Secret Diaries (Heartlake Cliche #1)

Chapter Thirty-One

July 13, 2001

I pretend to be asleep when we reach home after a veeerrry long trip so dad would carry me into the house. It makes me feel so much like a princess.

 

     Nick opened his fourth can of beer as he leaned back on the wooden deckchair. He had leisurely been drinking alone for a few hours already but he had long since known that he had the stomach for alcohol. He wasn’t a drinker though. He hated being drunk. It had happened once when Matt, Lance and Kane forced bottles on him until he could no longer distinguish which was air and which was floor. He did it because he wanted to know how much he could take but he never liked it. And he hated the hangover even more. Since then, he had never failed to count the number of glasses he had consumed and said no whenever he started to feel any side effect of alcohol.

     To hell if people think he was a sissy. Or a wimp. Or a wussy, weakling, coward. Whatever.

     He took a sip from the can then stared into the night. Their unit was not too high up but the view from his home’s terrace was still breathtaking. The city lights were ablaze at this hour and combined with sounds that were more audible down here, the experience felt more surreal compared to the view from the penthouse.

     A sigh escaped from deep in his throat.

     He turned his head toward the general direction of the Leisure District. He wanted to go. He really did. But Rachelle had asked for time and by all means, he would give it. She hadn’t asked for space but Nick knew she would have a more difficult time sorting out her feelings if she kept seeing him. So he did his best to stay away. He had asked Lance to give her his birthday gift: a silver necklace with two pendants—a heart and a key. He remembered her fascination with key accessories; and during one of those instances when she had dragged him to go shopping, he noticed her eyeing that particular necklace. He knew she didn’t have it yet because if she did, he would have known.

     He seemed to know everything about her.

     Nick also knew she would like it and had things been normal, she would have hugged him in delight, surprised at how he could remember such a trivial thing as a necklace.

     He heard the sliding doors being opened so he turned to see who it was. Hubert Cleveland sauntered toward the other deckchair, then plopped himself down; setting a fresh bucket of ice, two glasses, and a bottle of red wine on the small table between them.

     His father was a huge man, tall and a bit overweight but still handsome, nonetheless. Nick got his dark blond hair, rugged features and large build from Hubert yet people always thought that the younger man seemed to radiate more power and confidence than his old man. When asked, Julia Cleveland would always say that it must be because her son learned independence at quite a young age. In all truth, Nick thought that that impression stemmed from the fact that his father smiled more often than him.

     The wine bottle opened with a pop, and he watched silently as his father poured the rich, burgundy liquid into each of the goblets.  Hubert handed him one, took the other, then stretched his long legs out on the chaise.

     They drank in silence, and Nick felt strange at the idea that he rather enjoyed his father’s company.

     He thought he wanted to be alone.

     Seconds turned to minutes and still, no conversation had begun between the two of them. Nick rather liked it but he wondered what his father was thinking. He wasn’t one to open up to anyone and he felt a pang of guilt as he looked at his father quietly drinking his wine. Could it be that he wanted his son to tell him what was bothering him?