Breaking Lacy (Nick & Lacy Book 1)

by Tabitha Drake

  Trying to ignore the heat in my cheeks, I smiled, pleased by his compliment and the genuine sincerity in his eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  Nick rarely wore anything other than dark jeans and sweaters. While I enjoyed my bath, he had changed clothes too. His dark hair was styled the same as usual, in a sexy, wavy, slightly disheveled cut that touched the back of his shirt collar. He wore his navy-blue suit with dark leather shoes polished to a shine, and a pale pink dress-shirt without a tie. The only outward indication of his hard and edgy side was the gold hoop earring that he hadn’t removed since the night I gave it to him.

  “You clean up pretty good too,” I teased, to ease some of the nervous tension.

  With an exaggerated flourish of his hand, he held his arm out in mock propriety, offering me his elbow. “Shall we, milady?”

  My fingers curled around his muscled forearm with ill-concealed eagerness. “We shall.”

  Nick

  As we sat side by side in the dimmed theater, I glanced at Lacy every so often, finding her attention riveted to the stage. The university I had attended for the past four years had a critically acclaimed drama department, and tonight they were performing Phantom of the Opera. I knew it was one of her favorite operas judging by how often I’d heard Lacy playing and singing the score on her piano over the years.

  Two prime seats for the opening night had taken an exorbitant amount of cash and finessing of one of the cast members, who I knew personally from an art class we were both enrolled in together this semester. All my efforts proved worth it when we arrived at the theater and Lacy realized why we were there.

  During the last scene of the first Act, I had dared to peek at Lacy and was pleased to discover her moved to tears by the performance thus far. When she saw that I noticed, she gave me a shy and embarrassed smile as she swiped the tears away. In a rare moment of insane bravery, having been touched by her happiness in that instant, I took her hand and firmly wrapped my fingers around hers. Instead of the stiff discomfiture, which I had expected from such a bold and presumptive move, she relaxed more comfortably with her shoulder against mine. Nine scenes later, our hands still lay joined on my knee. While she seemed utterly engrossed in the performance, the nearness of her, the smell of her, the feel of her hand in mine, was so distracting that I found it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. It was with a combination of regret and relief when the cast took their seventh and final curtain call, and the lights came back on.

  “Oh, Nick, that was wonderful,” she gushed, on our way to the exit.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I said sincerely, as we hurried toward the parking garage to beat the after-show traffic.

  When we reached my car and I held her door open to let her in, instead of climbing inside, she turned to face me with her exuberant smile, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “I don’t know how you managed to get the tickets, but you have no idea how much I loved this, Nick. Thank you so much.”

  “Anything for you, Lace,” I said, forcing myself to sound light-hearted to banish the deep, insistent urge to kiss her that very second. Her smile was big and so real that my heart ached with a firm resolve to always make her this happy.

  Lacy

  I never would have guessed that Nick liked the theater. In fact, I felt certain that he didn’t, which touched my heart that he would miserably sit through the play just to make me happy.

  We stopped by a café for lattes and dessert on the way home, and were still discussing our favorite parts of the play when he parked the car in our driveway and cut the engine. Instead of making a move to get out of the car and go inside, Nick leaned his head back and turned to watch me with the remnants of a smile. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight, Lace?”

  I too leaned my head back and returned his lazy grin with one of my own. “This was the best night ever, Nick. Thank you.”

  “I wish you would stop thanking me. I had fun just seeing you laugh and smile for a change.” He tentatively reached up to swipe a fallen stray hair away from my eyes, his fingers gently brushing down my cheek as he softly said, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Lace.”

  Loving his tender touch and intimate tone when he said his own sweet version of my name, my smile instantly warmed. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, Nick.”

  Lacy

  I finally had my first affable encounter with another student the following Monday afternoon, during my piano practice after school.

  Over the course of the week prior, I had formed a routine of practicing and singing a few of my older songs during the first half hour, and then writing a new song for the remaining half hour. Unbeknownst to me, Susan Andrews, a beautiful, blue-eyed redhead from my history class, had made herself a surreptitious audience to my efforts. She didn’t make her presence known until I finished and was preparing to go out and wait for Nick. From the dark shadows of the school auditorium, her words interrupted my gathering of books and music.

  “You’re good.”

  I snapped my head around to find her climbing the stairs up to the stage, where I sat behind the school’s old and out of tune upright.

  “On your way home?” she asked, coming to rest beside the piano, propping her hip against the end of the keys.

  “Yes,” I answered curtly, as I finished gathering my books.

  “You sing really good.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, wary of her kindness.

  “You ever sang or played with a band? Or are you strictly a one-woman show?”

  Before I could reply, a voice came from the doorway at the back of the auditorium. “You all done in here?”

  Susan and I both turned to find Mr. Franklin waiting for me to leave so he could lock up behind me. She followed me outside, where Nick was already waiting. Once he saw me exit, as usual, he reached across the seat to push the door open for me.

  “You’ve got excellent taste, I’ll give you that. He’s hot,” Susan said, when Nick settled back with his arm coolly slung over the back of the seat.

