"A toast!" Tim bellowed out of nowhere into the newly darkened sky. He was ecstatic that his best friend had sought him out again after dumping him so unceremoniously that very morning, and he wanted whoever was left on the beach to know it. He was also more than a little drunk. He plucked a fresh bottle from the case of beer that he and Nathan had bought a few hours before with their fake IDs, then raised it to a lone gull squawking overhead as well as to the joggers who'd long since passed them and were now mere specs in the sand way off to the right. Next, he raised the bottle to Nathan, who was sprawled on his back beside him, half-wasted. "A toast, I said!"

"Why?" Nathan groaned.

"C'mon, man. Just do it!"

Nathan half-heartedly raised his own beer, clinked then dropped his arm immediately and shut his eyes again. "You gonna tell me what that was for?"

"Not what, who," Tim emphasized. "That toast was for us, dude. To us, you and me, 'cause now that you and Peyton broke up—"

"You think you and I can hook up instead?" Nathan forced himself upright, swayed on his backside then gazed at his beer stupidly while trying to remember if there was anything left to drain. "Get real. Besides me and Peyton didn't break up."

"But you said before—!"

"Doesn't matter what I said. Still not a break-up." Nathan waved Tim away before he could start to spaz and ruin the buzz they both had going. "We'll be together again by Monday or Tuesday. You wait and see. Couples that split for less than a week are still a couple. That's the rule."

"Since when?"

"Since now that I just made it up!"

Nathan began to chortle, and Tim joined him, though he had no idea why. When their giggling fit had passed, Tim raised his beer again and shifted closer.

"Okay, well, until Monday or Tuesday, here's to just us, the coolest dudes in Tree Hill, the most—"

"Just say 'boys forever', Tim." Nathan said, cutting him off as usual. "Hey, what the hell're you doing?!"

"It's cold out here tonight with the sun gone!" Tim complained, scooting closer and trying to snuggle up. "I'm cold!"

"So am I!" Nathan said, shoving him away with a scowl. "But you don't see me rubbing up against you, do you?!"

"You sure you don't have the keys to the beach house somewhere on you?"

"Would we be sitting out here freezing our asses off if I did?"

"Guess not." Tim shivered and drew his knees toward his chest then wrapped his arms around them and began to rock, watching Nathan as he struggled to his feet then stooped unsteadily to removed some of the unopened beer bottles still in the case. "What're you doing?"

"What's it look like?" Nathan settled on six bottles then stuffed them as best he could into the pockets of his letterman's jacket. That done he began to weave his way toward the Scott family beach house dock several yards to their left. "We don't need a key to get in," he called over his shoulder. "These should work just fine. You comin'?"

A befuddled Tim didn't reply at first. Gradually, it sunk into his beer-soaked mind what the plan was, and he struggled to get to his own feet, so he could follow.

"I don't get it. Didn't your dad say last year that he was gonna change your windows to shatter-proof in case of another hurricane?"

"Yeah, but he hasn't done it yet, so his loss is our gain."

"But the neighbors'll hear, dude!"

"Who gives a crap if they do?" Nathan retorted, stumbling up the bleached wooden steps. "I'm not breaking into their houses; I'm breaking into my own."

"Won't your parents be pissed? Your dad's gonna kill—"

"Let him. I don't care anymore." Nathan thought back angrily to the morning's fight with Lucas, not to mention Dan Scott's reaction to his precious firstborn son getting hurt, and the idea of trashing the man's vacation home sounded better and better every second. He kept going up the dock until he was facing the picture window at the back of the house, a very large window which offered a truly magnificent view of the ocean. Normally, with the panes locked and the sliding door closed, no one inside could hear the waves crashing into the shore, but that wasn't going to be problem after tonight. Nathan was going to make sure of it. Of course, it might take a few bottles to crack the glass, but hey, he had lots. He extracted one of the beer bottles from his pocket, gripped it firmly by its neck then turned impatiently to Tim who had finally caught up but wasn't moving a finger to join him. "Well?" he demanded. "You gonna stand there like a chicken or you gonna help me?"

Tim gazed at his best friend, gazed at the window then gazed back at Nathan with a slow-building grin. He took the bottle his best friend was now handing him and raised his right arm.

Nathan ignored his pounding heart and did the same.

"Three … Two … ONE!"

