Perfect Summer (15 page)

***

Davis might have just made the biggest mistake of his life. He watched Lilly’s taillights fading down the driveway. This was all for the greater good, but he still felt like total shit. She’d rejected him. No big surprise. He’d thought he’d been prepared for the heart stomping, but she’d nailed him.

An out-and-out no. That had been a surprise. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him. It would be the mantra he used for the next few weeks…bleak weeks without her…nothing to look forward to…days without waiting for the phone to ring just so he could hear her voice.

That just pissed him off. How many times had he kept the phone with him because she’d promised to call and hadn’t? How many times had he asked her out and gotten rejected? How many times had he said “I love you” and gotten nothing except cold silence?

For Christ’s sake, she hadn’t even cried today when he’d ended it. Hell, he’d been on the verge of bawling his eyes out, but she had been as cold as winter in Canada. Either she absolutely didn’t care or she was so repressed that she didn’t recognize it. How could he have fallen for
her
?

Because she didn’t simper or whine. Lilly was practical and tough and very feminine and too smart for her own good. On the outside, there was no softness to her, only hard-as-nails, independent, and headstrong, but on the inside…she was a gooey marshmallow. He grinned.

Since that day he’d seen her standing in the doorway across the hall from his grandfather’s room at the nursing home, Davis had known Lilly was the woman for him. She’d been there visiting Ms. Hattie, Lilly’s mother’s best friend. Davis had taken one look at Lilly and fallen head over heels.

That had been almost two years ago, but he could still remember every detail like it was yesterday. She’d had on a formfitting blue dress, pearls around her neck, blue heels, and sad eyes that had grown even sadder when she’d realized that Ms. Hattie was so eaten up with Alzheimer’s that her mind had retreated into the 1950s.

Still, Lilly had come every Monday and Wednesday until last December when Ms. Hattie had passed on. After the funeral service, Davis had driven Lilly to Brenham because Ms. Hattie had wanted her ashes buried outside the Blue Bell ice cream plant, so she could gaze upon her favorite food for eternity. Lilly hadn’t asked for permission, she’d just grabbed a shovel and started digging.

Davis smiled. And anyone who’d dared to ask why a beautiful blonde in a designer suit and heels was digging a hole underneath the canopy of pink crepe myrtles had been met with an icy glare and stony silence. That was his Lilly—dutiful and loving to the point of criminal trespassing.

He’d give her a week, and then he was stepping up the pressure. They would be together, and she would beg for his hand in marriage, if it was the last thing he did.

***

Summer and Clint pulled up in front of a squat, gray, two-story apartment building that might have been a cheap motel in a former, more glamorous life. Clint couldn’t believe this place wasn’t condemned. Dirty, brown doors lined the sagging second floor like rotting teeth in a crooked smile. The first floor was a burned-out shell with weeds and trash spilling into the parking lot.

Clint took it all in—anything to avoid the self-consciousness Summer had brought out in him. She could see right through his bullshit, she didn’t let him get away with anything, and he could talk to her like no other person he’d known. That was unsettling and risky because she appeared to have no ulterior motive. Unlike the rest of the world, she didn’t want or expect anything from him. He wasn’t sure how to handle her.

She stepped out of the car before he could make it all the way around to open her door.

“Mario lives on the second floor.” Summer pointed to a narrow strip of a landing that ran the length of the second floor. She didn’t seem to notice the deplorable conditions.

By the look of things, poverty wasn’t a strong enough word. He had no idea things were this bad for anyone in this country. This place was worse than those TV shows asking for money to support some kid on the other side of the world, and it was practically in his backyard. Shame—something he hadn’t felt in a long time—weaseled its way in. He’d made twelve million dollars last year, and he’d spent more on iTunes than he’d donated. When had the shallow side he showed the world become his true nature?

Clint put his hand in the small of Summer’s back and guided her around a puddle of brown goo in their path as they stepped off the rickety stairs onto the second floor. A brownish-gray rat's tail as thick as a rope disappeared into a foot-wide hole in the wall. Mold dotted the cracked concrete. Clint wanted to take a long, hot shower and forget anyone he knew lived like this, but Summer kept her head high and a smile on her face. None of this touched her.