  “He’s not my boyfriend like everyone thinks,” I explained, defending myself for the first time against the rumors about my relationship with Nick.

  Her nose scrunched in incredulity. “What the hell? Are you a lesbian? Or are you planning to be a nun?”

  I smiled, relieved that she apparently didn’t doubt my claim of innocence against the slanderous attacks on my character.

  “No. It’s just that he’s in college and likes girls his own age. You should’ve seen his ex.”

  “Pretty, eh?” she asked, never taking her appreciative gaze off Nick. No matter how justified she must’ve felt, considering I had just told her I wasn’t involved with Nick, I didn’t like her ogling over him. And even though it was none of my business, I hoped Nick didn’t either.

  “Breathtaking is more like it,” I said, hoping to deflect her interest by implying it wouldn’t be reciprocated.

  “Well anyway, no wonder everyone thinks you’re dating him. I know!” she gushed, as though overtaken by inspiration. “We’ll tell everyone he’s your brother! That’ll get ’em off your back.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Sweetie, that’s the only way anyone will believe you’re not sleeping with something that hot. And it’ll put a stop to all the baby bullshit these guys have been putting you through at the same time,” she explained, sounding sincerely bothered by the treatment I had endured from our peers thus far.

  Wary of her motives, I regarded Susan with narrow-eyed suspicion. “Nick’s waiting for me. I need to go.”

  “See ya,” she called, as I climbed into the front seat and closed the door.

  Nick peered around me to where Susan still stood watching and waving. “Making friends?” he asked, sounding and looking hopeful.

  “I think so,” I said with forced optimism, hardly daring to hope I could trust my instincts.

  Lacy

  At the end of that very same week, Friday night found Nick and Chris
watching a basketball game in the living room. I had just finished with my shower a few minutes earlier and, as had become a nightly ritual, was now in the bedroom, sitting on the bed and playing my guitar while softly singing along.

  Lost in my music, I didn’t hear Nick’s knock, nor did I notice when he eased the door open until he softly interrupted my quiet strumming. “Lace? Your friend is here to see you.”

  I looked up, perplexed. “What friend?”

  “Susan. The girl from school the other day?”

  Though I had only seen her one other time since Monday afternoon and was hesitant to consider her a friend just yet, Susan had definitely done me a kindness by apparently executing her plan of spreading the word about Nick being my brother. Not a single slanderous utterance or unjust cruelty had been inflicted upon me over the entire week past. It had to be her doing.

  “She’s here?”

  I put down my guitar and stood up. In doing so, my knee caught the front of my robe, and it worked open ever so slightly, revealing a generous glimpse of my nakedness underneath. Embarrassed, I hurriedly cinched the lapels together tight about my neck. Nick followed my movements, averting his gaze up to mine, only to catch me staring at him… staring.

  “Would you please tell her I’ll be out in a minute?”

  Instead of acknowledging my request, saving us both further embarrassments over what had just happened, Nick swiftly closed the door.

  Swallowing my mortification, I quickly dressed and wandered out to the living room to find Susan chatting with a very lusty-eyed Chris on the couch. Nick stood propped against the entranceway to the kitchen watching them.

  “Hey there!” she said when I emerged from the hallway. “Thought we’d stop by and see if you wanted to hang out.”

  Wary of whom her reference to “we” might include, I hesitated to agree.

  Even though I was cautious of Susan and of her motives for being kind to me, I had to put forth effort toward making friends. Susan was the first and only person at my new school who had shown me any type of compassion. I would try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Nick worried about me and my depression to the detriment of his own social life. He had attempted to bring me out of my shell ever since I moved in with him. He stayed home watching movies with me when he should have been out with his friends. He was so concerned about me that he rarely left the house except to go to school and work and back, not wanting me to be alone. I put on a show of trying to convince him I was fine, wanting him to believe I was adjusting and that he could go about his life unhindered. I couldn’t bear the pity in his eyes, the sorrow in his voice. Even Chris, who bore the role of household comic relief, had been acting on edge and reserved around me, most likely afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing to prolong my melancholy.

  I had to go with Susan tonight to prove to Nick that I was making an effort at returning to normal.

  “Let me go grab my coat,” I said, retreating toward the bedroom, wondering just how in the heck Susan figured out where I lived to begin with.

  I tried my best to avoid Nick’s questioning stare when I came back from the bedroom. Susan went on out, and once she was off the porch and out of earshot, I turned back to Nick. “I doubt we’ll be gone long, but will you leave the door unlocked for me just in case?”

  “Yeah, sure,” he agreed, his brow furrowed in concern. “You alright, Lace?”

  “Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting her.”

  He took a step closer so he could force his eyes to mine. “If it looks like her or her friends are up to no good, you call and I’m there.”

  I smiled, trying to assure him I would be fine in Susan’s care. “I know.”

  I made my way outside to find Susan waiting in a sporty little car by the curb in front of the house. With her were two older boys who looked close to Nick’s age. A feeling of dread swept over me, and I stopped with my hand on the open car door to stare in at them.

