Breaking Lacy (Nick & Lacy Book 1) Page 9

  He stared down at me, apparently too stunned to respond at first. “Lacy, I miss you, but-”

  “I miss you too,” I whispered, guiding him back toward the bed as a sudden flame ignited somewhere deep in my core and spread in pulsating waves to every nerve in my body. “I’m just tired of feeling this way. I hate it, and I’m miserable. You always make things better,” I said, as I plied a trail of kisses down his throat. “Make me feel something good. I’m numb and empty inside now. I feel so dead and drained. You can make me right again, can’t you?”

  He gazed back at me for only long enough to realize I was serious before his lips claimed mine in a passionate rage. I couldn’t remember his kisses ever being so hot, thorough, or delving before, and knew he must have picked that up from Claire. He was experienced now, whereas we had always sworn to teach and discover these things with each other when the time came.

  “You got tired of waiting. That’s all, right?” I murmured, when we broke our kiss for a desperate gasp of air.

  His voice was so husky, so warm against my lips, and tasted of the salt of our combined tears. “It was a mistake, Lacy. I love you. Only you, since we spent our first night together in the hospital nursery.”

  A sob bubbled out, and he greedily devoured it with his kiss as he eased me down to the pillow. As our kisses grew hotter, I tugged his shirt up until he stopped kissing me to pull it off and toss it away.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” he breathed, as he tentatively unfastened the first few buttons of my blouse so his lips could roam further down my throat. When he realized I wasn’t going to stop him this time, he unfastened the remaining buttons and set out to overcome the obstacle of my bra. He struggled with the clasp for a moment, then gave up, pushing the lacy cups up out of his way. As his fingers closed over my breast, discovering me for the first time, I couldn’t contain my involuntary moan.

  “Shush,” he whispered, making us both giggle. “Of all the times to decide you want this, you would have to wait until mom and dad were home.”

  “Sorry.”

  Our hungry kisses resumed, and I realized we were losing control when we both tore at each other’s jeans, trying to pry the zippers down.

  “You sure you want to?” he asked, as we kicked our shoes off so we could finish undressing.

  “Yes. Don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  He hesitated. Maybe I didn't measure up to the standards Claire had already set forth. Maybe my kisses weren’t good enough for him now that someone with experience had kissed him. Maybe my body didn’t feel as thrilling as hers did. My breasts were much smaller and my body not nearly as shapely and mature as Claire’s. A dozen reasons why he might not want to make love to me now, when before that seemed to be all he thought about, came to mind and poisoned the mood.

  “I thought this was what you wanted,” I accused when he still eyed me with uncertainty.

  “Lacy-”

  “Isn’t this what you couldn’t wait for?” I spat, with more bitterness than I intended. He stiffened immediately and tried to pull away, but I held onto him too tightly. “I’m sorry,” I said against his lips, trying to force him to kiss me again. “Kevin, I didn’t mean it that way, I swear. Please don’t stop.”

  When he tried to pull away again, I let him. I sat up with him, rearranging my bra and blouse while he found his own shirt and tugged it back on. We fastened our jeans and sat on the edge of his bed staring at the floor for a few minutes.

  He put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head, where his lips lingered when he spoke into my hair. “I miss you too, Lacy. I’m glad you’re here. I know we’ll get through this because you being here proves that you still love me, no matter what has happened.” He looked down at me then. “But as much as I love you and want you here, I don’t want you coming to me like this if you’re not ready to forgive me. I don’t want you coming to me like this just because you’re sad and lonesome for ‘us’ the way we were before, because I’m not so sure you’ll ever forgive me enough for it to be that way again.”

  I sniffled back my remaining tears and pulled out of his arms. I found my shoes and put them on, then rose to straighten myself enough to leave in front of his parents. “You’re right,” I said, trying not to sound as cold and detached as I felt. “I should just go home.”

  He quickly caught my arm on my way out. “Lacy, we’ll be okay, right?”

  Biting back my tears, the best I could manage was, “Sure.”

