–oOo –

Author's Note: I was cleaning out one of my WIP folders recently and discovered this: an OTH fanfic inspired by Dan's antics towards the end of Season 1, specifically when he took over for Whitney coaching the Ravens and told Lucas (in a roundabout way) that he'd wanted to share custody with Karen years ago. The story was completed in July 2015, so I'm not sure why I never posted it before. Perhaps because it contains elements used in so many of my other OTH works? I'm not sure. Regardless, after re-reading it these past few weeks and then tweaking it here and there, I figure there are also enough differences within that it's okay to post anyway. Better here than forgotten again or dumped in the trash bin, right? Let's hope so. ;)

p.s. full credit for the script excerpt in bold goes to the One Tree Hill series creator Mark Schwann.

–oOo –

In Whitey's office, Dan is at the desk, head down, writing something. Lucas knocks and comes in. Dan looks up briefly but says nothing. He simply goes back to writing.

LUCAS: Listen, um, I talked to my mom. And I guess I'm sorry for resenting you for not wanting to be in my life. I didn't know you wanted custody. I also never said thank you for rescuing me from the accident.

DAN (refusing to make eye contact): You should be on the floor by now for practice. Go run 21 sprints.

Lucas looks at him unhappily then leaves. Dan waits until he's gone then lifts his own unhappy gaze to the empty doorway, his expression gradually turning thoughtful.

–oOo –

In the hallway, Lucas was too hurt at first to feel angry at the way his supposed father had just completely ignored his apology then dismissed him. Soon enough, however, the rage that always simmered below the surface about Dan Scott pushed to the fore. Lucas didn't let it poison the comments he made to his teammates as he passed them by, though; he simply used it to fuel his speed on the court, driving him to run Dan's punitive sprints faster than he ever had before.

Nineteen!

Twenty!

Twenty-one! God!

After crossing the finish line for the last time, a panting Lucas staggered to the closest bleacher and dropped onto the seat. The fury he'd tried to run out of his system was still there, ever-present, and Lucas wasn't at all sure he had any energy left to continue with practice when all that pressure was still bubbling inside him, but he had no choice. He'd be damned before he would let his new "coach" chase him from this gym and off the team weeks before the playoffs.

"Hey, Luke!" At Tim Smith's call, Lucas wiped the sweat off his forehead and glanced up. "Coach wants to see you!"

What now?

Lucas didn't care to guess. He set his jaw, pushed himself off the bench on rubbery legs and then made his way back to Whitey's office. In the doorway, he didn't knock or look over at his father with hope this time. Instead, he forced himself to stare impassively at the heartless figure behind Whitey's desk.

"You wanted to see me?"

Same as before, Dan glanced up then went right back to updating his notes on the Ravens' players. "Did you manage to finish those sprints I gave you without blowing chunks all over the floor like you did last week?"

Lucas stood tall and folded his arms across his chest, refusing to let Dan's latest insult get to him. "Yeah, I did."

"Good. Maybe there's hope for you yet."

That was it for Lucas. He set his jaw and turned to go, but the second Dan saw him leaving, he surprised him. "So … what're you doing today after practice?"

Lucas didn't reply at first. He frowned and turned back to his father slowly, wracking his brain for a reason why his bio dad would even care about his personal plans since he sure never had before.

Dan gave him exactly two seconds to reply. "Well?" he demanded, still writing away. "Are you gonna answer me anytime this century, or would you rather go run another twenty-one sprints?"

Lucas tightened his arms across his chest. "Why do you want to know my plans?"

Dan shot him a brief but very irritated look. "I don't have time for twenty questions, kid, so are you going to answer me, or am I going to have to go out there and announce that today's drill is running suicides with you to thank for it?"

If there was one thing Lucas had learned so far, it was that Dan Scott never bluffed about basketball. Hating the man for yet another reason, Lucas narrowed his gaze but answered Dan's original question as spitefully as he could muster.

"You wanna know my plans after practice? Fine. I don't have any. I'll probably hang out with Haley for a bit, then go home to my mom, have dinner and start on my homework like the loser you think I am. Are you satisfied now? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Dan didn't bother to answer that. Instead, he reached for the playbook and began to leaf through it quickly. The moment he found the page he was looking for he jotted something else down then said, "You have a curfew during the week, I assume. Unlike my soon-to-be ex-wife, Karen looks like the kind of parent to keep her baby boy on a tight leash. Tell me I'm wrong."

