Major Renovations (Ritter University #1)

by Vanessa M. Knight

  “Smart thinking,” the doctor said.

  “He is smart. Maybe even pre-med.”

  “Yeah. I’m pre-med.” And he was pre-med. He was going to med school. Maybe not to specialize in surgery. But emergency medicine. He was going to spend his time on the other side of that damn door. He was not going to be left out in the waiting room, helpless, ever again.

  “Well, we'd love to have you, son. Ms. Thunder, you may go see your father if you'd like.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled and turned to Ski. “Thank you for staying with me, but you can leave. Go home and get some sleep.”

  “How will you get home?”

  “I'm not leaving anytime soon. I'll call Barry when I leave for home.”

  “I can stay...”

  “I know.” She curled her hand around his arm. “But it doesn't help having us both here. There's nothing we can do. Go home and relax.”

  “Call me if anything changes.”

  “I will.”

  “And don't call Barry. I can pick you up when you go home.”

  “’Bye, Ski.” She kissed his cheek, lingering a little too long before turning and following the doctor down the hall. He watched her walk away, and she never even glanced back.

  He wanted to believe she was just worried about her dad. It had nothing to do with his verbal fuck-up. But he couldn’t seem to find the energy to lie to himself about it.

  He’d messed up and this time, there was no smooth-talking his way out of it.

  ~»ΨΡ«~

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sam

  SAMANTHA STOOD at her father’s sink, hands immersed in soapy water. The pink suds tickled her elbows as she pulled out the bowl from her dad’s lunch. He’d been home a little over a week, and he was starting to feel better. Too bad she didn’t feel any better. She missed Ski. Not that she’d admit that.

  Thud.

  “Crap.” She spun around. Her father held a large laundry basket, hopping on one foot. Feeling better was a good thing, but it meant he was ignoring everyone about taking it easy. Especially his daughter.

  “What are you doing?” She flew to his side, almost tearing the basket out of his hands. “The doctor said you need to take it easy for the next few days. You can’t carry this stuff around.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Tell your heart that. Now, go sit down.”

  “I need to do laundry.” He pouted.

  Why were men such babies about things like this? “I’ll do the laundry.”

  “You need to get to the site. Adam Byrnes is a huge client.”

  “Dad, I made Barry a manager. He’s on site. He can handle it until I get back.” She dropped the basket of clothes next to the basement door, the plastic bouncing on the cold ceramic tiles.

  “I know he can handle it, but it’s better to have you both there. At least until you transfer all the parts of your job over to him.”

  “Why would I transfer all of my job to him? This is just until you don’t need me twenty-four seven.”

  Her father leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “No, this is permanent.”

  “Are you firing me?” Samantha’s breath stopped. Her heart stopped. Her father was firing her for screwing up so badly. “I’m so sorry I messed up the Psi Rho house, but I’ll do better. I’m just learning.” She had no problem begging. At the moment, she wasn’t above crying, either. This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.

  “No, sweetheart, but I talked with Bob. He needs an apprentice, and you need to be an electrician.”

  She stopped before she did a fish imitation. “I don’t—”

  “But you want it, and I can’t take that away from you.”

  “What—” Why couldn’t she breathe? She tried again. “What about the company? I know I can’t be that son you always wanted, but I can carry on your legacy.”

  Her father blinked at her. “Son?”

  “You told mom you wanted a son to carry on the family name, to build your legacy.” When her father frowned at her, she added, “Your company.”

  “I don’t want a son,” he said slowly. “I don’t need one. You— you’re my legacy. Not the company. And I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become.” He lowered himself into a chair. “You’ve helped me so much over the years. Now it’s your turn.” He waved a hand. “Go. Learn. Construction is my passion. Go find yours.”

  Despite the open windows, the kitchen was definitely lacking in oxygen at the moment. “Thanks, Dad, but I can’t take that on now, not till you're on your feet.” As excuses went, that was pretty good, she thought.

