Page 10 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

I ruffled her hair. “Love you, too. But if you steal something again, I’m leaving your ass in jail.”

…

Megan was right. There was something about driving past the old house, its large Victorian columns and sprawling lawn behind the wrought iron gate with the gilded D in the middle, that made everything inside me go cold. The money alone would’ve made people talk, but being part of one of the most influential families in the upper class suburb of Concord wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Just mentioning the last name Davenport meant people automatically treated you better, but they also watched every move and gossiped about every misstep. I wasn’t going to say the perks hadn’t been nice most of the time, but living under the microscope nonstop wasn’t easy.

I knew it’d created quite the scandal when Dad, the heir to the Davenport company and the fortune that came with it, married a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. As little kids, Megan and I had repeatedly heard the story from Mom about how, despite the odds, love conquered all.

But when I’d walked in on Mom and one of Dad’s financial advisers in a compromising position—mostly clothed, thank the Lord, but still—I’d realized love wasn’t as powerful as I’d once thought. Not to mention the whole scarred-for-life thing. Even worse, Mom continued to act completely in love with Dad, not a single slipup. Every time she’d call to say she had meetings for her various charities, I wondered if she was lying. It was such a relief when I found out she’d told Dad about the affair. Harboring a secret from the guy I’d admired most in the world had eaten away at me.

They’d gone to counseling to repair their marriage, and there at the end, everything seemed to be working. They’d still had their problems, but they always put on a united front. I’d hoped it was because things were okay, but maybe it was just for the sake of the company.

She swore she’d ended it. Surely it hadn’t still been going on.

Whether it was old news that’d surfaced, or if Mom had slipped off the fidelity wagon, it was out there for the entire town to discuss and analyze now. As if losing both parents in one fell swoop wasn’t a hard enough blow for our family and hadn’t caused enough talk. It was why I loved my anonymity at college—I’d decided to leave my showier, chromed-out Escalade in favor of the older Land Rover, and with the exception of having my own apartment, I worked to hide the fact that I had money.

Not just money, I had responsibility that’d only get worse in less than a year. Control of the company was due to transfer to me on my twenty-first birthday, because apparently that was old enough to suddenly be in charge of a large pharmaceutical company that employed thousands of people.

No pressure.

Dad had always pushed me toward the sciences, and I liked them well enough, but I’d need a stronger business base to successfully run the company. Dad loved the company as much as his father had, and his father before that. It was in our blood, he used to say. After my first year at college, he took me aside and told me I needed to take more serious classes to get ready for a future position at D&T Pharmaceuticals. Neither of us had known at the time just how soon that’d need to happen.

Mom always reassured me I didn’t have to go into the family company if I didn’t want to—that she’d still be proud, as long as I didn’t turn into a spoiled rich jerk. When I’d wanted to play hockey over polo—which was the norm for the sons in my parents’ circle of friends—she’d helped me talk Dad into letting me go out for the rougher sport.

Hockey was one thing, but she’d known as well as I had that Dad would’ve been disappointed if I decided to take another career path. The people at the company were going to expect me to do something to pull my weight and keep getting paid, and with Megan relying on me, too, I wondered if I should quit the hockey team and focus on getting through college faster.

Just the thought of no hockey made everything I tried to keep at bay press in on me. There were a few weeks at the beginning of summer that I barely remembered, just a blur of grief and crying and the funeral, and thinking my parents being gone had to be a bad dream. There were still bad days here and there, but once I’d gotten back to Boston, it felt like I could breathe again, and a big part of that was getting on the ice.

Four colleges had given me the red-carpet treatment, but Boston College had one of the best hockey programs in the nation, and it was the entire reason I’d chosen to go there. The location—close enough to go home when I needed to and also near where the Bruins played—was just icing on the cake.

Scouts from the Bruins occasionally attended the BC games, and would of course be at playoff games, and my main focus for the past year and a half had been getting good enough for them to notice me before I graduated. I’d hoped getting drafted would give me a chance to delay working with Dad for a few more years and play for the NHL. A long shot, but it was what I’d dreamed about ever since the first time I gripped a hockey stick.

I needed to face the fact that that dream was gone now and shift my focus to taking over the family business and running the company in a way that would’ve made Dad proud. To making sure Megan had the stable future she was obviously craving.

For the rest of the season I’d give hockey everything I had and go out as high as possible—NCAA championship would be the ultimate way to achieve that, and our team had a good shot at the title. Then, when the season ended—no doubt it’d feel way too soon when it came—I’d trade my hockey stick and skates for suits and ties and at least have the glory days to relive when I was bored out of my mind.

Sorrow rose up, and I accelerated out of town, wanting to put this place behind me while I could.

Let’s see, what day is it?

Wednesday.That meant hockey and classes to keep me busy the next few days, then the party with Lyla. Followed by our low-key Sunday movie night—that was the part of the week I was most looking forward to. Those were the nights I was just a regular guy hanging out with a not-so-regular girl, with little to no effort required to keep the depressing thoughts constantly spinning through my head at bay.

Chapter Seven

Lyla

Nerd is such a broad term when you think about it. Or maybe I liked thinking about it that way, because it meant I didn’t fit into a box. But seriously, there were science fiction nerds, there were the socially awkward nerds, people who role-played and were into comic books, guys and girls who could work wonders with technology, and then there were the because-you’re-smart nerds.

Okay, so I definitely had some overlap going on, but technology tended to do the opposite of what I wanted it to, and I’d never gotten into comic books or role-playing games. Science fiction wasn’t my thing, either. Funny, because I was fairly obsessed with chemistry which was, you know, a science. It’s not like I was opposed to science fiction—I’d seen the odd movie or read a book here and there that was interesting enough—but I didn’t have the commitment to be a Trekkie or a Whovian or whatever other subset was out there.

As I was pulling on my new outfit in my room, legs freshly shaven and coated in shimmery lotion, I decided I was in the because-I-am-smart-and-socially-awkward category of nerd. The smartness came from a lot of hard work, though—a plethora of nights spent studying like crazy so I could get a scholarship, because it was the only way I could afford college, as my parents had reminded me often. I think the obsession with good grades, combined with lack of sunlight and interactions with the general population, might’ve messed with my social skills.

You would’ve thought Mom’s Mexican genes would’ve at least given me an eternal tan, but nope.With this outfit, it would’ve been especially nice, considering all the skin I had on display. The hips she gave me were definitely in full force, though, and I was doing my best to shut out the horrified comments and looks I’d get if she saw me showing off my curves in a getup like this. On top of that, my heart was beating way too fast, my previous anticipation and high hopes had dissolved, and I was now fairly certain this night was destined to end in me making a fool of myself.

The few high school parties I’d attended with Miles had been relatively quiet—we never knew about the loud, pack-three-hundred-people-in-a-house ones until we showed up at school on Monday and heard how “killer” they were. He didn’t drink, so I’d decided not to out of solidarity, and the fact that my parents would’ve freaked if they found out. It’d just gotten to be a habit somewhere along the way, I supposed. Since I’d started college, I’d tried a few drinks here and there, but I always kept myself in control.

No more. Not tonight, anyway.

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