Breaking Lacy (Nick & Lacy Book 1) Page 18

  I glanced over to gauge his reaction. His strong jaw twitched. He stared at the road, pensive as he drove. Then he took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. “So, I guess this means I need to make a few decisions. Find another new lead singer, or do what my dad has been yelling at me to do for months—break up the group and get a real job after graduation.”

  We reached home, and Alex pulled the car over to idle by the curb. Alex and I both turned in our seats to face each other. “Don’t make up your mind right now,” I said. “We still have a few months. I just thought you should know what my plans are so you and the others can make plans of your own.”

  Alex nodded. “Thank you. Let’s don’t mention this to Susan and Dorian just yet. We still have a few months to decide. You might change your mind.”

  I shook my head with a sad smile. “Not a chance.”

  He smiled too. “I know.”

  “Another option is that we could go together. The band, I mean.”

  “You’d be willing to do that?” he asked, looking and sounding skeptical.

  “I would consider it if you agreed to let me share some creative control over our music.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know, Lacy. This is my band and my music.”

  “Just think about it. I could throw the idea out there when I get in touch with my contact, and if the stars align… great. If not…no harm done.”

  He chewed his bottom lip for a few seconds, obviously seriously considering my proposition. “I’ll think about it.” His gaze drifted from me to the house. “You better go. I don’t want to be here when your brother gets home. He gives me dirty looks and scares the shit out of me.”

  We both laughed over the truth of his words as I bid him good-bye and went inside. Chris and Nick were working at the museum, so I had the house to myself. Unsure of how much time alone I would have, I went straight to the phone.

  “Hello, Mr. Porter,” I said, after he answered on the third ring. “This is Lacy Dalton.”

  Nick

  When I came home Saturday afternoon, anxious to clean up and get ready for whatever surprise Lacy had planned for my birthday, I couldn’t help but notice the stench and the remnants of smoke first thing upon opening the door.

  Then I heard Lacy’s quiet, pitiful sobs.

  “Lace?”

  My heart warmed when my exploration found the living room and dining room decked out in festive birthday streamers and balloons, the small table elegantly dressed for a cozy yet merry meal for two. Then my sights settled on the blackened slab of meat in a burnt pan sitting on the stove. My body shook with suppressed laughter as I wandered closer for a better look at what I assumed had once been a roast.

  “Lace?” I called again, following the faint sound of her sniffling whimpers until I found her sitting on the floor at the far end of the counter.

  She wore one of her prettiest dresses; the pastel blue one that Grace had given her for her sixteenth birthday nearly two years ago. The thin, cottony fabric matched the exact shade of her eyes, though with her head bowed into her pulled up knees, I couldn’t see them now. She had fixed her long hair up into a loose twist with a clip, but in testament to her frustration, a few soft wisps had fallen waywardly down her back and over her shoulders, which were bare except for the narrow straps of her dress. When I knelt in front of her and placed my hand on her arm, she lifted her head to stare up at me helplessly. With her cheeks streaked with mascara and her eyes red from the tears, in that instant, she had never looked more beautiful.

  After wiping the tear-soaked strands of hair from her face, she reached down to the floor on the opposite side from where I knelt and produced an already opened bottle of beer. She offered it to me.

  “Happy birthday,” she said, sniffling back tears.

  I took the brew and settled down into a more comfortable position beside her. “Lace, what happened?”

  “It’s your birthday!” she wailed, burying her face in her knees again.

  I couldn’t resist chuckling as I gently rubbed her back to comfort her over such a tragic event as my turning another year older.

  “Well, I appreciate the sympathy, but if my birthday doesn’t upset me, I don’t see why it should bother you this much,” I teased, trying to turn her whimpers into laughter, knowing full well that she had planned something nice for me, only something had gone awry.

  “It’s your birthday, and I wanted to fix a roast for you because I know that’s your favorite, but…” She paused to wipe her cheeks with the back of her hand and finally looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry, Nick. I wanted to make your birthday dinner so nice and special for you. I forgot the ice cream to go with your cake so I left the roast in the oven thinking I would only be gone a few minutes. And I would have been right back, but when I was finished at the market, the bus ran late so I had to wait longer than I should have, and by the time I got back home…” She sniffled and sat up a little straighter, but her tears remained. “I guess I should be glad I didn’t set the house on fire, but still, now it’s all ruined!”

  “Oh, Lace,” I said, scooting closer to drape my arm across her shoulder when she buried her face back into her knees. “How can my birthday be ruined when the prettiest girl in the world is sitting on my kitchen floor crying because she wanted to do something special for me?”

  How indeed? Who cared about the food or anything else, as long as she was sitting here wanting to make me happy, and I wanted nothing more than to be her dream come true.

  “Lace.” When she didn’t look up to face me, I cupped her chin and forced her to meet my eyes head on. “Do you have any idea that even with mascara running down your cheeks, and the smell of this house being the worst thing I’ve smelled in my entire life, I’ve never had a better birthday.”

  “That’s not true,” she said softly, her bottom lip quivering. “When you turned eighteen Claire stripped for you. That must have been much better.”

  I almost choked on my laughter. “How in the world did you know that?”

