Call It What You Want(66)

My pulse steps up. Standing there, a hint of innuendo in his voice, he’s hotter than the day is long. I’m tempted to tackle him.

I don’t have the confidence for all that, though. I hesitate.

“I was kidding,” he says, as if he wasn’t clear.

“I know.” My brain clicks, and for an instant, he’s not Rob Lachlan now, he’s Rob Lachlan from a year ago. We were from two different worlds once: popular boy and nerdy girl. We’re still from two different worlds: cop’s daughter and criminal’s son.

Either way, I’m never going to be a girl like Callie, and Rob’s never going to stop being Rob Lachlan, regardless of what his dad did. Last night, I was a little loopy from the beer. Tonight, I’m completely sober—and I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here.

“It’s cold out,” Rob says. He pushes the door open a little wider. “Want to come inside?”

“I don’t … I don’t know if I can,” I say in a rush.

He goes still. “Oh. Okay. It’s fine.”

“No! Wait.” He’s getting the complete wrong idea. “Not because of your father.”

Now he looks wary. “Then because of what?”

“Because you’re you and I’m me.” A line forms between his eyebrows, and I can tell that’s not any better. “Rob. I don’t—you’re—you’re …” I gesture at the house, at him, at our epically different lives.

“Maegan.” He rolls his eyes, then steps back and holds the door open wide. “Shut up and come in.”

Rob doesn’t move as I walk past him, which is a good thing, because I was worried he’d try to kiss me. That wouldn’t have been bad, but my brain needs a minute to parse this all out.

Since the outside of his house looks so grand, I expected the interior to be the same: oil paintings and mahogany furniture and crystal vases or whatever rich people have.

Instead, the inside of Rob’s house is startlingly bare. No paintings. Not even pictures on the wall. The front door opens into a wide foyer with a beautiful slate floor and floor-to-ceiling shelves, but they’re all empty. Beyond is a family room with one sofa and a nearby recliner. A small television sits on an end table—but at one point a massive big-screen must have hung over the fireplace, because the brackets are still there. To the left is a kitchen my mother would die for—all white marble countertops, gray ceramic tile, and brushed nickel hardware—but no appliances sit on the counter aside from a tiny plastic Mr. Coffee. Even the trash can, plain white plastic, looks out of place.

“I know it’s weird,” Rob says from behind me.

I turn to face him. “It’s not.” But it is.

He must know this, because he offers a little shrug. “It’s weird to me. Like I’m living in someone else’s house.”

I get it. It looks like squatters live here, but I don’t say that. I doubt it looked like this when Mr. Lachlan was a pillar of the community.

“You grew up here, right?” I say.

“Yeah. But … it wasn’t like this. Even now, I feel like we’re living on borrowed time. Mom says they can’t take the house away from us, but …” He shrugs. He clearly thinks “they” can take the house away.

I glance around the mostly empty rooms and realize he probably watched “them” take away everything else. It must be awful, to have no idea what his future holds. I know what I want—or at least what I always wanted: college for sure, with a focus on math and engineering. The school counselor said that the SAT company can’t report the reason my scores were invalidated, so I don’t think college is entirely off the table, but along with everything else, it’s a constant source of guilt. One wrong decision, and my life skidded off the path.

But I made my choice. Rob didn’t. He’s not responsible for what his father did.

As soon as I have the thought, I wonder where his father is.

“There’s a Harry Potter marathon on,” Rob says. “If you want to watch a movie.”

I wonder what expression is on my face, because he winces and says, “Or not.”

“We can watch Harry Potter.” I can’t decide if I’m making this awkward or if he is. He’s not his usual stoic, confident self, and it’s throwing me. “Rob?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your dad?”

“Oh. Upstairs.”

Can I see him? I don’t say the words, but I want to. Not because I want to gawk at him, but because it’s weird to know there’s someone else in the house.

“I’ve never brought anyone here,” Rob says quickly. “Not since … before.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes a little. “It’s not like it was. It’s …”

I wait, but he doesn’t finish that statement.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I whisper.

Color finds his cheeks, and he looks away. “It’s impossible not to be. Living in this house … it’s ridiculous.”

“You can’t help your family,” I say to him.

He makes a face, then reaches out to take my hand. His thumb traces my knuckles, and I nearly shiver. “I’m glad you came over.”

“Me too.”