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I join her, pulling my black canvas duffle from her fingers and looping it over my shoulder before turning back to the house again, my fingers running over the smooth, round beads of the crystals on my wrists.I am full of positive, loving energy.
My mom takes my hand in hers and tugs me up the wide steps to the front door, unable to fight the smile on her face the closer we get. I’m bracing myself, working through the tangle of emotions in my stomach when the front door opens and there is the man himself, beaming down at us.
Coach Lachlan is handsome, to be sure. Broad shouldered, tapered waist, thighs hugged in ridiculous khaki pants. He has dark brown hair peppered with gray at his temples and warm brown eyes. His jaw is clean shaven and his lips pulled into a full smile, making crow’s feet appear at the corner of his eyes.
He grabs up my mom, making her squeal and laugh as he pulls her into his body, bending his neck to kiss her in a way that is not appropriate in front of me. But neither of them seem to care.
I stare at them impassively, ignoring the stab of pain in my chest. The way he’s holding her is damn similar to how my dad had held my mom on his last day alive, in his last minutes of being healthy.
It’s too much. Too much to stand here and watch them, so I turn my gaze away, looking past them into the cavernous foyer, taking in the marble floors and the curved double stairway that leads upstairs. I can’t see the ceiling, but I’m sure there’s a chandelier up there.
My gaze snags on a pair of brown eyes, the same as Lachlan’s, but cold. So freaking cold. They belong to a boy two years older than me, a replica of his father, but harder. Lachlan is fit, but his son is hard. Everything about him is hard. There is no softness anywhere on his face, in his body, in his eyes. Even his brown hair, that I must assume is slightly curly like his father’s, is slicked back and hard.
He’s also shirtless and wearing only gray sweatpants. I guess that makes sense, seeing as it’s still relatively early, just after 8:30. I let my gaze flick down quickly, just enough to see what he’s wearing, but not really seeing any of the muscles.
Sure, Sab, that’s the truth.
When I return to his gaze, I see he’s doing the same to me, currently lingering on the beat up chucks on my feet. His lip pulls back in a snarl, and I almost take a step back before I force myself into stillness. I’ve already survived the worst thing I possibly could.
Having some douchebag jock judge my clothing choices is the least of my concerns.
Next to me, our parents pull away from each other, and I pointedly keep my gaze away from them, not wanting to see my mom’s lipstick smeared on his face or the way her hair is no doubt mussed from his fingers.
Instead, I stare at Finn. And he stares at me.
Until his father clears his throat and steps between us, blocking my view of the younger Lachlan. “Sabby, so good to see you.” I fight down a niggle of anger at him using a nickname for me when we don’t know each other. I open my mouth to correct him, but then his arms are around me and the absolute repulsion that hits me is so startling it cuts off anything I was going to say.
My arms stay at my sides, not returning the embrace, because why would I when I don’t know him? I’m not in the habit of hugging strangers.
He pulls back and grips my shoulders as he beams down at me. Is this how he is with everyone? Or is it just… teenage girls? His new daughter? I don’t know.
“I’m so glad you’re finally here and out of that horrible camp.”
I make my lips curl into a smile, the fake one, and nod. Not saying anything. I don’t trust myself when he’s still touching me.
Why is he still touching me?
Behind him, Finn groans loudly. “It’s too fucking early for this.”
His voice cuts through the whole beaming thing Lachlan was doing, drawing a frown to his face and he finally, finally releases me as he turns to his son. “Be polite.”
Finn lifts one muscled shoulder. “I am. I was just stating a fact. It’s too early to be standing here with the door open, greetingguests.”
Oh, wow, okay. Guests. Now I know how he feels about us moving here. He definitely sees it as temporary, which in my case is true, but my mom, well, she’s moving here, living here. She isn’t a guest. Or at least she shouldn’t be.
Does Finn know something we don’t?
He and his father have a stare off. I can feel the frustration radiating off of Lachlan, but I don’t really understand it. After a moment, my mom reaches forward, clasping his hand in hers and drawing his attention away as she smiles up at him sweetly. “Ron, maybe Finn can take Sab up to her room? I want her to see it.”
My mom is always good at this, diverting the conversation and tension, getting people to focus on the mundane rather than the problem. And I know this is going to be a problem, whatever contention there is between Finn and his father.
“What a good idea, darling. Finn.” It’s an explicit order and I half expect Finn to dig his heels in and refuse.
But the son sighs and motions me forward, toward the stairs. I don’t hesitate. Following him seems like the lesser of two evils. And I want to escape this weird tension and have a moment to myself.
As I trail Finn up the stairs, I ignore the way his muscles bunch and flex under his skin, ignore the way his sweats hug his ass and the dimples in his lower back that I strangely want to lick. Yep. I definitely ignore all of those.
I have a boyfriend. Jeremy.