  Nick

  “I’m done, man. We’ve got all next week to unpack before classes start back up. Let’s go home for the weekend, dude,” said Chris.

  The sandy-haired, green-eyed Chris and I first met after his family moved to Claryville when we were in the fifth grade. Our friendship began the day he started school when the teacher put him in the seat next to mine. I had caught him drawing instead of paying attention to the lecture, and being the competitive guy that I am, I had sketched my own drawing to show him I was better. As it turned out, neither one of us was better than the other. Ultimately, our different styles and techniques had been what drew us into the conversations that led to our longstanding friendship.

  I put down the last of the boxes we’d just unloaded from the moving van and plopped down on our used and battered sofa that Chris’s mother had given us. Our parents had donated all our furniture. We didn’t care that our furnishings were hand-me-downs. The couch would have beer stains on it soon enough anyway.

  “Yeah,” I said. “A beer sounds good right about now too. We’ll hit Kenzie’s on the way.”

  “You gonna let me kick your ass in a game of pool again?” asked Chris, as we both grabbed our jackets and headed for the door.

  “You can try, but I’m feeling lucky tonight.”

  An hour later, we both pulled our separate cars into the parking lot of Kenzie’s bar.

  Kenzie’s was set up in the building that was once the airplane hangar at Claryville’s small, commuter airport. After the airport closed ten years ago, Carl McKenzie bought the property and converted the hangar into a bar, thus the name “Kenzie’s.”

  The bar itself was partitioned off into two sections. The front half was where the main bar, the bandstand, and the dance floor were located. In the back half, there was another bar, along with a few pool tables, foosball tables, a jukebox, and a couple of big screens for watching sporting events.

  “Same as usual?” asked Chris on our way inside. “Best three out of five? Loser buys the booze?”

  “Hope your wallet came prepared,” I teased, pushing through the doors of the smoky entrance.

  The place was packed; nearly a hundred just in the front half of the bar alone, there to see the local live band Carl booked for New Year’s Eve. The bartender was a guy I had played football with in high school named Curtis. As soon as he saw us step up to the bar, he came over and shouted over the music, “Claire is here and she’s drunk. I don’t want any trouble.”

  “I just want a beer and a pool table, man. No trouble,” I promised, as I pulled out my wallet.

  “She starts her shit, you better leave it alone.”

  A derisive snort was my only response. Chris and I bought our beer and weaved our way through the crowd, headed toward the back. When we reached the swinging-doors separating the two halves, I stopped Chris.

  “Go get us a table and rack ’em while I take a leak.”

  A few minutes later, I exited the restroom and stopped short.

  Jerry Dalton came out from the back room, and judging from his stagger, he was more than a little drunk. Before Jerry could spot me, I stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door enough to peek out and watch as he made his way outside to leave.

  I hurried over to Curtis and interrupted him in the middle of mixing a drink.

  “He come in here much?” I asked, turning to look out one of the windows, visually following Jerry’s trek across the runway-turned-parking-lot. If I hurried, I could catch up and st
op him from driving.

  “Just about every night. Sits in the back by himself drinking half the night. That’s Jerry Dalton, right?”

  “Yeah,” I confirmed. “Do me a favor, man. When Chris comes out looking for me, tell him I had to leave.”

  “You got it,” he agreed, as I headed toward the exit.

  “Hey, asshole!”

  Nick

  I cringed and stopped with the door half open.

  “Claire,” warned Curtis, as I turned around to face her. “He’s leaving. Give it a rest.”

  “Screw you, Curtis,” said Claire, her glare never leaving me as she strode closer.

  Claire looked like hell. She’d always been a scant dresser, but tonight, with her skirt shorter than usual, and a halter that left most of her upper body exposed, she looked like a hooker straight off the curb. Her hair was wild from dancing or making out; the latter, I presumed, for her lipstick was smudged.

  A few people came closer to watch the scene that promised to be entertaining, and I knew they wouldn’t be disappointed.

