Chapter Twenty-Two
ENZO
Color me surprised when I leave at ten-something, intent on finding Lyndall and dragging her out of wherever she is, to get a text as I head down to the underground parking and my car.
Lyndall is already home.
Has been for half an hour, she says.
I'm not going to say I burn rubber to get out of Manhattan, across the bridge, and to the Slope, but I move as quickly as I can, which is pretty fucking quick, considering most people are home.
While there are people heading to Brooklyn for a night out, they are heading to Williamsburg or Bushwick by Uber or cab, and the majority are heading into Manhattan.
My head is full of all the things she might be up to in my home, alone. Or worse, not so alone.
There is a message from Cade on my phone, wanting to talk about the project I need to jump into.
Since I'm almost home, I decide to call him from the basement. Tomorrow, he will be here, but while it doesn't sound important, he has a reason for calling.
There is also a message from Dad, and there is nothing like real life intruding to kill any boners I might half have. Half, because I spent my time actively trying not to get turned on by Lola.
She is inquisitive, smart, and has that right amount of natural spunk I like.
Lola leashes it in, but it is there and—
Nope. Not fucking going there.
But I'm pleased she didn't invent a fake boyfriend to keep me at arm's length. Not that I did anything with her, I didn't even flirt, really.
Of course, that didn't matter. The fact she clearly finds herself attracted to me matters, and she could have put iron barriers down with a fake boyfriend.
Fuck, she could have used Alex.
After all, she has no idea I'm him.
"What fucking tangled webs," I mutter.
It shouldn't matter if she invents someone or not. The dinner in my office is about the closest we are getting to anything like a date. And I don't want to date her.
Shit, I don't really date. I fuck hot women. I get into hairy situations and scrapes and live to tell the tales about it all.
But dating? Me and some woman spending evenings curled up together?
I try to imagine that, but that is just not me.
And I like it that way.
What I want is to fuck Lola, not date her. Protect her too, obviously. But the dating thing is a step too far for me. I like my freedom.
Besides, let's say if—and that is a big fucking if—I wanted to date her and she wanted to date me too... There is history. My fucking father and his ability to hold Lyndall over my head would end anything before it began.
With a sigh, I call my father back. He will only bitch more later if I don't.
"Just finished work, Dad. Is it important?"
"I'm your father, Enzo. You don't speak to me like that." It almost sounds like the man is hurt. Which he isn't. He is too mean and pigheaded to be hurt. I can see pride or the fact he can't manipulate me the way he wants annoying him, but beyond that? No.
I count to twenty. "What's up?"
"Work on your apologies."
"Sorry," I say, not expanding on which thing I'm saying sorry to. "What's up?"
"Your sister. When is she coming home? She has violin lessons, which I'm doubling up on since she has a chance to get a scholarship to Juilliard."
I almost ask why he changed his mind. Or better yet, if we are hurting for money. But I get why he wants her to nab a scholarship. It looks good. It says she is extra talented, and that makes her appealing to the men he will be interested in having her meet.
Again, I don't think he will marry her off against her will, but he will push her toward the men he handpicks and possible mates.
If he is smart, he won't say a word to her about that, or she will come home married to a penniless punk. Or someone so religious I will be in line to punch him out. Not that I'm against religion if you are into it, I just can see her picking some pious idiot and it all falling to pieces.
"And?"
"And her time is best spent here before she goes back to school. She'd be better off staying upstate at school. So, when is she coming home?"
I pull up and open my small underground garage. I park and kill the lights, the smart lights in the garage coming on. I don't get out of the car.
"Christ, Dad, she just got here."
"A day before she was meant to go. Without my permission."
"We had an agreement. She spends the weekend here—"
"If she's not back here at nine A.M. Monday morning, I will drive to Brooklyn and pick her up myself."
"You mean, you will get your driver to drive you."
The silence is terse and loaded. "I will be there to get her. Understand?"
I tap my hands on the wheel. "Relax, Dad. As I said, she just got here, and since when did you care about her?"
"She has an education to get, and she doesn't need to be pulled to the wild side by you."
I glare at my phone. "I'm not doing a thing. I just got home from work. Maybe you should be wondering why your teenage daughter, that you have found sudden interest in, ran away."
We both know she did nothing of the sort. Not in the real sense of running away. But from another burst of tense silence, Dad gets what I'm saying.
