Those Heartless Boys Page 13

  He grins, and I happen to peek in time to enjoy it. It’s boyish and throws Lucas into a whole different time of life. One where there’s no weight on his shoulders or worries over his head. I hadn’t realized how much he was holding in until I saw his innocence.

  “We weren’t allowed to talk to you, of course, but when I asked about you, Stone told me who you were. We were at some Clary field days or something. It had something to do with treasure, I remember that. You had your hand wrapped around your daddy’s so tightly. Your eyes were big and round, staring at all the people, like you’d never seen that many in your life. Like you never even knew that many existed.” Lucas swallows and looks at me. “So, no, Dakota, I’m not going to leave. Because you need to know that people exist. That not everyone out there thinks you and your dad are crazy. We don’t all despise you. We don’t all think you’re scum or want to torment you because you grew up differently. Hell, if you stick around long enough. You might even realize that we all grew up differently.”

  I suck in a breath at the raw honesty of his words. I don’t remember seeing him, but I remember the Gold Festival Clary used to put on. It was one of the only times I was allowed to go into town with Dad, so I can surmise that what he’s saying is true. I remember feeling lost in a sea of people. Honestly, crowds still get me sometimes. I bite the inside of my cheek as a happier memory churns just under the surface. “My dad was always really bad at doing my hair.”

  Lucas grins, and it’s absolutely stunning in a way because he’s not trying. Stone walks around like he knows he’s gorgeous. Wyatt, too, has that whole cowboy thing going for him, but Lucas? He’s a sleeper. But when you really see him, you fall down the rabbit hole of his good looks, wanting to sink deeper and deeper.

  We just sit there for quite some time, neither of us saying anything. We’re both wrapped in different worlds, an eye to the past. A few times, I peek at him to wonder what’s plaguing him. When I was little and saw people, I used to make up their life stories. With Lucas, it seems wrong to do that. I don’t want to mess with whatever his true story is because I bet it’s far different than anything I could even imagine.

  Eventually, I pull out my Lit textbook to do some reading. Lucas leaves for a couple of minutes and comes back with his own books. We sit there quietly, each doing our own schoolwork until he receives a text. I’m so engrossed in the story, reading past where I’m supposed to have read that the buzzing of Lucas’s phone makes me jump. “Sorry,” he says. He pulls it out and glowers down at the screen. “For fuck’s sake.”

  He pushes his textbooks off him and stands, heading for the door. He leaves without looking back, and I can’t not follow him with that type of exit. I close my textbook and jump to my feet. Using the remote, I raise the blinds. The sun hits me, and I have to shield my eyes like a vampire. I lost track of time while we were studying, but I bet Lucas and I were in this room for hours. Probably the most amount of time I spent with anyone outside of Dad and Dickie.

  How sad is that?

  I move down the hall to find Wyatt and Lucas standing on either side of the front door. They’re staring at the floor, but that’s not what’s caught their attention. It’s what’s happening outside the front door that has. Through the sheer curtains, I see a row of TV vans lining the driveway along with dozens and dozens of cameramen.

  Wyatt reaches out and pulls me next to him and Lucas, using the front door to shield us. Outside, though, the reporters talk over each other until the cold voice of Lance Jacobs drones over all of them. My body chills.

  “Calm down, calm down,” he says, chuckling. “I know everyone wants to hear treasure news but just breathe.”

  I roll my eyes. My father and I would watch the news with his face plastered all over it when anything regarding the treasure came up. My father would sit in his ripped armchair and seethe, his fingers curling into the dusty, dirty, outdated material while Lance Jacobs smiled into a camera with a suit on. Even at a young age, I could tell the difference between them. I could see the way my father reacted to him, and since my world revolved around him, the hate grew in me, too.

  “What news do you have for us about the treasure? Did you find it?” an eager reporter asks.

  “Not fucking likely,” I grumble under my breath, unable to help myself. The idea is preposterous to me. First, he’d have to actually search to find the treasure, and the only reason Lance makes his way up here is for photo and media opportunities just like this.