  “Samantha Anne Thunder, now who’s afraid? I can take care of myself.”

  “Yeah, and I can cover my ears with my hands and sing la la la so I don’t have to listen to you whine. We can do a lot of things. That doesn’t mean we should. You’re still healing.” How else could she possibly explain? How much clearer did she need to be? “I can’t leave you alone,” she said. And it was true— she was terrified to leave the house, leave him.

  “So you want to stay here and babysit forever, then.” Her father sat back in the chair, and oh yes, she recognized that look on his face.

  “No.” She didn’t want to. She just planned on it.

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t help it. I can’t lose you. You’re all I have.”

  “Hm.” He played with the mail sitting on the table. “It seemed like just a week ago you had someone else.”

  “Do you want me to bring your dessert to your chair, put your shows on?” Samantha knew how to change the subject when it came to her father. Food and This Old House. And the combination was enough to move the conversation off of Ski. She didn’t want to talk about him. She didn’t want to think about him. It hurt too much.

  “Is it ice cream?”

  “No. Still can’t eat that.”

  “Hm. Fine. I don’t see how anything without sugar can be called dessert. It’s like living in prison.” He got to his feet and headed for the living room, settling in the plaid recliner directly in front of the television.

  She walked to the nearly empty fridge and pulled out a bowl of strawberries. A trip to the grocery store was on her list of things to do today, but she wanted to get rid of all the high-fat, pure-crap food first, before she bought all the good stuff.

  She set the bowl of strawberries on her father’s end table. He nodded, captivated by the episode of This Old House on the screen.

  Just as she turned to head back for the kitchen, the doorbell rang. Her father lowered his legs and went to get up.

  “Sit.” She briefly rested a hand on his shoulder as she passed him.

  She threw open the door. Dammit. She should have checked the peephole. It was probably too late to pretend they weren’t home now.

  His body took up the whole front porch. The fruit basket with a get-well ribbon was dwarfed by his massive arms and hands. “I tried to call.”

  And she’d avoided every one of those calls since the hospital. He loved her. When did that happen? Better yet, why?

  “Did you get my text?” She wasn’t a barbarian. He had a right to know how her father was progressing. And an impersonal text was the safest way to communicate.

  “That your dad was doing okay? Yes.”

  “Good.” She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear to see the hurt, the disappointment, the anger, whatever emotion he had for her. She didn’t want to see it. She didn’t want to know what she’d done, how he hated her. It would absolutely kill her.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Um…” She wanted to say yes, but it just didn’t seem right. They were on two different paths. She didn’t want to rely on him, for anything. Because when he left…? She’d be crushed that he wasn’t there anymore.

  “Is that Ski? Samantha, let him in,” her father yelled from his polyester throne.

  Ski walked past Samantha and put his gift on the coffee table. “Sir.”

  “So, I hear
I’m sitting here because of you.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far…” Ski sat on the couch next to her father’s chair.

  “Nonsense. You’re being modest.” Her father reached across the arm rest and grabbed Ski’s hand. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You’re looking good. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. The heart-police won’t let me do anything, but I’m feeling fine.”

  “Good. I’m sure the heart-police is just worried about you.” Ski aimed a smile at Samantha, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  She couldn’t stand being this close to him. But running out of the room was not an option, was it?

  Her father cleared his throat. “Nice basket, Ski. Those oranges look good.”

  “I’ll open this and bring you one, Dad.” She grabbed the basket and walked past the men, nearly running for the safety of the deserted kitchen. She dropped the gift on the counter, pulling the ribbon at the top. Rrriipp. The plastic tore, and she snatched an orange from its confetti cocoon.

  “Hey.” Ski leaned against the counter, across from where she stood. Sneaky, wasn’t he?

  “Hey.”

  “Can we talk?”

  No. Hell. No. She didn’t want to talk. Like a bad cold, she wanted this thing between them to just fade away.

  “I wanted to see how you’re doing.” Apparently her silence meant go ahead, let’s talk.

