Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(44)

“I guess they'll probably have a full spread over there …” He starts, and I grin. I don't need to keep pressing: I’ve already won him over. Dad says I forgive too easily, but he also believes in the power of forgiveness. It’s a fine line to walk.

So on Thursday, we had over to the Brooks’ family home in Dad's rusted-out Ford. It rattles down the pristine white limestone driveway, coming to a stop near an impressive set of steps. The porch on this house is as big as the entire Train Car.

Zack is waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall near the front door with his big hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks. I surprised to see him dressed up in a white button-down and jacket. He seems so uncomfortable in it, like he'd rather be in sweats and a tank, working out in the gym. Even though he seems nonchalant, I can tell he’s nervous about our visit. Probably nervous about confronting my father. As he should be, anyway.

Charlie gets out of the car in his unflattering yellow and red plaid button-down (I tried to convince him not to wear it) and brown slacks. Pretty sure this is the same outfit he wore to his friend’s wedding two or three decades ago. He’s also wearing an extreme frown that looks carved into the slightly wrinkled planes of his face. As he makes his way around the front of the truck and heads up the stairs, Zack lifts his head and meets my eyes.

There's no doubt about it: my heart stumbles, trips, falls. I have a hard time breathing, and my palms are suddenly sweaty. I curse those damn teenage hormones out again, and roll my eyes as Charlie approaches Zack with a no-nonsense expression on his face.

“Zack.”

“Mr. Reed.”

The two men stare each other down, and I wait at the bottom of the steps to see who will break the tension first. Even though I can tell it pains him, Zack is the one to do it, glancing away from my father and toward the rocking chair covered pumpkins, bits of hay, and a smiling scarecrow. The entire porch is decorated in fall themes: orange, red, and yellow leaves, turkey silhouettes, horns of plenty. I wonder who did the decorating? Probably someone that was paid to do it. The Brooks don’t exactly strike me as a family who does their own decorating.

Zack looks back to my father again, and meets his stare dead-on.

“Sir, I apologized to your daughter once, but I'll do it again. I’d like to apologize to you, too.” Zack lifts his chin proudly. “For the things I've done, there are no words to make up for it. But I really am sorry. From now on, I'll try to be a better man. It wasn't Marnye’s job to teach me how to be one, but she already has anyway.” Zack turns his brown gaze over to me, and I feel a little thrill shoot through me. It takes everything I have in me not to fidget. “Thank you, Marnye.”

Before I can think of what to say, the front door opens, and Zack's mom, Robin, steps out. She’s dressed in a tasteful cream suit with low heels, her chocolate hair frothing around her face. When she sees me, she smiles.

“To be honest,” she says, as she tucks her hands in her pockets and steps onto the deck, “I didn't think you were going to accept our invitation. But I'm glad you did.” Robin glances over at Charlie, and they shake hands in a very businesslike manner. I know they had a long, long conversation at the football game, but I’m not entirely sure how it went down. “Come on in.”

Robin gestures for us to head inside, and we do, moving down a long, marble hallway and into a formal dining room that’s laid out like a magazine spread.

“My parents love to put on a show,” Zack whispers, leaning over my shoulder and putting his lips near my ear. My entire body goes white-hot in an instant and goose bumps spring up along my arms. Luckily, Dad is too busy being introduced to Zack’s sister, Kelsey, and some family friends of theirs. Zack’s dad is nowhere to be seen. “Just … don’t praise my mom for her home cooking,” he adds with a slight quirk of his mouth. “It’s all catered.”

Zack pulls out a chair for me, and I tuck my fluffy red skirt under my thighs before sitting. He rests his hands briefly on my shoulders before pushing me in and sitting beside me. Charlie’s definitely watching us now, and I flush.

“I have to admit, I didn’t want to come over here,” Dad says as he sits across from me, and Robin takes up her spot at the head of the table. Zack’s sister sits across from him, and the couple—I didn’t catch either of their names—is at the end of the table. “But my daughter is a very forgiving soul. It’s a trait I can’t bear to discourage.”

I smile tightly, and Zack raises both of his dark brows. If Charlie only knew … Would he be proud of me? Or disappointed? I try not to think too hard about it.

“Well, my son is quite the opposite, unfortunately,” Robin says, and Zack narrows his eyes. He looks at his mother, and they exchange one of those quiet, personal conversations that requires no words. “He seems to take after his father, sadly enough.”

“Why do you say things like that?” Zack whispers, his voice low and dark, menacing. “You know that’s a bunch of bullshit. I’m nothing like him.”

“What you did to this girl,” Robin says, as she stands up with a pair of carving knives in hand. She’s a bit scary like that. “That was something your father would’ve done at your age. If you’re ashamed, then good: you should be.”

Zack scowls, but I smile. Robin reminds me of Kathleen a little, just a bit … softer? After a moment, she sighs and forces a smile of her own.