"Yeah, I have a curfew," Lucas scowled. "So what? Ten o'clock's not that early."

"And if you know you're going to break it?"

"I'm supposed to call first. Why do you care?"

"Then go do it," Dan said, finally making sustained eye contact. "And tell your mother you have someplace else to be."

"And where would that be, huh?"

"With me," Dan told him bluntly, "although knowing our history, I don't recommend you tell Karen that." Before Lucas could argue, Dan went on. "After practice, you shower, then wait for me in the gym. We'll head to my beach house and get a few things straight between us." Dan immediately dismissed his firstborn son the same way he had previously by going back to his work, but this time Lucas didn't move. Dan gave him five seconds then looked up. The teenager before him was clearly conflicted, his young face a blatant mixture of confusion, mistrust and simmering anger, but the opportunity to at least try and set Luke's mind at ease was yet again disregarded by Dan. "What? Are you waiting for a written invitation?" he asked.

"No, I just—"

"You just need to go practice, is what you need to do. Get back on the court and practice your three-pointers. And you can tell your slacker teammates to look alive as well because I'll be out in about thirty seconds and I'd better see everyone making baskets. Anyone who isn't will spend the next ten minutes running laps. Now get moving."

As Dan returned his attention to his papers, Lucas shook his head in disgust, backed out of the office and returned to the gym. He told the other boys what Dan had said about the penalty for missing threes, then snatched up a basketball of his own and "got moving" sinking shots, but the moment Dan joined them all on the court and started grilling them about improving their forms, Lucas knew only one thing: no way was he going anywhere with that man after practice. Why should he? To get dumped on for five or six more hours? To be treated rudely the way he had just been? No way, no thanks. Daniel Robert Scott could go straight to fucking hell.

The rest of practice was miserable as usual with Dan at the helm: protracted, grueling and harsh. Every minute that Lucas sweated under the man's constant whip-cracking tactics he reminded himself that he wasn't going to go with him, that he would rather stick his penis in a woodchipper than follow Dan's order to join him at the Scott family beach house.

But, when practice finally ended and he stood naked in the shower, letting the water beat down on his exhausted body, Lucas could feel his will dissolving.

The truth was he wanted to go with his dad to talk things out. He had wanted to the second his mother had told him the truth about Dan seeking custody years ago. In all honesty, he'd been waiting sixteen years to have such a conversation. To refuse to do so now would be idiotic. He couldn't let his pride get in the way or he would regret it indefinitely. Besides that, if he did refuse, he wouldn't get a second chance and he wouldn't be able to take it back. Dan Scott was notorious for holding a grudge. He would never again extend the invitation to his firstborn son; he would be far too insulted.

Tensing up at the lie he was going to have to tell his mom when he called her in a few minutes, Lucas turned off the water and got out of the shower. In the locker room, he kept to himself and didn't add to the jokes being made or the complaints being shared among the other Ravens over Dan's coaching style. When Nathan tried talking to him about his shoulder, Lucas gave distracted answers to his questions until his half-brother gave up and left. Soon he was completely alone. He finished drying off, got dressed and packed up his stuff then slipped outside to call Haley first. He felt like crap asking his best friend to cover for him with his mom without telling her why, but he didn't feel like he had a choice. He wasn't ready yet to discuss Dan's invitation with anyone; he hadn't even fully digested the implications of it himself. Besides, what if something came up and Dan rescinded his offer? No, it was definitely better to wait.

With a stomach roiling from guilt, uncertainty and nausea thanks to the ache radiating dully from his shoulder, Lucas closed his phone, snatched up his duffle bag and returned to the empty gymnasium to wait.

A half hour later, Dan made his entrance by being his usual blunt self.

"You call your mom yet?"

"Yeah, I—"

"Wonderful. Let's go."

Lucas shut his mouth and followed.

