Rich Riot Page 10

  I get the feeling she knows Beau and his brother better than she lets on.

  Her knuckles have barely left the door a third time when it swings open.

  “Mr Williams.” I step forward, inadvertently frustrating Maggie when she moves back with a huff. “Hi.”

  “Greer.” He smiles yet frowns. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” His attention shifts to my right. “Hi, Maggie.”

  “Hey. Lacey in?”

  He nods, stepping aside with a wry smile. “She’s with Tuck.” He chuckles. “Yeah. I noticed a horse thundering up to our back yard. Again.”

  Maggie leads me inside, clearly familiar with the layout of the home. “Okay if Greer and I wait here in the living room?”

  “Go right ahead.” Mr Williams’ hand lands on my shoulder as I move past him. “Can I have a word with you first?”

  “Sure.”

  Maggie gets herself comfortable in the adjacent room, seemingly oblivious until she glances up and notes Lacey’s dad pull out a seat at the dining table for me. I oblige, sliding on sideways to keep my skirt over my arse best I can.

  He takes the chair adjacent, tugging it a little closer before resting an elbow on the table and leaning in close. “Have you had much to do with Colt lately?” he asks in a hushed tone.

  “I see him around.”

  Mr Williams nods. “He’s in a spot of trouble right now, right?”

  I swear every litre of blood in my body rushes to my face. “You could say that.”

  “With who?”

  I glance to Maggie, suddenly keen for the assistance of a relative stranger. Help. “Uh…”

  “He admitted he messed around with someone’s girl,” Mr Williams states. “I need to know whose. Was it Arthur, or Richard? Because Arthur’s the only one of you I know to be in a serious relationship, but he said they both had a go at him.”

  What the hell do I say? All he needs is the spotlight trained on my face, and the heat cranked up a few degrees, and he’d have interrogation down to a fine art. “I don’t want to start any more trouble.”

  And I don’t. Really. I’ve had enough drama for one year.

  “Maggie,” he calls out. “Can you perhaps join us?”

  She rises without a word and hesitantly takes a seat opposite me at the table.

  He eyes each of us in turn. “I’ve been wracking my brains trying to work out why, if Colt messed with Arthur’s Libby, my kids got in so much trouble out here.”

  I should never have come. Oh, my frickin’ God.

  “Can you two explain that for me?”

  “Mr Williams,” Maggie starts. “It’s not really our place to—”

  “It is,” he snaps. “In a few short weeks, both my kids were bullied to the point they’re a shadow of their former selves. If I sat back and accepted the bullshit they feed me about why, then I’d be a pretty terrible parent, don’t you think?”

  I sigh. He has a point.

  Maggie glances my way, lips twisted in conflict.

  I take one for the team. “Yes, it’s Libby that started it in Riverbourne,” I explain. “But he did the same to Richard with Mandy. I don’t know if you’ve met her.”

  Mr Williams frowns as though to say no.

  “She goes to school out here,” Maggie fills in. “At Arcadia High.”

  Lacey’s dad leans back on his chair, seeming to relax a little. “Goddamn little shit.” He runs a hand over his thigh. “Thanks, girls.”

  “What will you do?” The last thing I want to do is betray Colt, but I need reassurance that my admission will help him.

  He needs guidance. He needs his father to step in and lead him through this.

  “I don’t know yet,” Mr Williams answers. “I have to think about it.” He gestures to the hallway. “Go interrupt those two before I have another headache to worry about, would you?”

  Maggie grins. “Sure.”

  “We can do that,” I add, rising from my chair.

  I came out here to check on Lacey, concerned that she’d be alone and isolated in Arcadia. But after coming across Tuck and Maggie, after seeing Mr Williams’ investment in the welfare of his children, it’s pretty darn clear: she’s ten times better off out here than she’ll ever be in Riverbourne.

  I’ve come to check in on the wrong Williams.

  Colt is where I should be.