- oOo -

On the other side of town, Lucas was slouching in one of the chairs in the den at home with one lanky leg hanging over the arm. His channel-surfing had been getting him nowhere for the last ten minutes and he was just about to give up and go hunt for a new novel in his father's office when the man in question entered the house through the back door. Before Lucas could call out a greeting, Dan spotted him – specifically the lack of hair on his head – and came straight over.

"Well, well, well," he announced striding over through the kitchen with a smile that seemed to be spreading wider every second, "so, this is what my firstborn son is supposed to look like." He rubbed a hand over the short-textured hairstyle his eldest was now wearing, pleased that the back and sides at least had finally been trimmed to an appropriate length. After admiring it a moment longer, he hauled Lucas to his feet then surprised the teenager with a kiss and the presentation of a gold credit card stamped with his name. "Good cut. Here, take this. You deserve it now."

Lucas took the card but couldn't help complaining at getting another kiss. "Da-ad!"

"Live with it," Dan said with a wink. He mussed Lucas's new hair one last time then left him alone and looked around. "Where's your grandmother?"

"Upstairs, I think," Lucas said. He plopped back down in the chair and began to inspect his new Visa, wondering how high a limit he'd been given. "She showed Brooke the cardigan she's crocheting for Grandpa, Brooke mentioned something about wanting to learn more than just sewing, they started talking fabrics and swatches and then they just disappeared on me." Silence greeted that and Lucas looked up at Dan then squinted, perplexed by the cheesy grin that had overtaken his father's face. "What? Why're you staring at me like that?"

Dan arched an eyebrow. "Brooke is here with you in this house? Brooke Davis?"

"Yeah, so what?" Lucas realized what his father was hinting at and rolled his eyes. "It's not like that. We're just friends."

"If you say so." Dan smirked then headed into the kitchen still talking over his shoulder. "How'd it happen? Am I allowed to ask? I didn't think you two even knew each other."

"We don't or at least we didn't until today." Lucas listened to Dan making a ruckus in the next room and decided to follow him so he could speak without raising his voice to be heard. "It's weird," he said once he had shoved his Visa is his front pocket and was slouched in the doorway watching his father hunt for leftovers. "We just kinda ran into each other, started talking and didn't stop."

"She stayed for dinner?" Dan asked, helping himself to the salad and the fresh batch of lasagna in the fridge.

Lucas nodded. "Gran invited her and I don't think I've ever seen anyone so happy to say yes." Lucas thought of how grateful Brooke has seemed while they ate, and a swell of compassion rose in him again just remembering the comment she'd made at one point about not usually having anyone at home to eat with. "Everyone at school sees her as being so popular and perky, like nothing in the world affects her, but I actually think she's lonely and afraid to show it. I get the impression she doesn't have a happy home life."

"She doesn't from what I know of her parents," Dan said plainly, "but what clued you in?"

Lucas made a disgusted face. "Gran told her to call her mom for permission to stay and she said she didn't have to, said neither her mom or her dad would notice if she missed an entire month of meals. She acted like it was no big deal—"

"That's because she's not looking for pity," Dan broke in. He glanced up from the glass of water he was pouring. "A word of advice? Don't give it to her, son."

Lucas had already decided he wouldn't. He and Brooke hadn't been friends for long, but already he sensed that kind of attention wouldn't be welcome. It would only get her back up. Hell, in her shoes, he wouldn't appreciate it either.

He hopped up on the counter and made himself comfortable while Dan got his pasta nuked then sat down to eat right there in the kitchen. Lucas waited until Dan got at least a few mouthfuls in before he cleared his throat, eyeing Dan's salad bowl.

"Hey, um, Dad, can I have Brooke over for dinner again sometime soon?"

"You two that close already?"

"She's kinda fun to be around."

"Go ahead then." Dad saw what Lucas was doing and pushed his salad between them, so the teenager would feel free to help himself. "The more the merrier."

Lucas eagerly snatched up a cucumber slice then popped into his mouth. "So that means I can invite Uncle Keith too?"

"Don't start, son. The answer's still no." The frown came fast but Dan was expecting it and promptly ignored it. Instead, he focused on his dinner then nearly choked when a glance toward the solid oak key hanger by the back door told him the latest addition was missing. Without a word, Dan charged from the room and ran outside. A shocked Lucas was on the verge of following when Dan charged back in and got in his face. "Where's your delinquent brother? Did you see him take the Explorer out of the driveway? Because it's missing and his Jeep is here, so if you know where he took it—"

"I-I don't," Lucas said quickly, knowing how protective his father of the new dealership cars he brought home. "Maybe Nathan's out with Tim and one of your employees came to get the car."