  “Because your lights were on and I could see her shadow moving around while she danced and took her clothes off. And then…”

  I knew what the “and then” was. Claire had spent hours in my bed, not leaving until my parents returned home late that night. For the first time in my life, I was struck with the realization that perhaps I hadn’t been the only peeper of the two of us. Suddenly, I had never felt more ashamed of myself and embarrassed over the things Lacy might have surreptitiously witnessed over the years.

  “You saw all that?”

  Lacy blushed and bowed her head enough to hide her face. “I know I shouldn’t have watched, but sometimes when Claire came to see you, it was hard not to.”

  “Why?”

  Lacy cast me a furtive glance as she took my beer away from me and downed a long swallow, grimacing as she always did once finished. Then she self-consciously smoothed her hair back and wiped her cheeks dry. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “Of course.”

  “I wanted to see how you two did it so I would know how when me and Kevin…” She let her words die, just as her hopes of a future with my brother had died the night that now seemed so long ago. “We almost did once,” she said. My expression must have betrayed my astonishment for she followed with a small, self-effacing grin. “Earlier that day, when everything happened with my dad. Before you came over that night. We got carried away up in his bedroom that afternoon and it almost happened.”

  I stared back at her, speechless. So, she and Kevin had almost gotten back together. If I hadn’t been there that night, if her dad hadn’t driven her out of his life, she would be with Kevin right now. They would still be planning their wedding, and I would still be wasting my time only dreaming of the life we were actually sharing together now. The reality of how close I had come to losing her back to my brother made me shudder with gratitude for fate.

  “What happened?” Indeed, why hadn’t they gone through with co
nsummating their life-long love for each other?

  “I slipped up with something about him and Claire and killed the mood.” She darted a glance up at me, then blushed and looked past me to the ruined roast sitting on the stove. “Anyway, I’m sorry I ruined your birthday dinner. I really wanted everything to be perfect for you.”

  Lacy made her way to her feet and pulled a chair over in front of the refrigerator. After climbing up onto the makeshift ladder, she stood on her tiptoes and patted her hand around on top of the cooler until she found what she was looking for far in the back, almost out of her reach. Treasure in hand, she hopped back down to stand before me.

  She handed me the box wrapped in festive party paper with a self-crafted bow on top. While I was trying to guess what might be inside the small package, without warning, she rose up on her toes to plant a kiss on my cheek, sliding her arms around my waist for a swift, awkward embrace. Before I could react quickly enough to reciprocate, she pulled away to smile up at me, no matter how weak and feeble the attempt.

  “Happy birthday, Nick.” When I stared down at the small box in my hand wondering what in the world could be inside, she added, “It’s something I made for you. I hope you like it.”

  “You made it?” I asked, impressed that she had gone through any sort of trouble. “Then I’m positive I’ll love it.”

  Nick

  I led Lacy out of the kitchen and over to the living room, where we sat together on the sofa. Shaking the box up by my ear, I couldn’t contain my curiosity. “What in the world did you do?”

  She grinned, looking almost as excited as I felt. “Will you just open it, already!”

  “You really didn’t have to,” I said, despite eagerly tearing into the paper.

  “It’s two things really. I hope you like it.”

  Beneath the neatly wrapped paper was a plain white box, which I opened to reveal an unlabeled CD with a folded note taped to its transparent, plastic jewel case. Lacy sat with her hands tightly clasped in her lap, looking anxious as I unfolded the letter and began silently reading.

  Dear Nick,

  I wanted to give you something special and meaningful for your birthday this year. Not just another art book, or yet another sweater that you would only pretend to like. This time, I wanted your gift to be different from any other so you would know that it was truly heartfelt. So, I wrote a song for you. I was thinking of you when it came to me and thought it the most fitting and sincere gift I could ever give you. I hope that in this song, I successfully convey just how important you have become to me. Since we’ve been on our own together, you’ve grown to be my best and most treasured friend. I want you to know that you are so, so dear to me. I can’t ever imagine my life without you in it now. Happy birthday, Nick.

  Love always,

  Lacy

  I read and reread her brief note, too speechless to look up and face her until the stinging in my watery eyes waned. I tried swallowing the lump in my throat to no avail. My bottom lip quivered, and I bit it firmly in place so she wouldn’t be able to see just how deeply her written words affected me.

  Lacy had written a song for me. Just for me. She had come to care so much that something of that nature felt appropriate to her. I was important to her now, and on such a deep level that she felt close, connected, and comfortable enough to risk making such a confession. This was monumental.

  “Wow,” was all I could say. I mustered the nerve to look up and face her, trying not to appear as emotional as I felt. “Wow. You wrote a song for me.”

  It seemed as though Lacy had fallen victim to her own overwhelming sentiment, for her small smile was bashful and uncertain. “I thought you could use another ‘Nick only.’”

  Her words nearly knocked the breath out of me. I wanted to kiss her more at that moment than any other time over the last two years, and fleetingly wondered if she weren’t waiting for me to do just that when she held my gaze unwaveringly, almost expectantly. I swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat once again. Dare I? It would only take tilting my head slightly to zoom in for a better angle…

  When I hesitated, she finally looked away and the moment dissipated into an awkward silence, which I salvaged by turning the disc over in my hands.