The sixty-minute drive to the beach house was awkward to say the least. Not a word was exchanged between father and son for the entirety of the journey, and with nothing else to do but brood as the sun set and the radio in the SUV played classic rock to keep their crippling silence at bay, it struck Lucas that he was basically taking a ride from a stranger. For sure, his mom would see it that way if she ever found out about this. The yelling would be instantaneous and the subsequent grounding would be long. A slap or two wouldn't be out of the question either, knowing his mom and her temper when it came to all things Dan Scott, so Lucas slunk down in the front passenger seat and cupped the right side of his face just in case, praying they didn't pass anyone they knew. Dan glanced his way then seemed to share his concern over being recognized. At the next light, he turned left and began steering them down streets the son beside him rarely drove himself, speeding up and taking one back road after another to reach their destination.

Lucas didn't know at first how to feel about that.

On the one hand he was grateful since Dan was probably driving too fast now for anyone his mom knew to identify him as a passenger in the car. Then again, maybe Dan was just driving faster because he was embarrassed by the poorly-dressed teen sitting so close beside him. Lucas wasn't in rags of course, but nothing he was wearing cost more than fifteen bucks, which was in stark contrast to the cost of his father's wardrobe. Dan was probably disgusted to be in such close proximity to a kid who obviously shopped at Sears instead of at Nordstrom or J. Crew, and he probably wanted to make sure that as few people as possible spotted them together.

Luke's brows merged as he considered this, and he was certain his suspicions were correct when the Scott family beach house finally came into view and Dan pulled straight into the darkened garage instead of parking out front in the driveway where the streetlights would fall on them. There was absolutely no chance of anyone spotting them now that was for sure, which meant Dan Scott's snotty reputation would remain intact.

Lucas exited the SUV and slammed the door a lot harder than necessary. He felt Dan's disapproving eyes on him then, but since the man who'd fathered him still refused to actually speak to him, Lucas stubbornly pretended like he was unaware. He followed Dan up a dozen or so carpeted stairs into the large house itself, then stood by an expensive side table and felt even more unworthy as the owner of the property promptly walked past him without a word while he went about the ground floor opening windows and turning on lights. Eventually, Dan stopped his bustling and made eye contact with the defensive-looking boy who was clutching his gym bag and watching his every move.

"Dump your stuff then make yourself at home in the kitchen. I'll be there in a minute."

Dan didn't wait to see if his son did as he was told. He simply disappeared into another room.

Lucas removed the strap from around his neck and let his bag drop to the floor right at his feet. It wasn't heavy, but it smelled a bit and he didn't want to be lugging it around all night. That's the only reason he was putting it down, he told himself, not because his so-called dad told him to. In the kitchen by the enormous marble-top island he knew his mom would have loved to have in her own house, Lucas plunked his butt down on the stool farthest from the doorway. The second he did, Dan reappeared carrying three banker's boxes marked 'Taxes (L)', all of which he dumped in front of his startled son.

"I'm off to get us some takeout," he announced. "Flip through those and help yourself to anything you want in the cupboards or the fridge. I'll be back in a bit."

Lucas didn't get a chance to reply. Dan avoided his eyes and then left, his stride out of the kitchen even more determined than usual.

Feeling ignored and abandoned yet again, Luke's shoulders slumped a little as he took in his surroundings. He had been here before, of course, for Nathan's party the night his younger brother had crashed Peyton's car then walked away from it all like it was nothing. But this was the first time Lucas was inside the house without dozens of extra bodies filling the space, and with no one nearby, the square footage was even more daunting than before. He had been wrong when he'd told his mom their entire home could fit inside the living room of this beach house ... but not by much. The property was enormous; it just wasn't fair.

Tempted to walk around and explore every room at his leisure, Lucas refused to succumb to the urge. He didn't want to be faced with the same tasteful curios he'd seen the last time he was here, mementos no doubt picked up during expensive family vacations that he and his mom had never been able to afford. He also didn't want to head upstairs and find himself counting all the extra bedrooms that flanked Nathan's, one of which rightfully should have been his.

With a pulsing jaw, Lucas went to the refrigerator instead and wrenched open the door. There was milk on the top shelf plus water and juice bottles galore but only one can of soda. It was root beer, the one soft drink Lucas had always detested, but he snatched it up anyway, popped the tab, and gulped back a mouthful. He hoped it was Dan's favorite.

On the island in front of him, the three boxes his father had given him were still waiting to be opened. Lucas didn't touch them at first; he just studied each one in turn.