"And maybe the moon is made of green cheese after all. Try again!"

Lucas felt his heart skip several beats at the piercing look his father was suddenly giving him, which precisely matched the one bestowed upon him that very morning before his butt began to burn. A number of things came to mind then, chiefly the strict warnings Dan gave his sons about not touching any of the dealership cars every time one showed up, alongside the memory of getting bent over and swatted to tears. Lucas did not want to experience another Dan Scott spanking anytime soon and he definitely didn't want to experience one for a screw-up he hadn't even committed. He swallowed hard and eased off counter while keeping his behind out of range.

"Daddy, I swear. I'm telling you the truth. I don't know where the Explorer is, and I haven't seen Nathan since this morning."

"Did he call?" Dan demanded, following Lucas step for step.

"Not that I know of, but I didn't check the machine. Maybe he—"

The house phone rang, and Lucas stopped trying to back up or offer excuses. Eager to escape his father's interrogation, he hurried to answer it then held out the phone to Dan when the call was for him. When Dan took it, the chill in the air deepened still further. Lucas almost didn't want to ask, but he couldn't help himself once he saw his father slam the phone down then head for the outdoors again, snatching his own car keys along the way. He breathed a sigh of relief for only a moment before curiosity got the better of him and he trotted outside to catch up.

"Dad, what's going on? Who was that?"

"The security company," Dan snapped over his shoulder still marching toward his SUV. "It seems your idiot brother and one of his dimwitted acolytes thought it would be a good idea to break into the beach house for kicks." Dan got in his car, started the engine and began to drive off then jerked to a stop, rolled down the passenger side window closest to his firstborn and honked for him to come over. When Lucas did, somewhat warily, Dan forced his jaw to relax. "I'm sorry I bit your head off, son. You didn't do anything, and I should've known you wouldn't be involved. Stealing cars is not the kind of crap you pull."

"It's all right," Lucas said and it was … now that he knew for sure that he wasn't the Scott son in trouble. "You want me to tell Gran what happened?"

Dan's jaw began to pulse again. "Go ahead since she's probably going to ask. It'll be late by the time your brother and I get back."

Dan peeled away and Lucas watched him go, his expression half thoughtful and half jealous. Nathan was bound to get yelled at big-time for his latest screw-up, not to mention his basketball practices at home were sure to be harder than ever for awhile, but that was pretty much it, Lucas figured. From what he had seen living here over the last six months, the captain of the Tree Hill Ravens didn't ever get spanked for anything he did wrong, despite the countless things he did, in fact, do wrong.

How was that fair?

Evidently it wasn't, but Dan Scott seemed to be just fine with the status quo. Lucas, too, was going to have to be fine with it now that he'd made up his mind to fit in with his new family. He was going to have to find a way to become fine with it unless he wanted to go back to being miserable and that wasn't really an option.

Lucas turned back to the house and began to head inside, his hands now shoved into the front pockets of his jeans. His right hand found the Visa card and gripped it tightly. If this was payment for putting up his dad's elevated expectations of him, so be it, he decided. All he had to do was watch his step, not break the rules and be a good son, which wasn't exactly impossible in the grand scheme of things. If Nathan never got spanked, then Lucas himself could avoid it too, couldn't he?

Lucas was sure he could.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

- oOo -

Slumped side-by-side on two stools in the kitchen, away from the glass shards that littered the floor in the very next room, Tim and Nathan ignored as best they could the security guards standing watch over them and exchanged a look of sick resignation once they heard two sets of paternal feet stomping up the front of the beach house steps instead of only one. They weren't surprised that Dan Scott must have called Jim Smith on his way over, so both fathers could show up together. After eleven years of friendship, and an equal number of years getting into scrapes, getting caught by some kind of authority and then overhearing their dads getting called to come pick them up, both Tim and Nathan expected no less than what was happening now, which meant the moment the front door opened they stood up as one to face the oncoming wrath. They'd learned years ago that it was best to be standing respectfully when angry fathers caught up to them. Of course, how they were going to avoid wobbling on their feet and revealing the depths of their intoxicated condition, neither had any idea.

As always, Tim was the first to make an utter fool of himself by forgetting their plan to act cool. He beamed way wider than he should have the second Jim Smith entered into the room, then slid off his stool and nervously stumbled forward intending to meet his dad halfway.

