Chapter Seventeen
Pru peered through the missing ceiling, the wood planks of the rafters, and through a hole in the roof Trace had created by pulling off the shingles. “If you fall through, I better have my camera.”
“I won’t fall,” he assured her. “But if I can finish this roof when you finish the inside, I can live here again.”
“That’s kind of the idea of the project,” she said, stirring the paint before pouring it into a tray. “And I’m definitely finishing today, even if my loser friends don’t show since they got their paltry ten hours and I need at least seven more.”
To get those hours, Mom had picked Trace and Meatball up at Waterford and brought them all to the house to work today, but then she got an emergency call from the vet office in town. Ever since she took off to see to a very sick pug, Trace had moved up to the roof to work, even though fixing the roof wasn’t part of the official project.
Pru strongly suspected he went up there because he didn’t want to break any rules by being in the house alone with her. She wouldn’t have minded, but gave him points for following project regulations to the letter.
Plus they could still talk through the hole, which was kind of cool.
“Just don’t fall through the roof,” she said. “I’m sure Mr. Margolis will take points off if the beneficiary of the community service project ends up in the ER.”
He laughed and started hammering at something again, still visible as she finished painting the last wall in the living room.
“Would you really live here?” she asked when the hammering ceased for a minute.
“Sure.”
“I thought you hated this place.”
“Not anymore.”
Wow, she’d really done that great a job fixing it up? Pride warmed her. “That’s really good, Mr. Bancroft.”
She heard him snort at the name. “Thanks to you, Umproo.”
“You always have nicknames,” she said. “I noticed that.”
“Usually only with dogs. You know, it’s part of how I train a service dog. If I have a special casual name, they know I only use that for playtime.”
“Like Meatman.”
“Yep.” He tapped the hammer.
“And Irish.”
The hammer stopped. “Well, I’m not exactly training your mom,” he said softly, but she still heard it through the rafters. “But you’re right. I do like a nickname for people I…”
“Make out with in the square.”
He was silent for a moment, then his face filled the hole in the roof. “Can I ask you a question, Pru?”
“Yeah?”
“Is that what you were upset about on Saturday when we picked you up? ’Cause your mom told me it was trouble with your friends.”
It was her turn to hesitate, not really sure how to answer. “It’s complicated.”
“Try me.” He stayed in the spot, staring down at her, only his head visible. The weird setup made her more comfortable for some reason, able to talk to him with a barrier.
“Well, okay.” She dipped the brush, wiped it off, and started painting again. “Yeah, I was a little ticked off to have heard that about you and Mom from someone from school.”
“I can understand that.”
She looked up. “Can you?”
“Sure. You don’t want to be surprised about things involving people you love and trust. Plus, she’s your mom, and I guess that made you feel embarrassed because…” She heard the hesitation in his voice and what sounded like a deep sigh. “Of who I am.”
Shame shot through her, making her step back from the wall and look up. “Oh, no, Mr. Bancroft. Trace. That’s not…” Well, it was true. And if she said it wasn’t, she’d be lying. “I’m not used to my mom seeing someone, though.” That was true, too.
“And that’s why you were upset?”
She started painting again, slathering the brush over and over the same spot as she replayed what happened last Saturday. And how Cody treated her in school all week. “It was a bad night. I was moody, and a whole bunch of stuff ticked me off.”
“Like?”
“Like how I didn’t know my mom tutored you in high school. Why didn’t she tell me?”
He didn’t answer right away, silent long enough for Pru to step back and look up, waiting for a response.
“Probably because it was so meaningless, she forgot,” he finally suggested.
Or because it wasn’t meaningless at all. And she didn’t want to talk about it, because that wasn’t the real problem on Saturday night. “I was mostly upset about a kid,” she admitted.
“Cody?” She heard him shift overhead and imagined he was staring down through that hole again.
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Want to tell me?”
“No.”
“Okay, but I know a little bit about boys. What did he do to upset you?”
“Nothing,” she said. “And that was the problem. He acted like he was so dying to have me come over, and then he barely talked to me all night. There were like nine different girls there, and we all thought the same thing—that we were special.”
“You were there for his ego.”
“Right?” She stabbed the brush in the paint, the embarrassment and anger rising again. “I felt like an idiot for falling for it.”
“Well, now you know what he’s made of.”
She snorted. “Except at school this week, he was all attentive again, at my locker, flirting with me in the cafeteria, then wham. Five of my friends are convinced he likes them, too.”
“So he’s a player.”
“Totally.”
