Deep Down (Lockhart Brothers #1) (2 page)

“How nice.” Levi rolled his eyes, refusing to look at me.

“Today’s the only day I don’t have dance,” I said. “And this is a huge project. I’m not losing my 4.0 now. Not after I managed an A in Calc last semester even with everything with my mom.”

My voice was thick with emotion. Levi sighed and reached for my hand.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just sometimes it feels like you don’t care about anything but school stuff. It’s not easy, you know, being with a virgin—”

“Could you say that a little bit louder? I know the halls are crowded and noisy, but there’s a chance someone might have missed it.”

“Very funny, Ivy. Everyone knows. There are only a handful of virgins left in our class and we all know who they are.”

“That doesn’t mean anyone needs to overhear my boyfriend griping about it.”

“I’m not griping. I’m just saying that sometimes it seems like we only mess around because
I
want to.”

This time it was me sighing with exasperation. He was right—I did sometimes let him feel me up and grind against me through our clothes just to placate him. My mind wandered during those make out sessions. I’d think about my homework, the Stanford campus, dance routines I was working on. Sometimes I thought about my mom. Those were the times I’d cling to Levi and fight back the tears. He always took it as a sign that I was into whatever he was doing, but really I just craved the comfort.

“I want to, okay?’ I said with an edge. “But I have a ton of homework. Calc is kicking my butt.”

“I’ll make it better.” Levi winked and returned his arm to my waist. “I know how to take your mind off everything.”

We’d made it to the concrete steps outside the school, and I wrapped my coat around me to block out the icy Michigan wind. Levi jogged down the stairs and I rushed to keep up with him. He was still in prime shape from football season. I was in great shape from dance, but I didn’t have his long legs and ability to fly down the stairs without tripping.

“My nuts are frozen,” he grumbled as we got in his tiny sports car.

I cranked up the heat as he pulled out of the parking lot. When I looked up, my friend Regina was waving wildly from several cars away. I blew her a kiss and waved back.

“Is it true she fucked McAllister over break?” Levi asked.

I shrugged. It was true, from what she’d told me, but she’d asked me not to repeat it.

“So . . .” Levi tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “We’ve kinda talked about this, but I haven’t officially asked. I’m hoping you’ll go to prom with me?”

“Of course I will,” I said, smiling at his uncertainty. We’d started dating right before prom last year so this would be our second time going together.

“And, uh . . .” He tapped a little faster. “I mean, rooms will be booking up, so . . . I was thinking of getting us a room at a hotel . . .”

My stomach flipped nervously. In a rare moment of impulsiveness, I’d suggested to Levi that we could have sex for the first time on prom night. We were both eighteen. We loved each other. And even though I was going to college in California and he was going to a state school here in Michigan, it still felt right.

“Yes,” I said. “Go ahead and get one. I’ll split the cost with you.”

He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Ivy. I’ve got the room. I want it to be a special night since it’s your first time.”

Levi wasn’t a virgin. He’d been with three girls already when we’d started dating. And other than the grumbling, he’d been patient.

“Let’s go to your house,” he said, stroking a thumb across my palm. “My mom’s working from home today. I won’t stay long since you’ve got homework.”

Had I picked up this morning? I was pretty sure I’d deposited the half dozen empty beer cans dad had left on the counter last night into the trash can. He’d taken up drinking after mom died, and since he mostly did it at home, it wasn’t something anyone but me knew about. And I wanted to keep it that way. It would just make people feel sorry for both of us, and I didn’t want that.

“Dad’s working ’til five,” I said.

“I’ll be gone long before that. You must know I’m crazy into you since I’m willing to risk making out with a cop’s daughter right on his couch.”

“I’m eighteen, Levi. I’m pretty sure my dad thinks I’m sleeping with you anyway.”

“What?” He gave me a horrified glance.

“He’s made comments.”

“Oh, shit.”

I squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Most eighteen-year-olds have sex. My parents were nineteen when they got married. And my dad likes you.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Relax. He’ll only shoot you in the leg if he catches us. Nothing fatal.”

“That’s not funny, Ivy.”