  Claire stopped in front of me. “You’re a piece of shit!”

  “He didn’t do anything, Claire. He’s on his way out so leave it alone,” cautioned Curtis again.

  She ignored Curtis and railed on. “You said you loved me.”

  “I never once told you I loved you,” I said, not caring if it sounded cruel. “And don’t stand there trying to say you ever gave a shit about me after you screwed around the entire time.”

  “If me sleeping around bothered you that much, why did you put up with it? After all this time, why wait until now to break up with me? Is there someone else?”

  “I never loved you, so I didn’t give a shit when you fucked half the town, but you didn’t really think I was going to keep you around after you screwed my kid brother, did you?”

  This brought about ripples of ooh’s and ah’s from the two dozen people within earshot.

  “You said you didn’t care if we did it,” she wailed, crying now.

  “That’s the point, Claire. I don’t care.”

  “Fuck you!” She shouted, with such drunken force that she nearly stumbled forward.

  “Ya already did.”

  “Yeah, me too,” sang out a chorus of anonymous male voices from the crowd behind her, which brought about more laughter.

  Claire glared around the room, then turned back to me, lowering her voice. “Who is it? Who’s the little bitch you’re screwing now?”

  “I don’t have time for this.” I was tired of playing games with her. If I didn’t hurry, I’d miss the chance to follow Jerry.

  I couldn’t remember if Claire had been holding a beer, or if she took the bottle from someone else when I turned my back to her. Wherever she got the bottle from, when I started out the door she slung it down on top of my head.

  A collective gasp and a few excited cries echoed through the room. Even the band stopped playing. Blood oozed from my scalp and down my forehead. I reached up to find a piece of glass buried in a gash on top of my head.

  After a moment, Curtis snapped out of his shocked daze. “I’m calling the law.”

  “Yeah, you better call the law because your little buddy here is about to get the rest of this bottle rammed up his ass!”

  I laughed as I continued to rub my bleeding, aching head, searching for more broken glass shards that might still be embedded in my scalp. “Don’t worry about it, Curtis. She’s so drunk she couldn’t shove that bottle up her own ass, much less mine.”

  “I hate you, Nicholas Donovan Martin!” When I ignored her and started making my way back outside, she yelled, “And you were a lousy fuck! That’s why I screwed around on you!”

  “Make sure she gets home alright,” I said to Curtis, before the door slammed shut behind me.

  It was too late to stop Jerry. He was already pulling out of the parking lot. I couldn’t believe he was going to drive in his condition, but then realized he’d probably been doing it for weeks now. Still, I followed a safe distance behind him just in case his driving faltered. When Jerry turned up our driveway, I didn’t want him to know that I was the one following him, so I waited at the foot of our road for a few minutes before driving on home myself.

  Much to my relief, there were no lights on in the Dalton house, and it didn’t appear that anyone was awake in my house either. My parents weren’t expecting me home tonight, so at least if they were already sleeping, I wouldn’t have to worry about my mother seeing me in my bloodied condition.

  On my way toward the back porch, while passing between the two houses, Lacy slid her window open, and I looked up.

  “Hi, Nick,” she said, in a whisper just barely loud enough to hear.

  “Hey, Lace, what’s up?” I replied just as softly, grateful for the concealment of night so I wouldn’t frighten her with my appearance.

  “I didn’t think you were coming home this weekend.”

  “Changed my mind.”

  “Are you going to bed?”

  “Nope. You want some company?”

  Even in the shadows, I could see her face visibly brighten. “Yes.”

  “My place or yours?” I teased.

  “Mine. I’ll come down and unlock the back door.”

  “Wait. Give me a minute to…”

  It was too late. She was already on her way downstairs, leaving me no choice but to wait for her when I would rather go to my house and clean up first.

  “You’re turning into a little night owl, aren’t you, Lace,” I teased, as she met me at the back door leading into her dark kitchen.

  “I stay up and wait for daddy,” she explained, ushering me upstairs. “He never comes up to my room anymore so we won’t have to worry about him catching you up there with me.”

