by Jay McLean
I nod slowly, look over at Mrs. Kennedy standing by the dugout, wringing her hands as she watches us. “I’m happy for her.”
“Me too,” Lane says, then taps on my arm. When I look back at her, she’s frowning. “She doesn’t have anyone, Luke. Her son’s in—”
“I know where he is, Lane.”
“And now her husband’s gone and I’m her only real friend.”
“You consider her a friend?”
Her gaze drops. “You know, when I spent that week in the hospital in Charlotte, she wasn’t just there to pay the bill. She stayed by my side the entire time. She never left. Not once.”
I sigh, take her hand in mine. “Babe, I want to like her. Really, I do. And I’ve tried,” I tell her truthfully. “But she knew what was going on with you, and she should’ve told someone.”
She shrugs, her eyes filling with tears. She’s quiet for a long moment. Then: “I should’ve told someone, too, Luke. But you don’t understand that fear.” A sob escapes her, breaks my heart. “That fear chokes you. Silences you. And I want so badly to find a way to explain that to you, but I can’t. And with her—I don’t need to. She knows. She’s lived in that fear for so long.”
I grab her crutches, hand them to her. “Come on.” Then I help her down a few steps and toward a waiting Mrs. Kennedy. I say, “I’m sorry for being rude earlier, Mrs. Kennedy.”
She smiles. “Vivian, please.”
“Vivian.” It’s strange—how knowing her name, saying it, separating it from the part that darkens her—changes the way I see her almost instantly. “We’re having a cookout tonight—my family and Lane’s. It won’t be anything fancy, burgers and hot dogs, but I’d like it if you came.”
She looks between Lane and me, unable to hide her uncertainty. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m not sure that I’d be very welcome.”
“You will be,” Lane assures. “Luke’s family doesn’t just open up their home, they open up their hearts.”
LOIS
I have the greatest boyfriend in the world, and I don’t just say that because I’ve experienced both ends of the spectrum. I say it because it’s true, because there aren’t many guys around who are willing to sacrifice so much not just for me, but for his family. Who has a heart larger than the world, who spreads his love as if it’s never-ending, and maybe with him, it is. “Go long,” Luke shouts, football in his hand. The twins run farther away from him, shoving each other and laughing as they do.
“Luke’s got a good arm,” Misty says, joining the “grown-ups” and me at the table while Tom works on the grill close by. “He ever play?”
“He’s played everything and been good, too,” I tell her. “But when he started to get scouted by colleges for track, he cut out the rest and focused on that.”
“Has he made a decision about UNC yet?”
I shake my head.
Tom says, “You know Luke. He does everything in his own time.” It’s true. He does.
“All these kids are yours?” Vivian asks Tom.
“All but that one,” he says, pointing to Cameron sitting under a tree, Lucy in his arms. “I unofficially adopted him when he was fifteen. Eats all my food, takes up all my daughter’s time.”
“But they’re married now,” Dad says, doing his best not to make Vivian feel like an outsider. But it’s hard for him. I can tell. He carries a lot more hate than Luke does, he’s just a lot better at hiding it. “So now he’s Lucy’s problem.”
Tom chuckles at Dad’s comment, then levels his features. “I don’t think I could’ve asked for a better boy for my only daughter. He’s been her strength when I couldn’t be.”
Dad smiles, clinks his beer with Tom’s. “I know that feeling.”
I look over at Luke, now wrestling on the ground with Lachlan and the twins while Logan approaches, water pistol filled and aimed. Lachlan sees him, stands up, his arms crossed. He shouts, “No guns around Laney!” and swiftly takes it from Logan, throws it as far as his little arm can. My heart sinks and Logan looks over at me. “Sorry,” he mouths. I shake my head. It’s fine. And also really, really sweet. Luke’s alarm goes off on his phone sitting on the table, and I call out to him. He approaches quickly, picking up Lachlan on the way. I show him his phone and he kisses my cheek, gives Lachlan to Misty. He runs to his truck and returns a few seconds later with his backpack. Then he sits next to me, his little notepad and all my pill bottles set out in front of him. I get a napkin, place it between us while he goes through his notes, sets out my meds. I don’t take as many painkillers as I used to, but they made me groggy, unaware, and when Luke noticed, he made it his mission to take over. He places four pills, all different colors, on the napkin and slides it over to me along with a glass of water. “Wait,” he says, checks his notes again, “Yeah, it’s right. Go ahead.”