  “Not yet,” he says, oblivious to the words that spewed from my mouth. He’s oozing with charm now, and it makes me want to vomit. “I’ve been waiting a long time to bring you this news, and I’m happy to say that I can finally announce it.”

  It’s a whole different experience listening to Lance talk to the press in person. It makes it much more real than watching him through an old, flickering TV screen. It’s harder. It makes me angrier because it’s happening right under my nose.

  “Well?” the same eager reporter asks, and I wonder if she has more important places to be. Don’t we all? I can think of a hundred different things I’d rather be doing than listening to Lance.

  “As of today, the Jacobs and Wilder families are joining forces to search for the elusive Clary treasure.”

  “What?” I exclaim, the question bursting from my mouth in surprise.

  Lucas grabs for my hand, squeezing it as Lance keeps talking. “I have no doubt with our combined resources that the Clary treasure is within our grasp. The legend won’t be a legend for long, my friends.”

  I heave in a breath of air. Several, actually. I can barely hear him talking through the buzzing in my brain. I knew what teaming up with them meant, but I didn’t think it would be a big deal. I didn’t think he’d tell the world. Dear God, if my father is somewhere where he can hear this, he’ll hate me.

  “The Wilders?” someone asks. “The feud between your families is well-publicized. How did this come about?”

  Another reporter asks. “Isn’t that a risky business decision, Mr. Jacobs? The Wilder family has a less-than-stellar reputation.”

  I squeeze Lucas’s hand so hard that he turns toward me. More questions and insults are being thrown at my family while Lucas moves to stand in front of me. He tips my chin toward him. “Dakota,” he whispers. “Focus on me.”

  Tears gather in the corners of my eyes as I stare into Lucas’s soft brown irises. I made a huge mistake. I want to throw the door open and tell them all it’s not real, but I’ll just be playing into their hands if I do. After all, they already think my dad is crazy. Now I will be, too.

  Another voice splits through them all. It’s not Lance’s, but it’s as confident as his. It’s teeming with sense and savvy. It cuts through all the others with a definitive tenor. “The Wilders are treasure hunting legends,” Stone says. “We’re happy to be working with them. Now, if you’ll excuse my father and I, we have a tremendous amount of planning to do.”

  The door opens a crack, and the erratic voices of the reporters aren’t so muffled anymore. They’re still yelling out questions as Lucas moves us away from the door, and the two Jacobs step inside, shutting the prying voices out, effectively shutting them up.

  “You, dick,” I growl as soon as the door is closed. I free myself of Lucas’s hand and make a fist.

  Lance brushes off imaginary dust from his suit jacket. “We are working together, aren’t we?”

  I pull my hand back and let it loose. It flies toward Lance’s face. He doesn’t notice until the last moment, but it doesn’t connect. Wyatt catches my hand, squeezing it in his palm.

  Lance’s face switches from fear to snark. “I see you take after your father’s hotheadedness.”

  I growl in frustration. I’d love to feel the crack of my knuckles against his skin. Just once. Just for being his pious, self-centered self. “How’s this then? We’re done. Take away college, I don’t give a fuck. There’s something more important than that. Something you couldn’t possibly understan
d.”

  “Enlighten me, girl.”

  “Staying true to your family.”

  I nudge him out of the way as I go for the door. My truck keys are hanging on a hook over a table near the exit, and I grab for them.

  Strong arms wrap around me from behind. I relax at first, but then I realize they’re not Lucas’s, they’re Stone’s. His words about my family only marginally made up for this stunt. “Stop fighting me,” he growls. “You can’t go out there right now. The press will eat you alive.”

  “I’d rather them than you.”

  “Ugh,” Lance says in disgust. “Has this little infatuation with her only gotten worse? Just fuck her and be done with it. You know it can never be anything more.”

  I still in Stone’s arms. Without him holding me, I’d have probably fallen over.

  Stone pushes me away from him. “I assure you that’s not it,” Stone growls, fixing his polo shirt so that it lays evenly across his shoulders. “She only responds to physical measures.”

  Is this family for real? I gaze over at Lucas who’s wearing a hard frown, but he keeps his lips pressed together. I guess our truce only goes so far.