This was what she’d been talking about when she’d told him to keep the students’ personal lives out of the media. She wanted them to save face. What had she said? “Pride can’t be bought, but it can be taken.”

Was this why Mario wouldn’t take a ride home the other night?

Clint got it.

Summer stopped in front of number twenty-seven. “Here it is.”

Silver duct tape patched holes and held together the splintered wood of the door.

She knocked. “Hola, Señora Sanchez.”

It opened almost immediately. A thin Hispanic woman wearing a faded blue dress and flip-flops blinked at the bright sunlight.

A bruise bloomed on her cheek. Clint couldn’t look away, finally reconciling himself to the surreal possibility that this wasn’t a movie or TV show. This woman had been beaten. While he’d spent the morning worrying about giving a speech, her husband had smacked her around. This is what the world thought he’d done to his ex-girlfriend. His problems were insignificant next to this woman’s daily life.

He followed Summer into the little apartment.

It was only one painfully neat room. Against the back wall, two sets of bunk beds bookended a double bed. Neatly folded clothes were stacked on plastic shelves at the ends of the bunk beds, and shoes were lined up under the shelves. A tidy little world—order out of chaos—the only thing this woman could control. When he was a child, his room had been the same way—an island of control in the turbulent sea of his high-profile family.

He shook his head. A family of six living in a one-room apartment while he lived in a seven-bedroom house. Clint’s life was a joke. His capacity for shame quadrupled. He would find a way to fix this, because Mario and his family shouldn’t live this way. There had to be something Clint could do. Three weeks ago, he’d have told himself this wasn’t his problem and shut his eyes to the ugliness. But now, his eyes were wide open, and he would find a way out for Mario, because it was the right thing to do. It wasn’t about publicity or endorsement deals, it was about helping out—no strings attached.

Clint smiled to himself. His guesthouse was vacant…the faint outline of a plan was coming together in his mind. He’d work out the details later. Mario and his family were now important to Clint, and he’d move heaven and earth to take care of them.

Summer touched his arm. “Now that I know his mother’s okay, it’s time for us to go. I need to find out if Mario’s been arraigned so I can bail him out.”

Ten minutes later, Summer floored it and barely made it through the light at First and IH-35. They hadn’t spoken since leaving Mario’s apartment. Apparently, she enjoyed silence as much as he did.

He wondered, how many times had she rushed to the aid of a student?

“If juvenile court is anything like the adult version, Mario won’t go before a judge for a day or two. He’ll be down at central processing.” Clint downshifted to fourth.

She braked behind a long line of cars. “Mario’s seventeen. In the eyes of the State of Texas, he’s an adult. I’m hoping to get in and see him. You seem to know a lot about the Travis County Justice System.”

He worked the gearshift back to third and then second. “I’ve been arrested. Just so you know, the charges were dropped.”

“I know.” She glanced over. “You didn’t do it. There’s no way you beat up your girlfriend.”

“How long have you known?” He cared what she thought—the rest of the world could go to hell, but he cared what she thought. The light on First and Riverside blinked red, resulting in a long line of cars. Clint maneuvered into first.

“Since day one. Do you think I’d let a potential threat anywhere near my kids?”

His stomach clenched, but he stiffened his spine. “I need to tell you what happened—”

“Sorry to interrupt you, but I don’t care.” She reached over and squeezed his knee. “You’re a good man, and there’s no way you could hurt anyone.”

“How do you know?” He’d never met anyone who trusted so easily and so implicitly.

“Anyone who’s spent five minutes with you knows you don’t have it in you. Sure, football is violent, but you aren’t.” Summer was so sure.

“How do you do that?”

“What?” Confusion muddled her certainty.

“Believe in people. You only see the positive no matter how much negative stares you in the face. Like Mario’s house. You marched right on in and didn’t spare a glance for the horrible living conditions or his mother’s mangled face. Christ, I’m ready to buy them the first house I see for sale.”

“See what I mean?” She shot him a smile. “You’re a good guy.”

The adoration in her eyes was starting to make him feel guilty. “No, I’m not. You’re letting me off too easily. A month ago, I wouldn’t have driven on this side of town, much less noticed anyone other than myself.”

