* * *
“CAITLYN CALLAHAN CALLED,” Richard told his son. They didn’t get that many calls on the home phone. The ring had startled him.
Trevor grunted, one foot on the bottom step.
“The third time this week.”
“Yeah, like she can’t talk to me at school.” After that momentary pause, Trevor took the stairs two at a time.
Richard stared after him. What was going on? He’d only caught a glimpse or two of her, but enough to see that Caitlyn was an exceptionally pretty girl. Really pretty. There was a reason Trev had cut her from the herd within days of starting school here. Richard still didn’t know who’d dumped whom, but unless this girl was completely lacking in pride, he had trouble seeing why she’d make a nuisance of herself pursuing his son once he’d lost interest. There had to be plenty of other boys who’d be glad to fill the vacuum.
Frowning after Trevor, Richard gave some serious thought to calling Molly and asking what she knew. But hell, he knew that was overstepping. He had no real grounds for this uneasy feeling. Maybe girls had gotten pushier than they were in his day. Even then, there’d been a few who didn’t hesitate to call a boy, and call again. Let Caitlyn back Trevor into a corner at school if she was determined enough.
He tried to shrug it off, tried not to regret the lack of any good excuse to call Molly, maybe even see her. In the week since the high school dance, he’d come to his senses about asking her out. It was a bad idea all around. She would have said no and he’d have been humiliated. As long as Trevor stood between them, that wasn’t happening, even assuming she’d have been otherwise interested. Maybe next year, once Trev had graduated—if he did. Maybe then, if Richard could determine whether she was really single.
He went to the kitchen to find something to throw together for dinner. He wasn’t much of a cook, which embarrassed him some. But why would he be? Lexa had done the cooking when they were married, and later there wasn’t much motivation, not when the only person he was feeding was himself. Summers when he had the kids, he’d tried harder; made sure he served a vegetable with dinner, grilled steaks, made salads. Even followed a few recipes. The last summer they were here, Trev and Bree had taken turns putting dinner on the table most days, and both of them were pretty decent cooks. Lexa’s influence, Richard guessed. Went without saying that Trev hadn’t so much as turned on the coffeemaker for his father this year.
Trev slouched downstairs for the hamburgers, baked beans and corn Richard served for dinner. For the first weeks, Richard had tried talking during dinner about his day, maybe mentioning some things he’d read in the morning paper, offered an anecdote from when Trev was little. Talking, he’d discovered, was worse than the silence, so sometime in the ten weeks Trevor had now been with him, Richard had given up. They ate in complete silence tonight, although he wanted to ask, Why are you dodging that girl? Why can’t you make it clear you’re not interested? Or is she intent on saying something you don’t want to hear?
He felt a little chill at that last thought. What could she possibly want to say that would have his big bad son ducking and weaving? Was there any chance Trevor actually still had a conscience, and was avoiding the admission that he’d treated her poorly?
But—how had he treated her poorly?
“Please clean the kitchen,” he said, and pushed away from the table. “The Steelers are on, playing Kansas City.”
“Yeah, I don’t care about either team.”
Neither did Richard, but he still enjoyed watching an occasional game. He wasn’t a fanatic; he didn’t give up every Sunday to stay glued to the television. But tonight he thought it would be a good way to unwind.
His phone rang, and he had to go looking. He’d set it down on the kitchen counter when he started work on dinner. He didn’t recognize the caller’s number, which surprised him, but it was a local one.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Mr. Ward?”
He knew who this was. “Ms. Callahan?” he said in surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Trevor turn slowly from the dishwasher, a dirty plate in his hand.
“That’s right.” She sounded all buttoned-down, not pissed but not friendly, either. “Are you aware that Caitlyn has been trying to reach Trevor?”
“Yes, actually I am. I passed on a message this afternoon.”
“Since he’s refusing to speak to her, I have to ask if we can meet.” There was a pause. “At my home. And I’d appreciate it if you could bring Trevor.”
Oh, shit. This couldn’t be good. His eyes were locked with his son’s. Trevor couldn’t possibly hear what she was saying, but he was braced for something, and it wasn’t good.
“Yes, Ms. Callahan. When?”
“Is Trevor home now?”
“Yes.”
“This evening would work for us.” So Caitlyn was to be included in this showdown. Oh, shit, he thought again. “If tonight’s not good…”
“Tonight’s good,” Richard said. “Where do you live?”
She gave him her address and he told her he didn’t need directions. He’d lived here his entire life, and had worked on what seemed like half the houses in town. Given the address, he knew exactly where she lived—a neighborhood of upscale town houses built…oh, five or six years ago. Ward Electrical had done the wiring, so he even knew the layout options. Each had a pocket front yard and a not much bigger backyard. They were nice places, though—two story, with clean styling he liked, the garages off alleys that were as wide as some city streets.
“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he said, still not looking away from Trevor, who was shaking his head frantically. Richard pocketed the phone. “You got the gist of that.”
“Us?” He let loose some obscenities, followed by, “What’s this about? Is Mommy the vice principal going to chew me out because I broke her little girl’s heart?”
“I really doubt that’s what Mommy the vice principal has to say,” Richard said grimly. “Trevor, did you have sex with this girl?”
He had his answer in the panic on his son’s face.
“How old is she?”
“She’s… She wanted it, too!”
“How old?” he ground out.
Trevor swallowed. “Uh…fifteen. I think.”
Richard closed his eyes. “Goddamn it, Trevor.” As if all this would be any better if the girl had passed her sixteenth birthday. Was this a nightmare? Had Trevor just ruined his life, the same way his dad had ruined his?
“Forget the dishes,” he said. “We’re going over there right now to find out what this is about.”
Trevor tried to say no. Vehemently, profanely, even physically. Richard all but dragged him out to the pickup, thrust him in the passenger side. “You will come with me. For the first time since you got off that airplane, you will behave like a decent human being. Do you hear me?”
Breathing hard, eyes black with fear, Trevor finally nodded. Richard went around and got in. Neither said another word, not while the garage door rose, not during the short drive. Not even when he parked at the curb in front of one of the town houses, painted a warm gold with darker gold-and-brown trim.
Molly opened the door, and studied Trevor with slightly narrowed eyes. “Thank you for coming,” she said, and stood back to let them in.
For a moment, despite his tension, she was all Richard saw. Her hair was loose, a cloud of wavy, wayward fire. It was the first time he’d seen it that way. Brown cords emphasized those long legs and hips he fantasized getting his hands on—when he’d had enough of touching her hair. A cowl-necked