Dan wouldn't really give him tax paperwork to sift through, so what was really inside?

A desk-sized portrait of Dan and Deb and Nathan lounging on a forty-foot yacht in the Greater Antilles?

Airplane stubs from first class flights to far-flung locations?

Yet some other kind of proof that Lucas and Karen were outcasts and poor relations?

The petty side of Luke wanted to think so, but the rational part of his mind told him he was being foolish. Dan Scott was many things, most of them negative, but he wouldn't drag his illegitimate son all the way to his private beach house just to rub in his face one more time all the things he'd missed out on while growing up with a single mom. The man had already done that daily for years by letting Nathan come to school in designer clothes while driving (or being driven around town in) expensive luxury cars. It would serve no purpose doing it again – especially if he wasn't nearby to witness Luke's pain or to revel in it.

So what was inside these boxes then?

Lucas sipped his disgusting root beer and glowered at each one for five full minutes before he finally took a seat at the marble countertop, lined up the boxes and then flipped the covers on all of them at once.

When he beheld their contents he stood up fast, turned to the sink and spit the soda from his mouth before it choked him. In a stupor he turned back and just let his eyes roam over the boxes at first, moving from left to right and back again. Soon enough, he began to reach out and touch then pawed through everything in a hurry, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing and holding.

Inside was basically a shrine to him. There were photos of him in multiple albums and picture frames and a smiling teddy bear with "Lucas Eugene Scott" stitched in cursive on the front bib, the plush kind loving parents typically buy for their newborns. There was a rotating keepsake box with his face as a baby and toddler plastered on every side, showing him at three months old, six months, a year and eighteen months, and there was a second box too showing his face at ages two, three, four and five. Underneath was an envelope holding copies of his report cards from kindergarten all the way up to the present school year. There was even a tasteful silver locket with a curl of soft blond hair inside, identical to the one Lucas had glimpsed around his father's neck from time to time. Was this the very same locket? The one he actually wore sometimes in public? Or did he have another one housing Nathan's hair alone? Lucas desperately wanted to ask while knowing he never would.

He collapsed onto a stool at the island then reached again with trembling fingers for the first of the photo albums, thinking of his half-brother.

Did Nathan know these boxes existed?

Somehow … Lucas didn't think so.

All seven of the back windows were open, allowing the sound of the ocean and the cries of the gulls to breach the interior of the beach house, but Lucas heard nothing anymore except the roar in his ears. It was as if thick walls of white had descended all around.

He studied the photographs before him, seeing himself this year as a Raven on various game nights, making baskets, accepting passes, even leaving the school afterwards with his mom and Uncle Keith. The next ten pages were devoted to him and Nathan exclusively with pictures snapped at the exact right time to capture the brothers side by side, displaying the name Scott in white on black between their shoulder blades. It didn't make sense the number of pictures like that given how many games Lucas has played with nothing but an empty strip where his family name should be. He'd only played a couple of games bearing the name 'Scott', so how had these pictures been taken?

Had Dan photoshopped them so they showed exactly what he wanted to see?

Lucas didn't want to believe it, but the proof was right there in front of him. He flipped additional pages that were devoted to him and Nathan playing unselfconsciously together, action shots with either him passing to Nathan or Nathan passing to him. These photos were professional in quality too; there was absolutely no blurriness to earmark the work of a family member or an amateur.

Who the hell had taken these pictures and doctored them as needed?

At the moment, Lucas had no interest in guessing. With his heart pounding more heavily than ever within his rib cage, he moved on to the next album and then the next, and when he finished the last in the group, he returned to the second one, which was clearly the start. This time, he went through the photographs slowly, in order.

His entire life was covered here and not a stage had been missed except Karen's pregnancy.

Some of the baby photos Lucas recognized – they existed already in the albums his mom had at home or in the one Keith proudly kept in his bachelor apartment – but the majority Lucas was sure he'd never seen before. He smiled faintly and lingered over these particular ones, in awe at first then simply amused by the happy yet mischievous toddler he had obviously been. Eventually, though, wonderment turned to sadness and sadness to regret.

By the time Dan returned with two steaming bags of food, a full hour after he'd fled his son's company, Lucas had moved on to bitter anger. Dan took one look at the expression on Luke's face and braced himself accordingly while he unpacked the takeout.