  “Well, let’s hear it,” I declared, rising and moseying over to the stereo beside the television. There was a short lapse of silence before the music queued, and I took advantage of it by determinedly pulling her up from the sofa and into my arms. She let out a yelp and giggled; a heady sound that was nearly my undoing. When the music commenced, I carried us into motion along with it.

  The piano solo wasn’t exactly sad, though it definitely filled me with a sense of wistful melancholy. It wasn’t a love song either, although it did have an undeniable romantic sentiment. Perhaps she had intentionally tried to make the connotations subtle so they wouldn’t seem too obvious or inappropriate, but they were there nonetheless. If I had indeed inspired this song, if it was truly a reflection of how deeply she had come to feel for me, then my spirits soared with hope. This wasn’t a song for a dear friend, but for two who shared a deeper, more intimate bond.

  Indeed, while we danced—rather awkward and stiffly at first—I imagined that if I ever made love to Lacy, this song would have made for perfect mood music. As the ballad progressed, she relaxed. Her body melded to mine, every curve perfectly yielding in intricate, natural conformity. I fought the urge to pull her flush and hard against me, constantly aware of her softness, her smell, her delicate frame in my arms—finally in my arms! Closing my eyes to revel in the moment that would end much too soon, I indulgently succumbed to a torturous fantasy.

  We would dance until the tension became too much. I would tilt my head down to kiss her, and she would eagerly accept my lips. Hot, greedy passion would instantly consume us both. I would pick her up and carry her to the bedroom. Or maybe I would just guide her back over to the sofa, too desperate to care where it happened. No! Not with Lacy. Only the bedroom, where I could make love to her slowly and properly. We would undress each other, explore each other in uninhibited abandon-

  “You dance very well, Nick,” she said, interrupting my errant musing. “I hope you don’t take it the wrong way and get offended when I say that surprises me.”

  I laughed to disguise my nerves and adjusted my lower half away from her enough so she wouldn’t feel my erection. “Thanks. When I was a senior back in high school, Mom spent weeks teaching me so I wouldn’t look like an idiot for prom.”

  “Rhonda did a fine job,” she said, sounding sincere.

  “She wasted her time. All the guys brought flasks of liquor, and once we’d stayed long enough to have pictures taken, we all left our dates and hid out in the men’s locker room playing poker and getting drunk.”

  She gasped with delight. “I remember that! Rhonda was so mad because, on top of missing your curfew, someone threw up in the back seat of Andy’s car.”

  “Hey, that was Chris, not me,” I said indignantly, grinning with nostalgia. “I can’t believe you remember that. You and Kev were still in junior high.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised at the stuff we knew.” When my brow rose in curiosity, she explained. “You were Kevin’s hero back then. You were older and cooler. All the girls liked you, and all the boys wanted to be like you, especially Kevin. This was back before Kevin and I started dating, but I used to tease him for sneaking into your room and going through your clothes to see if anything would fit him. He’d listen to your CD’s, read your books, watched your movies, tried on your cologne. And a couple of times I even came over after school and caught him looking through the dirty magazines you used to keep in that box under your bed.” I grimaced and hung my head in mortification, and she giggled. “You were always bigger and stronger and smarter in his eyes. He was so jealous of you for so long.” Kevin? Jealous of me? When he was the one who had Lacy? “It didn’t help that he knew I used to have a huge crush on you back then.”

  Befor
e I could overcome my shock enough to take advantage of her admission, the song faded in conclusion, and she changed the subject. “Well? Did you like it?”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I said truthfully, holding her close, reluctant to give her up just yet, but conscious of how our quiet, comfortable moment was becoming more intense by the second the longer we stood there simply staring at each other.

  She rescued us both by smiling. “Good. Speechless means you like it.”

  Taking my hand, she led me back to the sofa, where she retrieved the abandoned box that my song and the note had come in. I hadn’t noticed that there was another envelope inside the container, which had been lying flat in the bottom of the box. She held it out for me.

  “What’s this?” I asked, eying the thick, colorful brochure.

  “This is the rest of my surprise.” She leaned closer to point out specific information on the leaflet. “The Liberal Arts Committee is sponsoring an art contest. There are all different types of categories from painting to sculpting and every other medium imaginable. The first-place winner in each category receives a cash prize, but the grand prize winner overall wins an opportunity to have their work exhibited in some ritzy museum out in Los Angeles where they’ll be putting on a special expo this summer. The rest of the brochure just goes into details about the prizes and the eligibility requirements and all that, but I’ve already looked it over and you’re good.” She paused to catch a quick breath after gushing her explanation thus far. “Anyway, because you haven’t touched your paints since I’ve been staying here with you, I decided that it was time you did, so I signed you up.”

  “Oh, Lace, no. Now slow down,” I said, holding my hands up to quell her enthusiasm. “I haven’t been inspired in months. You, of all people, should know there’s more to creating than just wanting to sit down and do it. There has to be something in you that drives and inspires you. I just haven’t felt that lately. I can’t do this!”