”