"Daddy, hi! What're you doing here?"

"What do you think?" Jim barked. He rushed forward to catch his youngest son before he hit the floor and knocked himself out then took hold of his arm and pulled him from the room. "Let's go, Timmy! Get in the car!"

Tim yelled out a goodbye to Nathan who was wise enough not to say anything back, at which point Jim hushed his son sharply then left with alacrity. Dan didn't mind their swift departure. He and Jim would settle the bill later like they'd done at least six times in the past whenever their teenaged sons turned into hooligans and house damages needed to be tallied then divided.

When they were gone, Dan fixed his second son with a look that promised clear retribution then gestured to the security guards still standing silently by and beckoned for them to follow him.

Nathan didn't dare try to tag along. He sat back down, trying to enjoy the calm before the storm that was obviously coming, and listened to the ocean waves lapping against the shore outside. As he'd predicted earlier, he had no trouble hearing them now that he and Tim had been foolish enough to break several windows, which also meant he was no warmer inside the house than he'd been on the beach itself an hour ago. How could he be when his drunken self had happily provided a jagged six-foot gap for the cool salt air to enter?

God, he was dumb.

He was a bigger moron than Tim.

And he was probably going to suffer for his idiocy.

If Nathan had any lingering doubts on that score, they evaporated once Dan returned to the kitchen, took hold of his left arm as Jim had done with Tim then hauled him straight out of the room and up the stairs. Nathan caught a glimpse of the security guards carrying some of the plywood that was always stored in the garage and then they were both gone out of his line of sight. He realized his father must be paying them to stick around, clean up the mess and board up the broken window, but wait. Had one of those guys smirked at Nathan's predicament or had he only imagined it? Nathan had zero time to wonder. Before the question had managed to fully form itself in his pickled mind, the paternal grip on his arm tightened, the speed at which father and son were walking accelerated and it was all Nathan could do to keep climbing the stairs without stumbling forward like Tim had done.

In the master bedroom, Dan finally let his youngest son go after he'd slammed the door behind them then frisked the boy roughly until he'd located and retrieved the keys to the Ford Explorer that Nathan had stolen. The star player of the Tree Hill Ravens stayed put and tried once again not to sway on his feet, but a solid minute of utter silence was too much pressure. Without conscious intent, he collapsed full-length onto the bed, tried to sit up at least and promptly conceded defeat.

Dan gazed down at him and nodded as though he expected nothing less, his disgust plain as day.

"Well, Nathan, I guess I don't need to ask what you were thinking when you decided to trash the house," he said. "How many beers did you and Tim have? Did you drink and drive your way over here? I swear, if you tell me you boys were that stupid—"

"Does it matter?" Nathan sniped. "I'm drunk now and we both know it, so why don't you just yell at me and get it over with? You don't care why I did this. You never care, so go ahead and make me run suicides to punish me. Go on, do it, although if you're smart, you'll at least wait until tomorrow, so I don't puke all over your shoes."

As Nathan tried to raise himself, failed again and began to laugh at his own helplessness, Dan hauled him to his feet and gave his shoulders an angry shake.

"Do you have any idea how much it's going to cost to fix those windows downstairs?! Are you even going to apologize?!"

"What for?" Nathan asked with a snort. "You always tell me what Grandpa told you: don't apologize; just don't do it again. Well, Dad, I promise I won't do it again. Next time, I'll steal a neighbor's car and help myself to your house keys instead. How's that? Sound better?"

On the heels of this proposal Nathan belched the remnants of at least five beers right in his father's face, which was, predictably, the last straw for Dan. Jaw pulsing, he dropped a chuckling Nathan on the bed then crossed the room to the cherry wood chest of drawers and rummaged through the top drawer. When he returned to his son, he was armed with a replica of the item Royal had gifted him the night of Nathan's thirteenth birthday: a leather paddle. The one Royal had used on both Dan and Keith during their teen years was at home in the mansion, but that was all right; this spare paddle was just as effective as the original. Like its twin it was short and unthreatening to the inexperienced eye, but length isn't everything and the implement in Dan's possession had never once failed to make an impression.