“But it’s not a month ago, and you’re here now. Do you think someone shallow and self-involved would have insisted on coming with me today?”

He couldn’t get over it. She admired him. Summer was a saint, and he was a sinner, but she refused to see it. “You’re the most unusual girl I’ve ever met.”

Her smile froze, and she dropped her gaze.

“Can you grab my phone out of my purse? It’s in the front pocket.” She pointed to the huge, brown, leather blob resting on the floor between them.

Clint picked up her purse, unzipped the front pocket, and handed it to her. He knew better than to dig around in a woman’s purse.

“I need to make a call. Do you mind?” Summer grabbed her phone, scrolled for a number, hit call, and put it on speaker. The phone rang.

“Hey, honey.” The voice was male.

Clint glanced over at the phone she’d placed on the dash. The display identified the caller as Chuck. Was that her boyfriend? Hadn’t Bunny said she was single?

“I need a favor. One of my kids got arrested. Can you see if he’s scheduled to be arraigned today or if he has to wait until tomorrow?”

“Anything for you. I’m on the computer now. Let me pull up the docket.” Keys clicked on a computer keyboard. “Is it Mario Sanchez?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t he the one who’s good with cars?” More typing. “Almost there. Hey, did I leave my belt at your house last night? I couldn’t find it this morning.”

“I found it on the nightstand.”

Clint looked out the window. Definitely sleeping together. Chuck got that luscious mouth all to himself. He’d better be good enough for her. Clint’s jaw tensed, and his hand squeezed the gearshift so tightly it should have broken off. Since old Chuck wasn’t Joe Montana, Troy Aikman, or Jesus, he wasn’t anywhere near good enough for her.

“Here it is. Mario Jesus Sanchez…uh oh.” Chuck took a deep breath. “He’s being arraigned in a couple of hours, but you’re not gonna like this. Jack’s in today for the DA’s office.”

“Lovely.” If Summer’s voice spewed anymore venom, Clint would need a snake-bite kit.

“Don’t let your ex get you down.”

Summer groaned. “Give Stan a kiss from me and tell him I’ll have the cupcakes ready tomorrow night for the TGR. Is he still entered?”

“Texas Gay Rodeo—It’s How Real Men Ride.” This was a different male voice—more effeminate.

Clint glanced at the phone like it would tell him the name of the speaker.

“Stan, that sounded very butch. I’m proud of you.” Summer smiled. “I need to go. Bye, guys.” She pressed end.

“My next door neighbors, Chuck and Stan. Chuck’s a judge, and Stan owns a women’s clothing store on South Congress.”

The tension in Clint’s body eased. Not boyfriends. “Expecting trouble from the ex?”

“Jack?” Her mouth twisted in a snarl as she stomped on the gas.

Clint shifted into second.

“You’re getting the hang of it. Good job.” Summer smiled.

“What about your ex?” Clint wasn’t about to drop it.

“Jack’s an ass, but he isn’t stupid. He won’t make trouble.”

Summer turned into the parking garage, pulled into a space. Clint put the truck in neutral and set the brake. Summer turned off the engine.

“Are you going to tell me about your ex?” It was the first personal question he’d asked her. She knew his deepest, darkest secret, but he knew almost nothing about her.

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “There’s not much to tell. We were engaged and didn’t get married.”

Who had broken it off?

Summer pulled the door latch and slid out of the seat. There was more to the story, but she wasn’t giving it up, and Clint wasn’t going to beg.

This Jack had hurt her, that was plain. The idea of Summer—this sweet, giving person— being vulnerable made him uncomfortable. He liked it better when she was headstrong and sassy.

Clint climbed down and closed the door. He couldn’t wait to meet Jack, the man who’d thought he was good enough for Summer. Clint already hated him.

“Remember when I told you to lose the ‘charm boy’ persona?” Summer looked Clint directly in the eye. “I’m giving you a hall pass.”

She had to use whatever means necessary to help Mario, even if it meant she’d have to see Jack. She’d managed to avoid the devil for six whole months. Her top lip snarled, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from growling. Her reprieve was at an end. Rejection by someone she’d thought she loved was bad enough, but he’d done it publicly, and now she had to face him.