"Let me guess," he said with a smirk. "You're pissed at your old man and you have questions."

"You could say that," Lucas snapped. "So how about I start with this one. Mom says you wanted me when I was little, wanted me badly enough that you were ready to go to court to fight her for custody. Is that true? 'Cause if it is, then you're even more contemptible than I always thought you were for giving up so easily."

"Lucas—"

"Did you really think collecting these dumbass pictures could replace me?That a stuffed animal bearing my name was enough? Why the hell didn't you get a second opinion from another lawyer instead of punishing me all these years for something I couldn't fucking control?!"

Lucas had never before spoken to an adult so disrespectfully, but he refused to take it back and he absolutely would not apologize. He had never been so infuriated.

Across from him, Dan froze and felt his own face redden with rage, his dimples pulsing while he struggled to control the temper Lucas has clearly inherited from him. Still, he pulled himself together in order to tell the truth.

"I did talk to another lawyer, Lucas. I talked to more than one I'll have you know; I talked to seven. Seven attorneys I paid for consultation only to be told time and time again that you, my firstborn son, would never live in my house under my roof, and I would never be able to take you anywhere. I couldn't get you for a weekend, I couldn't get you for a day. Hell, I couldn't even get you for an hour."

"So then what? You just decided it was perfectly okay to take it out on me by ignoring my existence in public for sixteen years and making me feel like a mistake, a non-entity?" Lucas shook his head at the thought of all the time he'd wasted night after night, wanting this man's love and wishing he would visit him, even if just once. "You know what, Dan? You're pathetic. You're a coward. I loathe you for that, I will always loathe you for that, and these boxes, this private memorial you've compiled on me, it doesn't change a goddamn thing! I hate you!"

Dan seemed unable to respond for a moment but then his nostrils flared. "You loathe me, kid? You hate me? Well, get the hell in line," he said. "You will never hate me as much as I hate myself for letting your mother win. She robbed me of your life, Lucas, and I let her. I let my pride get in the way of building our relationship and I've paid for it every day since before you were even born. What kind of father does that?"

Before Lucas could respond, Dan stormed from the room and headed for the back deck. He couldn't slam the door behind him that led to the outside, but he could slide it closed on its track more forcefully than was necessary, and that's exactly what he did.

Lucas watched him go and thought of calling a cab to take him home to his mom, but something held him back. He turned away from the windows and scowled at the open banker's boxes still taunting him inches away, next to the food that smelled great but which was practically ruined now by the pall hanging over the room. He scowled harder, glanced behind him at his father standing alone by the barbecue, and then stared at the food again, going around and around from his dad to the boxes to the takeout.

Fifteen minutes of this and he couldn't stand it anymore.

He got up and started opening cupboards until he found the ones that held plates. More rummaging in other drawers and inside cabinets uncovered placemats and cutlery, so Lucas helped himself to two of everything, then kept busy setting the dining room table. Just before he returned to the kitchen to collect the takeout, Dan came inside.

For a long moment, father and son stared at one another, neither moving, neither saying a word.

Abruptly, Dan came forward and took over transferring the pasta and salad to wooden bowls and serving platters before carrying everything to the table. Lucas moved out of the way and let him do his thing for a minute, then he slipped back into the kitchen and filled two water glasses. Dan would have preferred a glass of wine, but he didn't protest or switch his water for something stronger. He wasn't about to make the mistake Keith had made months earlier by setting himself up for a drinking and driving charge. He still had to return his son to Tree Hill later, and he didn't want any alcohol on his breath. If God forbid they got into a car accident, Karen would kill him dead for sure.

At the dining room table, he sat at the head and motioned for Lucas to shift his place-setting to the seat by his left. Lucas ignored him and stayed right where he was at the foot.

For a while nothing was said and the only sound audible in the house was the clinking of their cutlery after they'd helped themselves and started eating. Eventually, though, Lucas found his mind returning to the photographs he'd seen and he looked over at his father.

"Did you put those albums together yourself?"

Dan glanced his way then returned his attention to his plate. "I did."

"Where'd you get the pictures?"

"I borrowed them temporarily from your uncle then made my own copies and put back the originals."