  Turning, I meet them all stare for stare. It feels like David versus Goliath at this point. However, as much as I’d love to just find my way out of their hair forever, I’m stuck. Not only did he just announce our partnership, they’re the only hope I have of finding out what happened to Dad.

  In his absence, there’s one thing I learned above all else. One person does not make a team. In fact, it’s pretty fucking lonely being by yourself. And if I ever want to not be lonely again, I need to find my dad.

  16

  I spend the rest of the weekend in my room at Jacobs Manor, as I’ve come to think of it in my head. I imagine myself behind bars, secluded, locked away, but honestly, this is the nicest room I’ve ever been in. The view is spectacular as long as one of the assholes isn’t walking in front of the glass wall. The furnishings are pristine, and Wyatt brings me food on a rotation, leaving it just outside my door. So, if this is jail, it’s a nice one.

  I’ve even met Stone’s cleaning lady. I almost gave her a heart attack when she came into the room. She no doubt expected it to still be empty. I tried to tell her she didn’t have to clean the space, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She told me to continue doing my coursework while she worked around me, chatting cheerfully as she scrubbed down the bathroom and used a fancy mop on the floors.

  Her cleaning prowess wasn’t the craziest part about meeting her though. The crazy part was how well she spoke of Stone Jacobs. I had to ask her twice who she was talking about before it finally dawned on me that she was talking about the same person who I’ve been cursing for over twenty-four hours.

  On Monday morning, despite my cohabitants, I wake up cheery. I’m not hungry. I’ve done all of my homework—except for that damn English paper—and even moved onto the next assignments according to the course syllabi. While standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I realize I’m not stressed either. I know my truck is out front. I know if I walk out of this room right now, I can find food in the cupboards. I also know that I’m surrounded by people. They may not be the people I would’ve chosen, but even I can admit that seeing them walk down the hall at various times over the last couple of days made me feel less alone.

  Which makes me about the saddest person alive. I’m glad to have my enemies near. Jesus. What is my life coming to?

  I dress and head toward the kitchen with my bag in tow. I’m relieved to see that Lance is gone. I don’t even know how long he stayed on Saturday, only that I’m glad I didn’t stick around to hear any more bullshit come from his mouth.

  “Good morning,” Wyatt says in an even tone. He’s dressed in a dark blue t-shirt, sleeves stretching over carved muscles. He has a perfectly tapered waist, jeans hitting him just right. And like a typical cowboy, he has a belt on with the t-shirt tucked into the front. The only difference with Wyatt is that his belt buckle isn’t flashy like you see some cowboys wear on TV. It’s a normal belt with a tame, silver buckle.

  And the hat. Jesus. There’s just something about this guy in his hat. “Morning,” I say, almost forgetting that he greeted me.

  He sips a glass of orange juice, perched on a bar stool at the island. “Mornings during the week are low-key. It’s a fend-for-yourself kind of venture,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen itself. “The cupboards are completely stocked. Cereal. Toast. Bagels. Oatmeal. I’m sure whatever you like to eat, we have it.”

  Honestly, I... Wow. Fuck. I’ve never had a choice before. I always just ate what my dad bought or what was on the menu at school. Shame crashes into me. I’ve had oatmeal before. That must’ve been relatively cheap. Cereal? I’ve had that before, too, but not like those brands that are on TV. I’ve never had Lucky Charms or Frosted Flakes. Whatever we ate was off-brand and typically pretty bland, kind of like eating the desert floor. Oh, and no milk. We ate it with water.

  For a moment, I just stand there, gazing at their huge kitchen. It may as well be a labyrinth to me. A puzzle made up to confuse people.

  Wyatt’s gaze narrows. “You did hear me, right?”

  I nod slowly and swallow. “Yeah, I heard you.”

  I peek at him as he runs his hand across his chin. “Can I ask you a question, Dakota?”

  I shrug. It’s not as if I can stop him, and even if he asks it, that doesn’t mean I have to answer. “Sure.”

  “Do you like chocolate or fruit?”

  It’s my turn to look at him strangely. He gets off his stool and goes into the kitchen. He starts pulling things out of the cupboard. A plate, a measuring cup, and some sort of cooking appliance.