  My heart fell. Lacy wasn’t the kind to fish for pity. She merely told it the way it was, which indeed seemed bleaker than I thought if her words were true.

  When we reached her room, she waited until we were both inside with the door closed before she fumbled with the light switch. I caught her hand to stop her.

  “Lace, wait a sec. I gotta warn you that I got into a bar fight with a beer bottle tonight and the bottle won. I don’t look so hot so don’t freak out, okay?”

  Lacy

  Even though Nick warned me about his condition, when I turned on the light I couldn’t contain my gasp of shock. Dried blood streaked his hair and stained his forehead. There were dried smears where he had wiped the blood away to keep it from dripping down into his eyes. His black leather jacket and the black tee shirt underneath also had dark wet spots from where the blood dripped from his hair.

  “Oh, Nick! What happened?” I led him over to sit on the stool in front of my vanity. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his eyes widened too.

  “Wow.” He reached up to the top of his head to feel the injury. “Guess that'll teach me to be a smartass, won’t it?”

  I pushed his hands away and gently worked his thick hair to the sides enough to reveal a gash nearly two inches long, still oozing the slightest bit of fresh blood. “Oh, my God, someone seriously hit you over the head with a beer bottle? I thought stuff like that only happened in movies.”

  He laughed, and I met his eyes in the mirror with horror. “Ain’t my first barroom brawl, Lace. Sure it won’t be my last. Don’t worry about it. It looks worse than it feels.”

  I seriously doubted that.

  I felt him watching me in the mirror’s reflection as I searched the rest of his scalp for further injury. “Looks like that’s the worst of it. Just a few tiny nicks and scratches,” I said, forcing a small smile when I looked up and found him indeed staring at me. “Want me to play Florence Nightingale for you?”

  “Nah. Just let me use your bathroom to clean up a little.”

  While Nick was in the bathroom washing his face, I quietly crept back downstairs to get some first aid supplies from the medicine cabinet in the kitchen. Nick was already back in my room
when I returned, sitting on the edge of my bed holding my favorite stuffed animal, a giraffe that I’d had since I was born.

  “I see you’ve met Boris.”

  He looked up at me where I stood in the doorway, and then back to the giraffe. “Boris, eh? Hello, Boris, I bet you don’t remember me.”

  “Remember you?” I asked, crossing the room to sit beside him.

  “He cost me two birthday’s worth of savings out of my piggy bank.”

  “You gave him to me!”

  Nick’s lips curled into a modest grin. “I guess I don’t seem like the type, huh.”

  “No, it’s just that I always wondered who gave him to me. Momma said that she had so many visitors while we were in the hospital that she never knew who left it.”

  He stared at Boris for a few more moments, obviously remembering the day he picked out the toy.

  “Imagine that. It was you all along.” I took Boris away from him. “Come on,” I said, taking his arm and tugging him up from the bed and back toward my vanity. “Sit back down over here and let me put this on that cut for you.”

  Nick flinched and grimaced the entire time while I applied the medicated ointment until, finally, he tried to stop me by swatting away my hand.

  “Just hold on. I’m almost done.”

  “That’s good enough. I’m fine, Lace.”

  “Ya know, with the way you’re acting, you’re starting to ruin your tough guy image.”

  When I looked in the mirror, he was staring at me with a cocky smile. “So, you think I’m a tough guy, do ya?”

  “It’s part of your mystique,” I teased.

  In truth, though Nick tried to pull off the rough persona, I was beginning to know better. There was too much artist in him to be a serious rebel. Underneath his shaggy hair, leather, and earrings, I knew he was sensitive and caring. Nick had always treated me like a little sister, but lately, he treated me more like a friend. Perhaps our shared humiliation was what changed him. Me too, for that matter, for I had always revered Nick like a little sister adores and idolizes an older brother. Yet, the more I got to really know Nick, now he seemed more human and real, with flaws and emotions, and the ability to hurt just like the rest of us.