I laughed at his nervousness. My dad had never been the intimidating type of police officer. He was laid back and happy most all the time. At least he had been before mom died. Like me, he still seemed to be struggling to find a normal without her in it. And the way he’d started looking at me when he made comments about me and Levi, his eyes dark and his voice sounding almost
jealous,
well . . . that hadn’t been the case when Mom was alive.

Levi turned onto my street and I pulled out my phone to check messages. I didn’t have much to look at, since most of my friends had been in school with me.

When Levi groaned, I looked up. “What?”

He nodded at my driveway as he slowed his car. “Looks like your dad’s not working after all.”

I saw my dad’s marked squad car and scrunched my face in confusion. Dad never left work early. Was he sick? A wave of unease passed over me. Mom had been fine until suddenly feeling sick one day. A bacterial infection had taken her life in just three short weeks.

“Wanna go park instead?” Levi asked.

“Uh, no. I think I need to go make sure my dad’s okay. He’s been . . . kind of off lately.”

He turned into the driveway, parked and gave me a perfunctory kiss.

“You’re worth waiting for,” he said, smiling. His compliment aggravated me, because I knew I was worth waiting for and I was tired of being reminded of it like he was some kind of saint for keeping his pants zipped.

“I’m riding with Regina in the morning,” I said.

“OK, text me later.”

I nodded and stepped out of the car, waving as he backed out of the driveway. I made the trip to our street side mailbox in a hurry, flipping through the stack of bills as I walked up to the garage door keypad and typed in the code.

The ‘S’ logo on a return address grabbed my attention. Stanford. I’d already been accepted, but every letter from my future school brought on a fresh wave of excitement. I was getting out of Lexington. Hopefully a new place would be a fresh start, without the sadness that followed me everywhere here. And Stanford had been Mom’s dream for me.

I tore into the envelope as the garage door creaked its way up.

Dear Miss Gleason,

We are pleased to inform you that you are the recipient of the Thomas and Viola Stringer Memorial Scholarship.

My heart pounded wildly as I read the words which were soon blurred by tears. I’d gotten it. Somehow, I’d gotten an academic scholarship that would fund all tuition, room and board for my freshman year. And, if I got good grades, it was renewable.

I blinked and tears dropped onto my cold cheeks. Dad wouldn’t have to work overtime to afford my tuition. That thought had been weighing on my mind and this news made me feel about twenty pounds lighter. Dad would be so proud of me. Finally we had something to celebrate.

Gently, I folded the letter and returned it to its envelope. How would I tell him? Maybe I’d make hamburgers for dinner—his favorite—and then slide the envelope across the table while he was eating.

I couldn’t contain myself. I pushed the door open and flew into the house, not sure if I wanted to dance or cry. There was no way I could wait until dinner to tell him. I just hoped I could get the words out without bursting into joyful tears. There had been so many tears for both of us in the past five months, but none had been happy.

“There y’are.” Dad’s slurred voice sounded from the couch as soon as I walked into the living room. “No romp on the couch with loverboy today, I s’pose?”

I swallowed hard at his bitter tone. There were almost a dozen beer cans on the coffee table in front of him, all with the tops opened. He was drunk, which happened often lately, but never at 3:30 in the afternoon.

“Did you get off work early?” I asked, slipping my backpack off my shoulder and onto the ground. I put my Stanford letter into the front pocket and then stepped forward to gather the empty cans.

“I’m here, right?” he said.

“I thought I’d make hamburgers for dinner.”

His hand shot out and locked around my wrist.

“Olivia.” His tone was rough with emotion as he said my mother’s name. My heart pounded and I felt a whooshing sensation in my ears.

“It’s me, Dad. Ivy.”

“I know,” he said, sounding both confused and disgusted.

The letter was forgotten. Fear swam through my veins as he looked at me. Something was very wrong, and my flight instinct was screaming.

“Go put some lipstick on,” he said gruffly.

A wave of nausea rose so powerfully it made me dizzy. Lately, I’d noticed him looking at me differently, but I had told myself it was just my imagination. This was different, though. His dark eyes were cold and unfamiliar.