  LACEY

  The nib of my pen makes a gentle scratch, the side of my palm swishing as it tracks across the page. I run the orange ink around in a circle and then back over the same line, defining the contours of the petal.

  “Hey.”

  Hand frozen above the page, I lift my head where I sit cross-legged on my bed. The low tones of the music on the local radio station fill the silence.

  Must be hearing things now, too. Awesome.

  Dr Thorpe suggested I start journaling to make heads and tails of my thoughts. He said the process could be as cathartic as talking to a trusted friend. I took a ridiculous amount of time at the local bookseller picking out the foil embossed notebook, yet as soon as I sat down to write my words evaporated.

  “Lace.”

  This time there’s no mistaking the faint voice, especially when two sharp taps on my window promptly follow it.

  “What the hell?” I stick my legs out straight, sliding off the side of my raised mattress.

  I haven’t told anyone I’m back here yet. Nobody should know.

  I push the sheer curtain covering my window aside and falter on my next breath.

  “Tuck.”

  He lifts an eyebrow, waiting on me to slide the sash window open. The wood creaks in its tracks. Tuck wastes no time dragging himself inside as soon as there’s enough room for his brawny frame to fit.

  “Who told you I’m here?” I tug the window shut behind him, replacing the sheer curtain.

  “I fucking miss you too,” he snaps, clearly hurt by my brash greeting.

  Damn it. “I’m sorry. I just…” I what? Can’t make sense of how I feel about anything right now? Didn’t want to see him in case my worst fears were realised?

  In case I discovered I couldn’t find it in me to care about him anymore either?

  “What’s going on, Lace?” Tuck takes a step back, eyeing my new décor. “How come you didn’t let me know you’re here?”

  “I was going to.”

  “But I wasn’t important enough?” He shrugs, dropping his uniformed arse to the side of my bed.

  Tuck’s head turns to the side, his strong jaw flexing as he takes in my journal spread open on the bedspread.

  “It’s supposed to help me catalogue my thoughts and feelings,” I explain, still rooted to the spot beside my window.

  I do care. I care so damn much that it hurts to have Tuck here when I feel as though I haven’t done a thing to deserve him.

  He shuts the journal, sliding it away. “Am I in there?” Deep brown eyes pierce my own. “You wrote down how you feel about me?”

  “Not yet,” I whisper, choosing to look at the floor.

  “Why not?” he prompts.

  My throat grows dry. “Because I can’t find the right words to describe how I feel. And when I do, there’s too many of them, and they don’t make sense.”

  He hums, bottom lip pinched between his teeth when I dare to peek. “Come here.”

  Self-preservation wills me to keep a safe distance between us, yet my body moves of its own volition. Tuck pats the bed beside him with a wry smile. I can’t help but huff out my nose in amusement, a smile painting my lips as I settle next to him, cross-legged.

  “Start over,” he instructs. “What’s going on, babe?”

  I sigh before answering. “I guess you know the crux of it.”

  “Greer said your mum kicked you out.”

  Wait. What? “Greer?”

  Tuck nods. “She’s in town.” He nods toward the front of the house. “She should be here by now.”

  “Really?” I turn toward the closed door. “I should go s
ee.”

  “Nah.” Strong hands tuck under my bent knees. “Not yet.” Tuck effortlessly drags me closer, the bedspread bunching between us.

  His touch ignites a dormant fire within me, narrowing my world until all that matters is this room, right here, right now. I trap one of his hands to me, settling mine over the top.

  “Just tell me,” he pleads. “Why didn’t you let me know when you got here?”

  “I didn’t know your number by heart since I didn’t have my phone.”

  He stares at me, unconvinced.

  “Dad doesn’t have a computer for me to log in to Facebook?” I lift an eyebrow.

  Tuck flattens his lips. “Which is it?”

  “A bit of both?” I try, my voice rising with each response.

  He sighs as though deeply disappointed in me. “If you need space, say the word. I’ll go. I get it.”