Nathan saw it and thought he would puke. It had been almost four months since he had infuriated his dad enough to feel that paddle, but he remembered real quick what it felt like the moment he saw his father holding the all-too-familiar brown wooden handle. Sober in that instant, Nathan stopped laughing, swallowed bile and leaned away as Dan took a seat on the bed beside him. He tried to get up, failed, tried to focus on anything but what was coming and failed that too. All of it was impossible. His gaze was fixated entirely on the five inches of whippy black rubber at the business end, all too aware of the burn it was about to impart. "Dad … Daddy, no. Please don't hit—"

"You always go too far, don't you, son?" Dan said, cutting him as he wrestled Nathan into place over his knees where a certain mouthy and disrespectful sixteen-year-old needed to be for punishment. Nathan struggled ineffectively and continued to beg which Dan offset with ease and continued to ignore. "Always pushing and pushing until I have no choice but to wallop your behind. You think it's fun to break windows and mess around with the dealership cars that I've told you time and again to leave alone? Fine by me, son. This is what you get when you go out of your way to break my rules. Let's see how much fun you're having now."

"No-OWWW! DAD!"

The paddle came down and Nathan howled then gritted his teeth, remembering all at once that they had guests in the house only one floor below.

Dad didn't care. He went right on dispensing discipline.

Before Nathan could prepare himself mentally for another blow, the skin on his bottom suffered another whack and then another and then still another. More followed in what rapidly began to feel like an endless, agonizing parade as a rhythm quickly built, each spank concentrated more often than not just above the top of Nathan's thighs where Grandpa Royal used to spank Dan himself once upon a time. Dan knew how well a strategy like that captures a boy's attention and it was true. With every swat to the undercurves of his backside, swats that burned like hellfire and thrust Nathan forward across his father's knees, he was extremely cognizant of the fact that he'd messed up in a big way and was getting a solid spanking as a result. Worse, the boxers and track pants he was wearing were utterly and completely useless. Neither of them seemed to be offering any protection at all, and since writhing and reaching back to cover his butt with his hands only got him spanked harder, Nathan soon did the only thing left to him.

He stopped trying tough it out and simply let go.

"Da-ad!" he wailed. "Daddy, please! Enough!"

"What, still no apology?" Dan sneered, still paddling. "Let's see how long it takes to get one out of you."

Dan picked up the pace until Nathan's cries and his kicks grew frantic and his thoughts and worries about the security guards downstairs were forgotten. The suffering teen didn't give a flying fig anymore if those two men could overhear his shame. As far as he was concerned, they could both be grouped outside this very door, their waxy ears stuck to the wood listening gleefully to every spank, so long as the spanking itself slowed down, or better yet, stopped. His dad was killing him, he was sure of it. Sitting down after this was going to be next to impossible for God knows how many hours and if Dan Scott expected his second son to be able to practice basketball tomorrow with any level of the competence or enthusiasm, he was seriously dreaming. Nathan struggled to think of how to escape or what to say that would get his bottom to stop combusting every other second and finally his father's last taunt sunk in.

"I'm s-sorry!" he choked. Those two words weren't ones Nathan used very often, and when he did, he meant them even less, but now, in this moment, they were the only two words he genuinely wanted to say. "Please, Dad, I'm sorry!"

"Maybe you are and maybe you aren't," Dan said, breathing heavily and hoisting him back into position. "Let's make sure this time, shall we?"

"PLEASE!" Nathan fairly screamed as the paddle re-ignited fires long since contained. "DADDY, PLEASE! I'M SORRY-I'M SORRY-I'M SORRY!"

"Better," Dan said. He swatted Nathan's tightly clenched bottom once more with the flexible leather paddle right in the center of his backside then hauled the sobbing teenager to his feet with effort. Nathan hopped in place with both hands glued to his throbbing behind for several seconds and then Dan was forcing his hands out of the way so he could deliver one final, conclusive spank. A moment later, he opened the bedroom door wide and pointed toward the stairs. "Get out and go wait in the driveway. I'll be there when I'm ready."

Nathan didn't want to go just yet. He was grateful the hallway was clear of any eavesdroppers, but it hurt to walk, and his face was a snotty, dripping mess. Even if he wiped his flooding eyes, more tears would fall before he could pull himself together and act normal, and the base of stairs ended right where the security guards were working. Now that the door was open, they could clearly be heard nailing plywood into the living room wall.

Nathan turned back to Dan, pleading silently not to have to leave the privacy of the top floor of their beach house just yet, but his father only gave him The Look. Nathan knew exactly what that look meant, especially on the heels of some 'quality time' with his dad's paddle, so he swiped both arms across his face, bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling too much then inched his way toward the stairs.

