Call It What You Want(15)

Between dinner with Samantha and coffee with Rob, my evening has been one long stretch of weird revelations, bad judgment calls, and awkward silences.

“Why didn’t you want to be at home?” I ask him, trying to imagine what his home life must be like. I know he doesn’t have any siblings, so it would have to just be him and his mom, right? I wonder if he gets along with her. I can’t build an idea of what kind of woman would be married to someone who stole millions of dollars. I can’t imagine what kind of mother she would be. Everything my brain conjures is some kind of cartoon caricature of a buxom woman in a bikini swimming in a jacuzzi filled with diamonds, cackling while sipping from a glass of champagne.

Rob’s expression tightens. “Rough night with my dad.” A pause. “Trust me, you don’t want details.”

Wait.

“With your dad? But—but your dad—” I jerk my words to a stop.

Rob’s eyes bore into mine now. “Tried to kill himself? I know. I was there.” A pause. “He missed.”

“I know.” I choke like I’m swallowing my tongue and stumble over my words. “I mean—I thought—I thought he was in a nursing home. Or something.”

He looks back at his coffee again. Takes a sip. “He’s not.”

I had no idea. No idea.

I wonder if anyone else knows. I never see Rob talk to anyone anymore, so maybe it’s a really well-kept secret that’s not a secret at all. It’s not like the Lachlan family is a constant source of gossip—not anymore, anyway—but I feel like this is a detail that’s escaped most people’s notice.

I want to ask what happened tonight. At the same time, I’m afraid to wade into waters where I’m not welcome.

That veil of tension still hangs between us.

“Why were you so eager to get out of the house?” Rob asks me.

I hesitate. “What?”

“Well, I know you don’t have the highest opinion of me.” He says this as if it’s not a surprise. “What were you sneaking away from?”

“There’s—” I swallow. I should play it cool, like I sneak out all the time. He’d probably believe it. The only problem with that is that I’m not actually a rebel. Not at all. “There’s a lot going on with my sister. She’s home from school for a few days.”

“Oh.” He nods and takes another sip of coffee, but then his eyes light with interest and he focuses back on me. “Wait, didn’t your sister sign for some big lacrosse scholarship?”

“Duke,” I say hollowly. “Full ride.”

He smiles and whistles through his teeth. “Nice. Connor and I thought we might have a shot at money from a Division I school, but then …” His voice trails off. The light in his eyes dies. It’s like watching a plane crash. He shrugs. “Well.”

“You don’t play lacrosse anymore?”

His eyes settle on mine, and his expression is tense, like he thinks I’m messing with him. But I’m not, and he must see that, because his face smooths over. “No. I don’t.”

“Why not?”

He runs a hand across the back of his neck. “You writing a book?”

“What?” Then I get it, and I suck back into my chair. “No. I’m sorry.”

For the first time, his voice finds an edge. “You want to talk about whatever’s going on with your sister?”

“No.”

He lifts one shoulder in that half shrug again. “Well then.”

I can’t decide if I’m irritated or not. “You want to sit here in silence and drink our coffee?”

“Yeah, I kind of do.”

I’m startled by his answer—but he doesn’t say it with any attitude. Like in the school hallway or the cafeteria, it’s a genuine response to my question. Rob’s a straight shooter.

“Okay,” I say.

He sinks back in his chair and sips at his coffee. The fluorescent lights overhead are almost too bright for this time of night, but in this nook under the staircase, it’s not too bad. This could be a quaint little coffeeshop, not a café carved into the side of a mega-supermarket.

After a moment, I sink into my own. I turn his comments over in my head.

Connor and I thought we might have a shot at money.

Then his voice fell off a cliff. He doesn’t hang out with Connor anymore. Rob’s regular absence from the quad is proof enough of that. I wonder what the history is there.

I watch him surreptitiously, from under my eyelashes, while sipping my coffee. His angled cheekbones are shadowed beneath the staircase, and even stationary, he carries himself like an athlete. Like he’s very aware of the space he takes up in the world.

Rachel will never believe this moment. Rob Lachlan flies under the radar for the most part, but he used to be a bit of a walking legend. I’m shocked to hear he doesn’t play lacrosse anymore. I don’t follow sports much beyond Samantha’s teams and stats, but I remember seeing his name at the top of the rosters when I’d look for hers. He was an attacker, like she is.

I consider the way Samantha was standing out back, throwing shots at the rebounder.

I wonder if he misses it.

I inhale to ask him.

Just as I do, he crumples the now-empty cup in his hand and pushes to his feet. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s been a long time since I did that.”