  “Fine.”

  “Good.” He played with his keys, staring at them like they were the most interesting things ever. “Would you like to go out tonight? Get some dinner, maybe talk?”

  “I need to be here for my dad.” She peeled the orange and laid it in a clean bowl. “He isn’t well enough to be left alone, not yet.”

  “Yeah, of course. I could stop by and bring dinner.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She washed her hands in the sink and dried them on a towel. When she caught herself trying to fold it in perfect thirds she grabbed her tablet instead, playing with the screen. She loved her tablet. She felt safe behind her tablet.

  Her skin pricked, nervous energy jolting her body. She didn’t want to do this here. She didn’t want to do this anywhere. Why did he want to prolong the torture?

  His sigh had an edge to it. “Can you please put that down? I’m so tired of you hiding behind that tablet.”

  She slammed it on the counter. “Ski, we had a good time, but it was a summer fling. You need to get back to school and I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “We could still see each other.” His voice wasn’t giving her any hints, and for some reason that just made things worse. As if that was possible.

  She dared to glance up. “Aren’t those pre-med classes intense? You won’t have time.”

  “I’ll make time.” His eyes narrowed.

  “Ski…”

  “Are you breaking up with me?” There— there was the hurt she expected.

  Samantha straightened up, chin lifting. “There’s nothing to break up. We weren’t dating. We were having a good time.” She swore she could see the exact moment his heart broke inside his chest. It was the exact moment a lump lodged in her throat, making it impossible to breathe.

  “So, I meant nothing.” Ski stepped back. “Wow.”

  “No. It wasn’t nothing...”

  “I was a fuck buddy.” He tensed, and for a moment, she thought he was going to slam his hands on the counter. Instead, he just took a deep breath. “I’m done.”

  Ski turned and headed toward the door, leaving her to stare at the stupid fruit. She wanted to follow him. Say something. But what could she say— You’ll thank me someday? It’s better we cut ties before we got in too deep? She jumped when Ski slapped one hand on the counter.

  “You know what, I’m not done.” He ran his other hand over his hair. “I get your mom left and it was fucked up. But pushing everyone away is not the answer. All I did was love you, and you’re too damn scared to love me back. I never thought you were a coward.”

  Samantha’s head jerked up, her eyes meeting his. He blinked at her, and his next words sounded thick. “Now I’m done.”

  She watched him walk out the door, breathing around the rock in her chest.

  “Those are some nice oranges.” Her father appeared at the counter.

  “Yeah.” She pushed the bowl across the counter toward him.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.” She moved the basket to the other counter and stared at it. Not far enough. Not far enough away from her. It came from Ski. She didn’t need reminders. She needed to forget. Some memory potion to help her move on, move forward, without him.

  “Yeah. I’m not much of a talker either. But you know he’s right. I’m not going to be here forever.”

  “So I should hook up with the first guy that comes along?” She yanked the basket off the counter and took it into the pantry. She’d only have to be reminded when she opened the pantry door. Like she was ever going to go in there again.

  “No, but you should let people in. Maybe it’s my fault. I watched you push everyone away and I let you do it. I should have stopped you, but I knew how you felt. When your mom left—”

  She did not want to hear the rest of that sentence. “Dad, it’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. Not everyone leaves. Your mom wasn’t ready for everything included in marriage. She’d never had a relationship at that point. She was scared.”

  “But—” An embarrassing hiccup escaped. “My own mom didn’t love me enough to stick around. Why would anyone else?”

  “Well, I did.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “And your mom’s leaving had nothing to do with love. She loved you. She just didn’t know how to deal with her life. And… it’s sad. She missed out on you. Your life and your accomplishments. She didn’t get to know the wonderful woman you’ve become. She shut us out. Just like you’re doing to Ski.”

  “He’ll leave.”