  He gazes over his shoulder when I don’t answer. “I know. You probably like both.”

  “I do...” I say, letting myself trail off. Admittedly, my experiences with both are limited. I didn’t get treats or snacks when I was a kid. Or ever, actually.

  Wyatt smiles. “I’m going to make you something that will blow your mind, Dakota Wilder.”

  I lift my brows. “Yeah?”

  He returns to cooking, chuckling softly to himself. I watch him work from where I’m standing, but then move closer. He whips up a batter that I realize is going into a waffle machine—the appliance he pulled out of the cupboards. Then, he grabs some fruit and Nutella. He chops up the fruit and when the waffle machine beeps. He places the waffle onto a plate, layers Nutella over it and then drops a sprinkling of strawberries and blueberries over the top.

  “Hell yes!” a voice exclaims. “Hurry up, Stone! Wyatt’s cooking!”

  I jump at the intrusion. I’d been salivating over the waffle and hadn’t even heard Lucas come in. I’m also not used to so much noise. My father was a quiet man when he was doing anything except for discussing treasure.

  “Not for you two fuckwits.” Wyatt hands me the plate, and I take it with a smile.

  I pass by Lucas to the barstools surrounding the island. He frowns as he looks at my plate. “What?”

  “Nothing’s changed,” Wyatt says. “I cook on the weekends. What happened to you guys cooking a little during the week, huh?”

  Lucas gazes at the waffle machine like it’s a UFO. I’m right there with him. I’d never seen one in use until just now. After watching Wyatt, I think I might be able to make one though.

  Wyatt hands me a fork. I cut off a piece, spear it, and put it into my mouth. The chocolate hazelnut flavor mixed with the sweetness of the waffle melts in my mouth. “Mmmmmm,” I moan. “Oh my God.”

  Wyatt winks at me. “I knew you’d like it.”

  My next bite, I grab one of the blueberries piled in the center and eat it with the waffle and Nutella. My lids flutter closed. I keep going until I realize everything around me has stopped. When I glance up, Wyatt, Lucas, and now Stone are staring at me. I lick the fork, grabbing as much of the chocolate as I can, not wanting any of it to go to waste. They watch my every move, and heat creeps up my neck
then blossoms on my cheeks.

  They look away, Stone clearing his throat. “Um, waffles then?”

  “Have at it,” Wyatt says, nodding toward the waffle maker. He takes another look at me and then retreats from the room, lines wrinkling his forehead as he goes.

  “Fuck it. I’m going to try it,” Lucas says. Stone, however, opts for cereal, pouring himself a bowl and sitting two seats away from me at the bar.

  We eat in silence while Lucas curses over the waffle maker. The batter doesn’t turn out to be the same consistency as when Wyatt made it, and when he shuts the top on the maker, it spills down the sides. Steam rises all the way to the ceiling and reaches out like tendrils. He cleans up as best he can, but when the machine beeps, announcing it’s done, it’s burnt.

  “Seriously?” he growls.

  Stone chuckles. “And that’s why I didn’t even attempt it.”

  Lucas pries the burnt waffle out of the maker onto a paper plate and then throws the whole thing away. He grabs a bagel instead after Stone remarks about the time.

  After I’m finished, I take my plate to the sink, rinsing it off. Once it’s clean, I start to head toward the front door when Stone stops me. “I’m sorry about Saturday, by the way.”

  I come to a stop, my brain still two seconds behind trying to make sure I heard Stone correctly. I peer over my shoulder at him.

  He clears his throat. “I didn’t know my father was going to hold that press conference, or I would’ve warned you.”

  I had a lot of time to think about what happened while I stayed in my room over the weekend. I’m definitely not over it, but what’s done is done. It helps to hear Stone apologize. I want to hold a grudge. My mind tells me I need to. Maybe it’s because I’m satiated and calm that I feel like being the better person though. “If we’re going to be working together, I would appreciate updates on everything,” I tell him. “Everything. Especially things that have to do with my family. I wasn’t aware that by agreeing to help you that it would be widespread news. I’m not used to working like that,” I admit.