She would if she could.
There is a reason why she wants to be old enough to not have to follow parental rule of law that goes beyond general growing-up pains.
"Let her know, Enzo." And Dad hangs up.
I get out of my car and let myself in the house, sending a text as I do so.
Me
Call you in a bit, if it can wait.
Cade
Not that important, but I want to get things on the right track for tomorrow.
I set my keys down when I walk inside.
There is no wild party or even a tame one.
And Lyndall is alone. In the kitchen, with a folder in front of her. It smells of chocolate and wholesomeness in this damn place.
My home is not new to the former but is to the latter.
She takes a sip of her hot chocolate and then drops some marshmallows into a second steaming cup.
I nod at the mug. "I didn't agree to you having your friend Gretchen here."
She rolls her eyes. "It's for you, moron."
"Thanks, dumbass."
"I hate school." She pushes the folder at me as I pull a stool around to the other side of the island.
I get the whiskey I use for cooking when I get around to cooking. It is great when making ragu or drinking while making ragu.
I pour some into my mug. I have got a feeling I'm going to need it.
"Most teens hate school. It is a rite of passage or something."
She heaves out a breath. "No. I like learning, I just hate boarding school. And logistically, with Dad spending half the year in Chicago, pulling out of boarding school and going to a regular school is out of the question."
I raise a brow. "So is pulling out of boarding school. It is elite and does actually give a stellar education."
"But there are other schools that are just as highly rated. Private, and in Manhattan and Brooklyn. I'm good at cooking, I can clean, and I can help out in the office too."
I stare at her because she is not going to like the conversation we definitely need to have.
"I want to change schools, Enzo. I still want to get into Juilliard, but I want to come home after school. To here. I want to live here with you."
Fuck.
"Dad's never gonna let that happen, and you know it." And then there is the basement and the all-nighters and long hours I have. Plus, people she really shouldn't meet or know exist that do stop by from time to time.
Fuck again.
"You can talk to Dad."
I take a sip of the whiskey-laced hot chocolate. "I can, and he will say the same thing. He will never agree to let you live with me. You know that."
She taps a finger on the brochures in front of me. "You can talk to him. I want to go to one of these. I will take any, but the top one is my personal choice. It is related to the school I go to."
I rub a hand over my eyes. "Lyndall, c'mon. Like Dad is going to listen."
"He won't if you don't try. He listens to you and not to me. You know that."
The thing is, she doesn't get the fact he uses her against me. "He's gonna say no. Keep you with him."
"No. He will send me back to school when it is time, and you won't do a thing about it. Because it is easier for you that way."
"It's not true."
She crosses her arms. "Isn't it? I'm asking you to fight for me, and you won't because it is easier to not go head-to-head with him, right?"
I open my mouth to tell her it is not true when it hits me. She is right.
She is sixteen this year. She will be eighteen before I know it, and if there is one thing I'm realizing, it's that Lyndall won't be sitting here after that time. She will get her scholarship, and she is the type to work three jobs to pay her rent, to feed herself while she attains that degree.
She isn't waiting around, and if Dad doesn't like it when she turns eighteen, then too bad.
If Dad doesn't like what Lyndall decides, then too bad. And even now, he can try to keep her from me, but it won't work. She will run if she has to, and next time, it won't be here. I can see that determination shining in her eyes.
And I'm sending her a message of don't rock boats, and if it feels too hard, then don't try. Which isn't me.
I fucking love rocking boats. I adore things that seem too hard or impossible. It is part of being a hacker.
"I will talk to him."
She squeals and jumps off her stool, but I hold up a hand. "Talk. Because I want you to get your education and get into Juilliard."
Lyndall rolls her eyes, as if Juilliard is already a done deal.
"With our father, sometimes you have to play the game to make things easier, so be good when you're with him."
"Like you are?" she asks sarcastically.
"I'm more than of age and a lost cause to him, whether he wants to admit it or not. But I took the rougher road. Take the smoother one. Okay?"
"Fine."
"Monday morning, he wants you home, so go back Sunday night."
"But—"
"Play the game, and we will have a much better chance at you living here and transferring to your school. Deal?"
And she nods.
Now all I have to do is present Dad with her plans and make it work for her.
And then?
Then I just might have a roommate.
Great.
Still...anything for my sister.