  “Maybe. But maybe not. The man adores you, and from what I could see, you love him too. With your mom, I was scared, too. But I don’t regret one minute of it. I wouldn’t change it at all. It would be tragic to miss out on great love because you’re afraid he’ll leave.” He took the bowl and headed to the family room.

  Great love.

  Was this her great love? She liked talking to him. She felt safe with him. Her body couldn’t get enough of him. When he was around, her life, her heart felt complete.

  Crap.

  She loved him. Why couldn’t she have figured that out ten seconds ago?

  ~»ΨΡ«~

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ski

  SKI STEPPED over a crate as he carried a case of beer up the stairs. Moving day at Psi Rho. The hustle. The noise. It all kept his mind off of Samantha.

  He’d been an idiot. He’d actually thought they had a future. It was a good thing he had a box in his hands because he had an overwhelming urge to knock himself in the head.

  “Ski, you can just set it down over here.” Ryan pointed to the one empty space left on the table in their room. “Thanks for helping me today.”

  Ski felt Ryan’s stare as he dropped the case onto the table. “What?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing?”

  Ryan said, “Okay”, but he kept staring.

  Ski walked to the window. Cars lined the street and parking lot. Trunks were open. Everyone excited to start the new year. And all Ski wanted to do was go home to his family. Maybe even head to Poland. Pretend the summer didn’t happen.

  Dammit. He didn’t want to forget the summer happened, he just wanted it to end differently. Or not at all. If it meant he’d be with Samantha, he wanted the summer to last forever.

  “Is it Samantha?”

  Good thing he’d put the beer down or he would have dropped the entire case. “What?” He turned around to glare at Ryan, who tilted his head, studying Ski.

  “Did something happen with her? Is that why y
ou’re acting weird?”

  He never should have told Ryan anything. He didn’t want to talk about it. Now or ever. “I just stayed up too late last night.” That sounded lame even to him.

  Ryan made a rude noise, and Ski sighed. Maybe he should just confess and get this over with. “Fuck. Yeah. It just didn’t work out.” Ski figured that was the best story. Ryan didn’t need the gory details. Like how they were fuck buddies and he fell in love and she broke his heart. According to her, they weren’t even dating, for cripes sake. That was one dagger Ski didn’t need slid back into his heart, thanks.

  “Shit. That sucks.”

  “Yeah.”

  The frat president walked in the door. “Hello, ladies. How was the summer?” Ski clenched his teeth. He had no patience for Brent’s bullshit today.

  Brent opened the empty mini-fridge. “No cold beer?”

  “No. Check your own. I’m still moving in.” Ryan slammed the fridge shut. Brent saw the case Ski had carried in and opened the box. Ryan almost growled. “Sure you can have one. Thanks for asking.” Ryan’s tone said he wasn’t in the mood for Brent’s bullshit, either.

  “Whatever. So what are the plans tonight?” Brent sat on the couch and rested his feet on the coffee table. The plastic crates lining the surface shifted as he pushed them with his feet.

  Ryan grabbed the crates and moved them to the floor. “Unpacking.”

  “Come on. Don’t puss out. It’s our first night back— we have to go out. Have a brother night.”

  Brent had a point. A brother night could be fun. It could keep his mind off of Samantha. Ski shrugged. “Yeah.”

  Ryan pulled out a stash of video games from the closest crate and lined them up on an empty shelf by the TV. “Fine. I could handle a night out at Barnacles.”

  Brent shook his head. “Not Barnacles. The freshmen are having a party over at a house on Bilter.”

  “So what?” Ryan said. “We’re not crashing the freshman party.”

  “Why not? We got to scope out the new talent. As your president, I order you to come with me.” Brent attempted a serious face.

  “Order?” Ryan said.

  “Don’t make me go alone. That would just be sad.” As if crashing a freshman party wasn’t sad enough. Brent jumped up, taking his beer with him. “We’re leaving at seven.” He walked out the door, his huge mouth making enough noise to be heard in the next state as he welcomed everyone back to school. The drunk Psi Rho greeter.