“Unless he likes you, and he’s trying to make you like him more by making you jealous.”
The brush froze as he put into words her exact thoughts. “Yes! But I don’t know which it is.”
“Either way, it’s kind of a crappy move,” he said. “If a guy won’t come straight out and tell you how he feels about you, then he’s a game player. And a lot of them will do that because the thrill of the chase is more fun than the catch.”
She sighed, knowing he was right.
“Anyway, you’re too young for boys.”
She laughed. “Now you sound like my grandfather. Girls my age have boyfriends, you know.”
“Boys who are friends. I’ve met some of yours, and I like them. But that boy?”
“Well, I invited ‘that boy’ to help today and be part of the Umproo Crew, but I guess he’s not coming.” Not that she really expected him to.
“If he comes and wants to climb up here and show off his roofing prowess, I’ll give him a chance,” Trace said. “Otherwise, I don’t like him.”
She laughed, leaning back to look up at him. “You don’t get an opinion.”
“Too bad, I have one.”
“Do I get one about you and Mom? ’Cause I know you two are, like, a thing.”
He didn’t answer for a long time. She heard the hammer hit a few times, then after a second of silence, he cleared his throat. “Yes, Pru, you get an opinion, and I am very much interested in what it is.”
“Well, I think…” She stopped talking at the sound of tires on the drive, followed by Meatball’s bark as he walked to the door to check it out.
“It’s a red truck,” Trace said from the roof. “Is that your boy?”
Yes! She squeezed her eyes shut to try to slow her pounding heart. “His older brother’s truck. He can’t drive yet.” She heard her voice rise in excitement as she laid down the paint brush in the tray and looked out the window, which gave an unbroken view of the front now that she’d taken down those wretched blinds.
And there was Cody Noonan climbing out of the passenger side in jeans and a beat-up Black Sabbath T-shirt, looking so darn fine.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Be cool.”
Wiping her paint- and sweat-covered hands on her jeans, she opened the door and stepped out, followed by Meatball, who quieted with one touch but stayed completely alert at the arrival of a stranger.
“S’up, Pru?” Cody asked.
“Nothing. What’s up with you?”
“Who’s this?” Cody looked at Meatball and took a few steps back. “That a pit bull?”
“It’s Meatball, and yes, he’s part Staffy.” Please don’t be one of those people.
“Looks like a pit to me. He fight?”
She made a face at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
He kept a wary eye on Meatball. “Yeah, yeah. I remember your family is all about dogs. You sure he won’t bite?”
“He won’t bite. Unless…” She turned to look up at the roof, but couldn’t see Trace from here. “Unless I tell him to.”
Cody didn’t laugh, which made her think, not for the first time, that he had no sense of humor. “So,” she said. “You here to get some hours?”
He snorted. “Nah. I don’t do that community service crap.”
Disappointment squeezed her stomach. “I thought that’s why you were here.”
“No, I’m jamming today. I want you to come and hear us play.”
That’s what he was here for? “Don’t tell me, you’re rounding up groupies.”
He gave a self-conscious laugh. “Only pretty ones, Pru.”
She felt her face warm at the compliment…even though she knew he was playing her. “Well, this pretty one has to get her hours and finish a big project.”
He squinted at the house. “What are you doing here again?” he asked.
She’d already told him in great detail. “Fixing up a house for the guy who lives here.”
“Oh, so ditch it for today.”
Ditch? To be a groupie? “No.”
His brother honked the horn. Hard and long.
“Hang the eff on for a sec, loser!” Cody called, making Pru cringe and Meatball bark sharply.
“I can’t leave,” she said. “Sorry.”
“Why not? It’s some stupid service project, and it’s Saturday afternoon, Pru.”
Which is when you do service projects. “I know, but I have to get it done. None of my friends are here today.” Including you.
“So nobody would even know you left. You can fake that hours shit. Everybody does that, you know.”
“I’m not everybody.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, and something deep inside made her want him to say something sweet, like I’ve noticed, but he was silent. Then his gaze moved up and over her head. “Who is that?” he asked, as much fear in his voice as when he’d asked about Meatball.
Pru didn’t have to look. “He owns the home.”
“Holy crap,” he muttered under his breath. “Looks badass.”
“Bad enough to ask you to either help or take off, son.” Trace’s words rolled down from the roof, giving Pru an unexpected jolt of joy. She stepped out a little farther to stare up at Trace, ridiculously grateful for the backup.
“It’s cool, man.” Cody immediately backed away, scowling. “No need to get all bat-shit crazy.”
