Chapter 20 Lois #2
“You got a tattoo?” Kesley stares at Lane.
“Nope.”
“Not cool.”
“But he saw Anti-Flag,” Jeff yells over from the couch. “Live!”
“Very cool!”
I tap Lane’s forearm reassuringly.
“How many are there?” he whispers, pressing the empty glass to his lips.
“Just one more to go.”
Diego steps into the room, console in hand.
“Lane, meet our resident geek. Geekazoid, meet Lane.”
My brother holds out a hand. “You can call me Diego.”
The boys throw themselves onto the couches, and I already know what Lane is thinking—Jeff isn’t the only one who was adopted. All five of us look completely different. I’m the only biological child, not that it’s ever mattered to any of us.
My mom peers at her watch. “Oh Lord, it’s past four! Honey, go show your friend to his room, and then come help me in the kitchen while the boys clean the barbecue.”
I jerk my head at Lane to follow.
Halfway up the stairs, he grabs my wrist. “Are you adopted, too?”
“No. I was two when we adopted Jeff. Four when we adopted Jarrow, and five for Diego and Kes.”
“So you’re the eldest?”
“Yeah. Jeff was a baby when he came to us, Jarrow, Diego, and Kes were about one. I thought I told you?”
“I’m starting to realize I don’t know much about you at all.” Lane is looking at me like we just met.
I turn back to the stairs and lead him across the landing, pointing out the rooms as we go.
“This is my room—that’s my bathroom. I recommend you use that one and not my brothers’.”
“Got it.”
We arrive at the last room along the hallway. “And here’s your very own little room. It was my grandpa’s. He died last year,” I add.
I step aside to let Lane by, watching him take in his home away from home. His face is priceless, and I’m pretty confident that I’ve aced my attempt at revenge.
“It’s…” He hesitates before lifting up a thick comforter.
“A hospital bed,” I finish for him. “That’s right. My mom wants to get rid of it, but my dad likes it too much.”
Lane looks appalled, and I snicker.
“She cleaned it all up, I promise. We got all the wet patches out. And look! There’s even a chamber pot here in the closet, in case you can’t be bothered to use the bathroom.”
“When did you say my flight back was?”
“The thirtieth. Same flight as me!”
“Great…”
“Oh, come on! You’ve won an all-expenses-paid trip to sunny Florida!”
“In a hospital bed that has definitely seen better days,” he says, scratching his face.
I lean against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. “Could you at least try to look happy? It’s Christmas, after all!”
He rolls his neck and stretches, glancing up at the ceiling before perching on the edge of the mattress. He pats the space next to him, and so I sit on his right, fingering the rip in my jeans, waiting for him to speak.
“Give me a sec to take all this in, okay? It’s kind of weird being here, with such an awesome family and everything.”
“You said you don’t know anything about me—but you don’t tell me much about yourself, either,” I say carefully.
And it’s true. When he’s not being moody, Lane can be supersweet. But he does keep mainly to himself. He’s almost secretive that way. I’m not the kind of girl who needs to know everything about everyone, but sometimes I’d like Lane to open up a little.
“My parents are nothing like yours. They’re cold. Repressed.”
I can’t take my eyes off his face. There’s a hard, stony set to his jaw.
It’s taking a lot for him to tell me about them, I can see that, and I know I won’t get anything more out of him today.
It kind of hurts that he doesn’t feel he can trust me enough to let me in.
And then I remember what my mom once told me: “Trust isn’t something you earn, it has no checks or balances. ”
“Mine can be real pains in the ass, you know.” I nudge him with my shoulder.
“Last year, my dad insisted on coming with me for the campus tour, and he threatened everyone we ran into, telling them he was ex-police and would make life hell for anyone who messed with his baby. It’s his favorite lie, by the way—works every time. ”
“Wait a minute: So your dad isn’t really a retired cop?”
“Oh jeez. So he used it on you, too? I told him to keep it in check.”
We burst out laughing, the mattress creaking under our weight.
Lane leans forward, plucking up a small box. “What’s this?”
“Grandpa’s emergency alarm. He would push that big red button and it would start beeping on the other side of the wall.”
He raises his eyebrows. “The alarm would go off in your room?”
“Yeah, because I was closest, and my grandpa liked to drive me crazy.” A thought suddenly occurs to me. “Give me that—I know what you’re like.”
I try to grab the alarm off him, but Lane is so much faster and bigger than me.
“This thing is a game changer.” He laughs, tucking the box into his pocket.
I roll my eyes. “Okay, I’ll let you get settled in, I’m gonna go help my mom. Head out to the yard with the guys when you’re done.”
He glances out the window. “A Christmas barbecue, huh?”
“What can I say? We’re anti-conformists.”
“Seems that way.”
I race downstairs and into the kitchen, where Mom is taking a break from her pots and pans.
“You didn’t mention how good-looking Lane is,” she starts, a telltale glint in her eye.
“Okay, cougar lady—relax!”
“Is he single? Please tell me you’re dating!”
“Mom, no!” I stare at her. “He’s just a friend. It’s not like that.”
“When we were in the living room, he couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
“Because he was terrified of meeting the family and needed a little hand-holding,” I shoot back.
“You guys have chemistry—”
“Are you reading those weird books again?” I look at her. “He is single, by the way. But I’m not. I mean, I am, but you know…”
“You know, I think you’re better off without Kirk, Lois. You’re more yourself.”
“What?”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This is the first time she’s ever shared her thoughts on my relationship. She flicks on the oven and mutters something to herself, knotting an apron around her waist, opening a drawer, and turning back to me.
She points a wooden spoon at me. “I want that boy to give me grandchildren.”
Say what?
“He reminds me of your father at his age.”
I pull a face. “Is that supposed to sell me on it?” I glance over at the stove. “Come on—tell me what I can help with.”
Her eyes are shining as she slings an arm over my shoulders and whispers in my ear.
“Well, I’ve got a cute little dress that would be perfect for—”
“I mean, tell me what I can do to help with the food!” I wriggle free. “Mom, please don’t say another word.”
She lets it go, and we cook side by side, listening to yelps and laughter drifting in through the kitchen window, Lane’s husky voice riding the breeze. I smile to myself. I don’t regret making him come—not one bit. I’ve got a feeling this week is going to bring us even closer together.