With every step and every sniffle, he told himself he hated his dad and was never going to forgive him. More than his dad, though, he hated Lucas too. Every shitty thing that had happened today was Big Brother's fault. The break-up with Peyton, the urge to steal the Explorer, getting drunk and pissed off and making the dumb decisions that just got him spanked, all of it could be traced back in one way or another to the morning's fight with Lucas, a liar, a pretender and a weak, pathetic excuse for a sibling. They weren't ever going to be real brothers.

Not ever!

From his position inside the master bedroom, Dan heaved a frustrated sigh as he watched the younger of his two sons making glacial progress down the hall toward the stairs, both of his hands once again glued to the seat of his track pants. The boy was in obvious pain, but Dan refused to feel guilty about it. Nathan deserved to hurt. Why the devil had he stolen a car he damn well knew he wasn't allowed to touch? And what the hell had he been thinking throwing beer bottles at the house until three windows actually broke? First Lucas this morning instigating a fight with his brother, and now this. That same brother taking leave of his senses then actively destroying one of the houses he himself lived in. If Dad didn't know better, he'd think his sons enjoyed pushing his buttons and getting themselves in trouble. What other explanation was there for both of them acting up to such an extent that each one got turned over his knees in the same twenty-four-hour period?

No answer came to Dan's mind.

He watched and waited and fumed internally until Nathan was finally out of sight, and then he returned the leather paddle to its rightful place inside his chest of drawers. After that, he slipped into the master bath to wash his face, change his sweaty shirt and rest up for a few minutes. He may have a heart condition that kept trying to slow him down, and he may have fathered two children before most men finished their first semester of college, but he wasn't an old geezer yet, damn it, no matter how crappy felt in this moment. Not in age and definitely not in spirit.

He'd rather call up Keith for a friendly game of golf before he let his son or those slack-jawed rent-a-cops downstairs see him looking frazzled and worn-out!

- oOo -

It was almost midnight that Saturday, with Brooke long since driven home, when Lucas thought he detected foot treads in the hallway outside his room. It was movement that might signify the return of a certain angry dad or a luckless younger brother, and given how long Lucas had been lying in bed brooding about that brother – when he wasn't reliving the surprise latter half of his day with a certain vivacious cheerleader – Lucas removed his iPod earphones and listened carefully for a moment before he eased out of bed, crossed the room and opened his door. A glimpse of Nathan was all he was allowed and then his brother's door was closed. A second later, there was a curse followed by the crash of some object being knocked to the floor by a malcontented teen, and Lucas didn't stop to think when he heard it. He simply tossed his iPod on the bed behind him then hustled down the hall and knocked.

"Hey, Nathan? Can I come in?"

Nathan didn't answer in words. However, the moment Lucas turned the knob and tried to peek in, the door was shoved from the other side and slammed shut in his face. So much for that. The message was clear.

Lucas stood where he was feeling like an idiot until his father climbed the stairs as well and began to plod wearily towards his own bedroom. Dan was rubbing absently at the left side of his chest at first, but the second he saw his firstborn, he dropped his hand.

Lucas frowned and started to approach. "Dad, what hap—?"

"Leave it alone, son. Go to bed."

Dan didn't pause in his step or even make eye contact; he straightened his back and just kept right on going.

Lucas looked after him a moment then returned his attention to Nathan's closed bedroom door, wondering if it would ever truly be open to him. The plan he'd hatched in the car on the way to Haley's house so many hours before popped into his head again and that was it. He hurried back to his room, shut the door then snatched up the cell phone Dan had given him within hours after moving into the mansion months ago in the spring. Lucas had caught Brooke programming her number into it just before he'd driven her home, and though he'd been amused at the time by her presumption, now he was just supremely grateful for it. He scrolled to the new entry she'd made and punched it then paced the room, waiting for her to answer.

"Hello?"

"Brooke? It's Lu—"

"I know who it is. You missed me already, huh, Broody? I knew you would!"

Lucas didn't try to argue. He let her chatter away in his ear for a minute or two about the next hairstyle she envisioned for him once his current cut grew out then cut her off as gently as he could. "Listen, um, Brooke, you have at least one class with my brother this semester, right?"

Brooke was disappointed that his reason for calling wasn't to continue their 'date' but hid it well. "Actually, most of my classes are with him. Why?"

Lucas took a deep breath, ignored his conscience and told her.