  I sense that he does, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. “It’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” Now that he’s closer, the truth is a little clearer. “You make me feel… lighter.”

  “Yeah?”

  I knock his damn hat off his head. “Yeah.” It tumbles to the floor, yet he doesn’t look away.

  “What else?” Tuck’s mouth curves up on one side. “Let’s make that enormous list of words you said you have.”

  I laugh a little. “You want me to feed your ego?”

  He shrugs.

  “What if not all the things I have to say are good?”

  “I wouldn’t expect them to be,” he replies, shifting his legs to slide either side of me. “Nobody’s perfect.”

  “I did miss you,” I admit. I give him a soft smile, lost in the warm depths of Tuck’s eyes. “I just needed to process things one at a time.”

  “I know.” The spark fades, and I know what I’ve inadvertently touched on—his grief over his mother.

  Of course, he knows what it’s like to deal with troubles in life. His trump all of mine rolled into one.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?” Tuck slides his hands either side of my jaw, cupping my face so that I’m unable to hide it.

  “I must sound so pathetic. So selfish. Here I am whining about shifting house, about losing friends who weren’t really friends to begin with, when other people, namely you, have been through so much worse.”

  “Pfft.” His sun-kissed hair lifts off his forehead with the rushed breath. “It was still your world, pathetic or not, and it changed pretty dramatically. That’s still hard to come to terms with, no matter what anyone else has dealt with in comparison.” He urges me forward, slipping both hands down to my shoulders. “Don’t stress about it, babe. Deal with it however you need to and move the fuck on.”

  “Is that what you did?” My words come muffled against his chest as I bury myself deeper in his arms.

  He shifts my legs and arse so that I sit in his lap rather than before it. “In a way.”

  “What do you mean?” I tilt my head and catch a glimpse of the underside of his jaw.

  He swallows. “I buried my shit, but that’s not the healthiest way to do it.” I roll with him when Tuck reaches across the bed to retrieve my journal. He holds it out for both of us to see. “This is a good idea. Gets the shit off your liver without you having to tell the world what bugs you.”

  “Maybe.”

  The notebook hits the bed with a flop. Tuck sighs as though frustrated that he’s at a loss for what to say next. But I don’t need him to speak. I just want this: connection.

  Him.

  Belonging.

  “Thank you for coming,” I whisper. My throat thickens with withheld tears. “I needed it.”

  “I know.” The weight of his chin settles against the top of my head and his arms close in tighter.

  I inhale deep, sucking in the earthy, masculine smell of his uniform shirt—the undertones of Major. My eyes slip closed, and for a moment I wonder how long I could sit here before Tuck tires of me or I’m forced to move.

  “Are you coming back to school?” he asks.

  My short-lived peace smashes into jagged shards. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

  “You want me to wait at the gate for you?”

  I pull back and look him in the eye.

  He stares back, unfazed. “What?”

  I smile. “That would be nice.”

  A precious second passes with both of us suspended in animation before the slightest tilt of Tuck’s body toward mine, the barest intake of breath, and I melt. Eyes closed I receive what I didn’t acknowledge as missing the most: his affection.

  The warmth of his lips spreads against my own, the heat of his kiss melting the immobile parts deep inside of me and giving life to tired muscles. I twist to face him, our lips never losing connection, and set my hands high against his firm chest.

  He groans into the kiss, looping both arms under mine and pressing me against him with firm forearms. Tuck’s fingers tangle in my loose hair, clutching at the nape of my neck. I break away, afraid if I keep going, I’ll gladly exchange my last breath for another second lost in lust.

  “See?” he teases, stroking a fingertip down my cheek, our foreheads pressed together. “You don’t need words, after all.”

  TUCK

  She can tell herself what she likes, but what we have going on here won’t disappear any time soon. Fuck. If I were older, if she were too, I’d say screw everything and let’s go.

  Go somewhere where nobody knows us, and we can start a life together—a proper life.