“I’m not bat-shit crazy. Yet.”
Pru bit back a laugh, but Cody mumbled, “What the hell?” under his breath.
“You’re welcome to stay and help,” Trace said. “Otherwise, you’re gumming up the project by standing there and taking up air.”
“Yeah.” Cody choked softly, obviously nervous. “Not today, man. But thanks.” He turned back to Pru. “You think you’re safe here alone with that scary dude?”
Pru stared at him, silently measuring Trace Bancroft against Cody Noonan. One of them was a fine person. The other, a piece of dog poo.
“I’m completely safe with him,” she said. “But if you don’t get out of here, I can’t be responsible for what he or his guard dog will do.”
He paled visibly, glancing to Meatball, who took a step closer and growled like Trace had secretly made the command from the roof. For all she knew, he had.
“’kay. See ya.” He jutted his chin to Pru, glanced up at Trace, then turned away and walked a little too fast to be cool to the truck. His brother took off, spitting gravel and making Meatball run after the car with a nasty warning bark.
Pru stood there for a good thirty seconds, weirdly thrilled with what just happened. She turned and looked up at the roof, shielding her eyes from the morning sun, getting a good look at the man who didn’t look so badass to her. But maybe if you didn’t know him…you’d misjudge him.
Like she had. “Hey, all you need is a cape, Superman.”
He took a few steps closer to the edge of the roof. “So you’re not furious at me?”
“Not in the least. Kind of wish I had the whole thing on video so I could put it in my presentation.”
“He’s a jerk,” Trace said simply.
“Seriously.” A slow smile broke as she stared up at him. “And you were pretty cool.”
“You think?”
“Yeah.” She scooped her fingers around Meatball’s collar to lead him back into the house. There, she took up her paint brush again, replaying the whole conversation and so damn proud of how it unfolded. She was so much better than Cody Noonan.
“Hey, you never answered my question,” Trace said, back in place over the hole in the roof.
“What question?”
“What do you think about your mom and me?”
She didn’t say anything, painting a long, thick line along the door casing instead. “I think…” She bent back down and refilled the brush. “That you and Mom…” She painted over the line again, stalling as she tried to come up with the right thing to say. “Are really good together.”
She stepped back and looked up, seeing the expression on his face. It was pretty much the happiest she’d ever seen him. Beaming from ear to ear. “So you really like her,” she concluded, making him laugh. “Then I guess it’s time I know the truth.”
His jaw dropped. “The truth?” She could have sworn his voice cracked.
“I want to know,” she said. “What happened that night when you killed someone?”
She could see his broad shoulders fall as if she’d hit him hard, and that made her feel a little bad, but if he was going to date her mom, she had to know.
“I had to leave town one night,” he said after a few silent seconds.
“Why?” She peered up at him. “Don’t leave out important details. How else can I make a decision about whether you’re guilty or not?”
“I’ve already been found guilty, Pru. There’s no decision to make.”
“Then let me hear your side.” She squinted hard. “You have a side, right?”
He nodded. “But they still found me guilty.”
“I know, but I want to hear for myself. Start at the beginning.”
He didn’t answer right away, then, “I had to leave Bitter Bark one night because my boss thought I did something I didn’t do.”
“What was that?”
He sighed heavily. “It had to do with his wife.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not what you think, Pru.”
“Then enlighten me.”
She heard him shift around on his roof perch. “You sure you want to hear this?”
“Yes, and don’t leave anything out ’cause you think I’m a kid.”
“Okay. Here we go.”
Pru stopped painting and listened, closing her eyes to picture a bus and a bar and a bad, bad man. With each imaginary image painted by the man sitting on a roof, her eyes stung and her chest pounded with the total and complete unfairness of it all.
“Wow,” she said softly when he told her what the judge sentenced. “That sucks.”
“It’s the law.”
“Yeah?” She choked her disgust. “Then we need better lawyers. Maybe that’s what I’ll be.”
“Don’t, it’ll break my heart.”
The way he said that was so…so honest. Like he cared what she’d be when she grew up.
“But you did everything right, and I absolutely hate unfairness. You were Superman again, defending a girl. You made one mistake.” Yes, it was a big one, but still.
When he didn’t answer for a few minutes, didn’t laugh or say a word, she inched back and looked up, and at that very second, she caught him bunching up his T-shirt to use it to wipe his eyes.
And that just about broke her heart.
She was going to have to tell Mom tonight that he was a good guy. But then, maybe Mom already knew that.