Lucas had been on the verge of taking a sip from his glass, but now he set it down. "That's crap," he said. "Keith doesn't have most of those pictures and they're not in my mom's albums either."

"So, what?"

"So, where'd you get 'em?"

Dan sighed. "Would you believe me if I said I snapped them myself?"

"No. I wouldn't." Lucas thought of the quality of the pictures on most of the pages and asked his father flat out, "You paid someone to follow me, didn't you?"

Dan didn't want to answer that. The was no way to admit the truth without coming off like a perv – or worse – but he was also tired of lying about everything having to do with the boy in front of him. He'd said as much to Karen only days ago.

As the son in question checked him out, no doubt waiting for him to try and spin some kind of story, Dan set down his fork and looked straight at his son. "You know what, Lucas? I did pay someone and I am not ashamed of it. Every few months, I hired a professional to follow you around discreetly and get me some new shots for your albums. I would've done it myself except I couldn't get close enough, and I'm not exactly a good photographer in any case. Regardless, I didn't want to risk scaring you or being spotted by your mother. Can you imagine her reaction if she'd caught me stalking you on the school playground or down at the River Court?"

Lucas snorted before he could help himself since it was extremely easy to imagine how his mom would have reacted. "She'd have screamed blue murder and had you arrested."

"Well, she would have tried anyway."

Father and son digested that fact for a minute then slowly went back to eating. Abruptly, Lucas stopped again and began fiddling with his napkin. "Look, Dan—"

"No." As Lucas looked over at him in confusion, Dan gazed at him hard. "Don't call me that, son. It's disrespectful and I don't want to hear it. You would never address your mother as 'Karen', would you?"

"No," Lucas retorted, "but then again, I've known my mom my whole life, haven't I? What am I supposed to call you for the rest of the night? Coach?"

"Watch it, son. I'm only your coach on game nights or when we're training in the gym."

"Fine then." Lucas picked up his fork, stabbed a meatball, and brought it towards his mouth. "Mr. Scott it is."

"Lucas!"

"What?"

Dan paused and took a breath knowing that if he didn't, he would say something he'd regret. "Don't be hurtful, son. It's not you."

"You'll have to help me out then," Lucas snapped, "'cause I don't feel right calling you what Nathan does. Maybe you fathered me, but you haven't exactly been my dad all these years, have you?"

"No ... No, I haven't."

Dan fell silent, his gaze drifting bitterly towards the chair to his left where his firstborn would have sat at every meal two weekends a month, if only Karen had let him share custody when he'd asked.

Having no idea what Dan was thinking, Lucas didn't push him. He went back to eating, although he really wasn't very hungry anymore, and forced himself to think of the upcoming playoffs, along with the exercises he could do to get his shoulder in better shape for the rough games ahead … anything to forget where he was and who he was with. In fact, he was concentrating so deeply on basketball that he almost didn't catch what Dan said to him next.

"I want you to call me 'Daddy'."

Lucas swallowed the pasta in his mouth with difficulty, his blue eyes widening.

"What did you say?"

Dan's gaze never wavered from the chair to his left. "I said I want you to call me 'Daddy'."

Lucas felt a laugh bubbling up. "You want ... You … You're kidding, right?"

Dan's eyes shifted to meet his son's and their gazes locked, one highly amused and the other extremely determined. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"No, but you have to be because there's no way in hell I'm calling you that."

"You are if you want to continue this conversation and this relationship."

Lucas couldn't believe it. He sat rooted in place a moment, but Dan didn't move or blink or even make the slightest attempt to soften his threat. That was enough for the teenager, who stopped smirking, set his jaw, removed his napkin from his lap and then threw it on the table.

"Thanks for dinner," he said, standing up and scraping back his chair. "I'll find my own way home."

Dan's gaze drifted thoughtfully back to the table. "You know, your brother used to call me 'Daddy' when he was first learning to talk. It was his first word, and he kept right on using it every day up until fourth grade."

With one foot in the kitchen and his dinner plate in his hands, a resentful Lucas turned back to his father. "Well, I'm not Nathan. I never got a chance to be him."

"No," Dan agreed quietly, "but you're my son just the same, and around here that's what sons call their fathers ... at least in the beginning."

"I can't call you what a toddler would. I'm not a baby anymore."