“I have to go to dance practice,” I said, turning toward the door. “I’ll be home soon.”

I had no idea where I would go. I’d walk somewhere. Call someone for help. I just had to get out of here.

“No.” He was off the couch and behind me now. My skin prickled with fear. “Get back here.”

“Dad, what—”

His hand wrapped around my wrist again, jerking me into silence. He dragged me, stumbling, toward the hallway that led to my bedroom.

I was going to be sick. I tasted vomit and felt hot tears stinging my eyes. This was worse than any nightmare I’d ever had.

He wasn’t a violent man. He’d never laid a hand on me. But I prayed silently that he was about to beat me. It would hurt, but I could survive it. As he tossed me onto the rumpled covers of my bed, I hoped he’d slap me. I wanted him to work out whatever craziness he was feeling any other way than the one I suspected he was thinking of.

“Don’t do this,” I said, pushing myself away from him with my feet and hands. “You’ve been drinking, and whatever this—”

“Shut up.” His voice was eerily calm as his weight descended on me, pinning me to the bed. “You don’t know. I never wanted . . . other women. Only her.”

I was crying hard now, terror making me shake from head to toe. “She’s gone. And you don’t want to do this.”

“Shut your mouth.” He pinned my arms above my head with one hand and worked my jeans open with the other.

Instinct kicked in and I thrashed against him, trying to knee him in the groin. “No! Stop. You can’t do this. Stop, Dad.”

I couldn’t even move him and my struggles seemed to make him even more incensed. He was so much bigger and stronger. Vomit rose up my throat and I swallowed it in my struggle.

“Stop making this hard,” he said, my jeans and panties now around my knees. “You give it up to your boyfriend all the time.”

His hand was on the zipper of his own pants now, and I kicked my legs in a frantic effort to stop him.

“No! No, no, no. Just let me go. I’ll make hamburgers, we’ll forget about this,” I cried, my voice desperate. “Please.”

It was as if he didn’t even hear me. He used one leg to hold mine still. The eyes staring down at me were black and unfamiliar. I realized my dad was gone, too. No matter what happened from here, I’d never again see him as the man who had raised me, the man who’d been a devoted husband and father. He and mom had been there, cheering me on, during my swim meets and dance recitals. When I was little, he’d carried me around the house on his shoulders so I could touch the ceiling. Suddenly, he was a stranger to me. And now he was about to ruin me forever.

Survive. Just survive, Ivy.

I turned my head to the side and squeezed my eyes closed. When I was ten I’d been very sick and had had to endure lots of blood work with collapsed veins. My mom had held my hands the whole time, whispering words of comfort in my ear and stroking my hair.

“I’m here, baby.”

Her voice echoed in my head as I breathed in and out. A shockwave of pain hit, but I bit down on my lip and reminded myself I could get though anything with my mom beside me.

“Everything’s okay.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

“Mommy’s right here.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

“That’s my brave girl.”

I listened to her, my mind somewhere far away from what was happening in my bedroom.

Then it was over. The weight lifted off my chest and my breath came easier. I wanted to crawl away, run, hide, but I was paralyzed with shock and fear. My father leaned above me, his face a mask of shock and horror.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, looking at me. “What did I . . .”

I closed my legs and curled into a ball, wrapping my arms around my shaking body.

“Ivy.”

I let myself stay in a protective trance, not acknowledging him or my surroundings.

“I didn’t mean for that . . .” he slurred. Then, as if the full realization hit him, he seemed to sober up immediately and he added, “You can’t tell anyone about this. Not one word. No one would believe you anyway. We’re both gonna forget this happened, okay? You just . . . clean up and go make dinner.”

He left the room. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. Instead I pulled my pants up and ran to my bathroom, where I closed the door and turned the lock on the handle. If he really wanted to get in, that lock wouldn’t stop him for long, but it made me feel better.

A few minutes later I heard the front door close and then I heard him pull out of the driveway.

I cautiously opened the bathroom door and went back into my room. I pulled up the blinds on the window next to my bed. Then I opened the window, inhaling sharply as a cold winter breeze touched my skin.