  “What are ya waitin’ on? Get in, new girl,” prompted the handsome, sandy-haired guy beside Susan in the backseat.

  “How did you know where I lived?” I demanded, refusing to get in until Susan answered.

  “Oh, is that all?” Susan waved away my concern with a flick of her wrist. “Followed you home one day.”

  I glanced at the cute, red-haired guy behind the steering wheel and met his impatient smirk. “You comin’ or goin’?”

  I looked back over my shoulder to the house, and then back to the empty front seat. “Where are we going?”

  “Jesus!” said the boy beside Susan. “Will you just get the hell in already? It’s freezing and you’re letting all the warm air out.”

  It was freezing. In nothing but a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt under my lightweight jacket, my teeth were starting to chatter.

  I got in. When the driver pulled away from the curb, Susan made introductions.

  “This,” she said, rubbing her hand over the chest of the guy sitting beside her, “is my boyfriend, Dorian.”

  Dorian tipped his head. “’Sup.”

  “And our chauffeur for the evening is my brother, Alex.”

  And then Dorian kissed her, cutting off further formalities. Embarrassed by Susan and Dorian’s wanton display, I turned around to face the front.

  “Where are we going?” I asked softly, so not to disturb the occupants of the back seat.

  “Our house. Just relax,” offered Alex, when he apparently took note of my uptight posture. I ignored him and stared out the window at darkness passing by, trying to block out the smack of lips on lips mingling with giggles coming from the rear. “Susan mentioned your brother goes to the same college as I do. What’s his name? Maybe I have a class with him?”

  “You take art?” I asked, without bothering to look at him.

  “No, but I’ve partied with a few of those guys before,” he said with a knowing chuckle. “Good times.”

  “You wouldn’t know him,” was my only response.

  “His name is Nick,” inserted Susan, coming up for air. “And he’s hot.” Dorian made a muffled sound of objection and Susan put him at ease. “Not as hot as you, baby.”

  Ignoring them, Alex went on as though we were the only occupants in his car. “Don’t know any guys named Nick. Guess you were right.”

  A few minutes later, we pulled into the driveway of a majestic, three-story colonial house at the end of a street full of other, equally opulent homes. My eyes must have betrayed my admiration.

  “Our dad is a cardiologist and our mom is an orthodontist. We’re loaded. You should see the inside,” Alex said with a pride devoid of arrogance. Interrupting the necking going on in the backseat, he opened his door and said, “I’m going to take your friend to the studio and show her the setup.”

  A deluge of moans answered Alex, and he rolled his eyes. “Come on… Lacy, right?”

  “Yes,” I answered, as I climbed out of the car. Despite how polite and harmless Alex had seemed during the drive, once he came around the car to escort me toward the house, I froze with my back to the door, wishing Susan and Dorian would hurry up and join us so I wouldn’t be alone with a strange guy.

  “You comin’?” Alex asked, jarring me from my reservations, and reminding me that I was freezing.

  Alex led me across the yard toward what appeared to be either a garage or a storage shed set off separate from the main house. On one side of the building was a steel door, where he stopped to fumble with a set of keys.

  “What’s in there?” I asked nervously, as he unlocked the door.

  “This is why you’re here,” he said, with an impish grin that probably turned most girls into swooning heaps of adoration, but only made me more anxious.

  Once he had the door unlocked, Alex led me into the room and turned on the lights. The enormous space was a music studio, with foam walls and rubber flooring, and even a dashboard of sound control levers. On the far side of the room was a drum set and an upright piano; also, a bass guitar, an electric guitar, and
a microphone stand—all plugged into their respective speakers and amplifiers. Near the door was a small refrigerator and mini-bar, along with a few well-worn chairs and a sofa.

  Alex wandered around to switch on the amplifiers one by one. “You play anything besides piano?”

  “Y-yes,” I whispered, in awe of the elaborate set-up of his home studio.

  “What?” he prompted, when it became obvious I was too dumbstruck to offer up more detail.

  “Guitar.”

  “Susan said you sing. That’s what we need. Grab that acoustic guitar over there and show me whatcha got while I fix us a drink.”

  “Why?”

  “We have a gig lined up—playing in my uncle’s new club across town—but we lost our front man. Well, frontwoman really. It was my ex, but she quit on us after the big break-up two weeks ago. My uncle gave us a month to find and train a replacement, or he’s going to fire us and find another band to fill our spot. We’re down to only two weeks left. Susan says she’s been listening in on your rehearsals after school and swears you’ll be perfect for us.”

  “But I’m a songwriter. I’ve never played in a band! I don’t know what Susan told you but-”

  “You sing, right?”

  “Yes, but-”

  “So, show me whatcha got,” he said with an air of finality, as he set up two glasses on the bar and began pouring us both a drink.

  I picked up the guitar and adjusted the strap over my shoulder. He brought me a drink just as Susan entered the studio with Dorian trailing behind. I took a small sip of the eye-watering concoction to relax my nerves.

  “Let’s hear it,” encouraged Dorian.

  With all three pairs of eyes intently trained on me, I set down my drink, took a deep breath, and strummed out the opening chords to one of the songs I’d written.