"Maybe not, but you might as well be one since our relationship is now in its infancy." As Lucas stayed put in the doorway and vacillated, wanting to storm out but not quite able to, Dan pushed him. "That's what tonight is all about, isn't it, son? It's why you agreed to come with me? For baby steps?"

From the classic novels he enjoyed reading, Lucas was familiar with the expression "feeling adrift", but he had never thought it would apply to him. It did, though, tonight – right now – it did. He studied his father's face in return and saw a sincerity and a hopefulness lurking beneath the surface that he'd never noticed before. There even seemed to be a hint of desperation like the man was genuinely anxious to turn back time and start again.

Could Lucas deny him that when he also wanted the same thing?

Knowing everything he did about Dan Scott, Lucas suspected it was stupid of him to put his heart out like this, but he had to try. Maybe this time things would be different.

He returned to the table and took a very self-conscious seat. "I'm not calling you that word outside this house," he allowed. "But if we're here alone ... I guess … I guess I can do it sometimes."

Dan smiled. It was the first one Lucas had seen him wear all week and was actually the first one Dan had worn in over two months that wasn't forced or sarcastic. The man couldn't seem to suppress it either. He grinned across the table at his firstborn son then gestured at the food still on his plate.

"That's my boy. Go on, eat up. You're a growing kid, and the playoffs will be here before you know it. You need to improve up your strength, if you're going to kick butt and help the Ravens win the championship, am I right?"

Lucas thought of the nagging pain in his shoulder and nodded, but didn't respond aloud. Dan seemed disappointed by his answer, so Lucas took a sip of water then frowned across the table at him. "What?"

Dan shrugged. "I was just … thinking that, uh, maybe we could go upstairs after dinner? This beach house has three spare bedrooms and you could pick any one of them to be yours, Lucas. They're all good sizes with great views, lots of closet space, the works. How about it?"

"What about Nathan?"

"What about him?"

"He thinks we hate each other, remember?"

"I remember, but what does that have to do with anything? I'm confused."

Lucas stared at Dan in disbelief. "What does that—? Don't you think you should talk to him first? Give him a chance to adjust to what we're doing? You need to make sure he's okay with us building a relationship before you have me moving in and stepping on his turf."

"And why should I bother?"

"Because he's possessive of you in case you haven't noticed! He's not gonna like sharing his dad unless you give him time to get used to the idea!"

Dan snorted and helped himself to some more salad, his tone of voice as condescending as ever. "That's sweet, Lucas, but you're my son too. Nathan knows that and it's not like he even lives here anymore. Hell, he emancipated himself, so how he feels about me getting to know his own brother is hardly my concern."

Luke's expression turned to stone. "It should be, if you're gonna be the kind of dad I've always wanted in my life. Nathan and I are finally friends, so if you think I'm willing to jeopardize that by stealing his dad behind his back, you're out of your mind. I will not be his secret replacement."

For a long moment, Dan said nothing. It was only when he saw Lucas about to push his chair back and stand up from the table that he relented.

"You're right, of course. I'm sorry, Lucas. Please stay. I'll talk to him tomorrow." Dan waited for Lucas to accept his apology with a brief nod and then he offered him a small smile. "So, how about that room upstairs? You can pick one out anyway and we can just keep it under wraps until I've filled in your brother. We can move the furniture around, maybe repaint the walls or put up some posters of your favorite bands the next time you visit, anything you want, I promise. I've been waiting for this day a long time, son. What do you say?"

Lucas opened his mouth to refuse, thinking of his mom, his uncle, his best friend and his brother. Then he thought of himself and what he'd been dreaming of from as far back as he could remember. He hesitated a second or two longer then decided to ignore his pounding heart and every one of the warning voices practically screaming at him now inside his head, telling him things were moving way too fast. Karen, especially, would lose it when she discovered her son had a secret room of his own in his father's house, but Lucas figured he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

"Okay," he said. "I'd-I'd like that a lot to be honest. Thanks." As the light within Dan seemed to fade again, a sullen, disappointed cast overtaking his face while he began to pick at his food, Lucas reconsidered. Shortly thereafter, he blushed, realizing what his father was probably waiting to hear. "I mean … thanks, Daddy."

Dan absolutely beamed. He winked his approval then returned to his meal with gusto. "That's my boy."