  Get your head straight, boy. I’m thinking too much with my heart and not enough with my head.

  “You wanna go see the others before your dad beats down the door?”

  Lacey pulls back, leaning on the heels of her hands. “Others? You only said Greer before.” The shift of her arse in my lap is torture.

  “Mags came too.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Oh, shit. Really?” Lacey scrambles off the bed.

  “What’s wrong with that?” I frown. Girls seriously confuse me.

  “Nothing,” she bullshits. “It’s fine.”

  Fine enough that she flings the bedroom door open and heads into the hall. Sure. Okay.

  I slide off the bed with a sigh, readjusting the crotch of my jeans before I take after her. The girls collide midway to the living area, all chattering when they see each other, each of them talking over the next. I veer past the henhouse in the hall and seek refuge in the living room while they catch up.

  It seems I’m not the only one overwhelmed by oestrogen.

  Lacey’s old man sits in the single recliner, the footrest swung out, and his phone in hand. He glances up when I enter, pointedly staring toward the front door—that I most definitely did not use—and then back at me.

  “Mr Williams.” I stay on my feet in front of the sofa.

  “You can sit.” He nods toward it.

  Lacey settles between Greer and Maggie at the dining table, recounting the events that led to her moving back out here. I should probably be there to hear it all too, but she needs time with her girls to hash it out.

  Fuck. I check Mr Williams in my periphery and then do the usual rundown of the room to pass the time. It doesn’t take long considering they have stuff all personal belongings in here.

  “You’re welcome to turn on the TV,” Mr Williams offers. He checks the girls. “They can take a while.”

  I chuckle. “I bet.”

  He studies me a moment. “That’s twice now we’ve met, and both times you emerged from my daughter’s room.”

  Shit.

  Lacey turns to look over her shoulder. Her dad smiles, and she returns the gesture before facing Greer and Maggie again.

  “A man could wonder if your parents never taught you how to use a door.”

  Smartarse. “I guess I have a habit of taking the most direct route,” I sass back.

  He grins. “So you do.” Mr Williams sets his phone aside and then leans forward, e
lbows to knees. “Were you part of the trouble this past weekend?”

  “Depends what you mean by a part of it.” I narrow my gaze on the guy.

  “You were at Christian’s, then.”

  Lacey turns again. I give her my best “Don’t worry about it” smile. She seems unconvinced but gives us her back anyway.

  “I was. Yes.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  Maybe I don’t have this. “We wanted to set a few misunderstandings straight. Get the city kids off our back.”

  “They’ve caused some trouble around here, haven’t they?” He leans back, studying me carefully. “It’s okay. I know what happened to Colt’s car. I know what they did to Lacey when she returned … now.” He links his fingers over his stomach. “They’ve been little shits, to put it lightly. The question I have for you, though, is it finished?”

  I take a deep breath, rolling my lips together, and glance off to the side.

  “Can I get your assurance, Tuck, that nothing else will be done to invite more harassment toward my children. Both of them?”

  I turn my head and watch Lacey while she listens to Greer. She leans one elbow on the table, head resting in her hand, and even from this awkward angle, I can see her soft smile. She’s at ease now. Readjusting.

  Her dad has a point. They don’t need any more grief.

  I let out a long and laboured sigh. “Not from me.” I meet his stern eyes. “I won’t do anything.”

  A slight tic in his jaw is all the response I get. “But?”

  I look toward the table again. This time, Maggie watches me. “There are others.” He silently encourages me to continue when I give Mr Williams my attention. “Some of the kids at school have outstanding beef with the kids at Riverbourne.”

  I could have sat here and lied, flat out. I could have bullshit him even though he could have seen straight through my evasive answers. But what would be the point? The parents of both schools know damn well that there’s animosity between their kids.

  I’d even put money on this shit going on in the generation before ours. Maybe further back than that.

  “You’re good for Lace,” Mr Williams admits. “I see her perk up when she’s been with you. But let’s get one thing straight.”

  I nod.