I down the pills, notice Vivian watching me, sadness, sorrow and regret unmasked in her features. “The medication you need—it’s all covered by insurance, right?”
I nod. “As long as we get them from the hospital pharmacy, it’s covered.”
“Is it a hassle for you to go there? Is there a different pharmacy that—”
“It’s no problem,” Luke cuts in, offers her a heart-stopping smile. “The service there is better anyway.”
I squeeze Vivian’s hand resting on the table. “Please don’t worry,” I say, my voice low, words only for her. “I’m doing well. I’m happy.”
“Good, Lois.” She holds back her tears. “That’s all I want.”
“And you?” I ask. “Are you happy?”
She looks around, takes in the joy that only the Preston family can bring. “I’m getting there.”
Later in bed, Luke massages my injured leg. “So you and Vivian got pretty close, huh?”
“Yeah, we did.”
“Even before Charlotte?” he asks. “It just seems like it was more than just a week spent in a hospital, but if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”
I watch him a moment, watch him focus on my leg and not much else, and I wonder how much to tell him, wonder which parts will be too much for him to handle. “We spent a lot of long nights cleaning each other up after…” After the Kennedy men did their damage.
Luke nods, his hands slowing, his throat bobbing with his swallow.
“But in Charlotte, it was different. We didn’t have to whisper or tip toe around our feelings. They weren’t there so we could be open about everything. I told her about you.”
He looks up now, his eyes meeting mine.
“I pretty much spent the entire week telling her about you and me, how we met, your family. It was the only thing that could cheer me up, take my mind off everything that was happening.”
“What did you tell her about me?”
“I told her that you were a man of strength and honor and sacrifice. I said that I’d been in love with you since we were eleven, since I saw you coming down your porch steps in your Superman t-shirt and your glasses. And I said that I made a mistake keeping my feelings for you a secret for so long.” A smile tugs on my lips and I try to restrain it, but I can’t. Because Luke’s looking at me in a way I spent years hoping he would—as if the world begins and ends right where our hearts connect.
He stops massaging my legs, lies down beside me and kisses me once. “And what did she say to that?”
“She convinced me to go home, to not hold back my feelings anymore, to let you love me and to love you back. And now we do. We love hard, love fierce, and love right. And we’re learning, Luke. Always learning.”
Chapter Forty
LOIS
I’m finally off the crutches (yay)!
But I’m still doing rehab (boo)!
And I’m still limping around (bigger boo)!
The therapists at the rehab clinic say that it may always be the case, at least a slight limp, because of exactly where the bullet went through my knee. But my hip is better—I shouldn’t feel any long-term damage from tha
t. Also, I’m seeing a different type of therapist once a week. Well, Luke and I see her together. It kind of happened by accident. Logan and I were in the store, and a woman stopped him in front of the cereal aisle and asked him how he was doing, said she hadn’t seen him in a while. Swear, I thought Logan was going through some weird milf phase, and I almost shouted “Pedophile Alert!” It turns out she was his therapist. At least, that’s how he introduced Lily to me, his gaze lowered, cheeks red. He was embarrassed, I could tell. He told me later that after the shooting, he had seen her quite a bit. I didn’t know that it had affected him as much as it did, and we spent most of the afternoon talking about it. “It helps to talk,” he said. “Even if nothing feels resolved, getting it out there makes a huge difference.”
I asked for her number, made an appointment to see her the following week. At first, it was to show that Logan had nothing to feel embarrassed about, but he was right, getting it out there helps so much. “I’ve been having these dreams,” I told Lily in the first session, Luke next to me, holding my hand. “They aren’t morbid like Luke’s, but they’re not really dreams, either. They’re more like visions. Like flashbacks.”
“Of the shooting?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Of the things he did to me before that.”
Luke squeezed my hand tighter, not out of comfort, but from anger.
I told Lily, a sob caught in my throat, “I have trouble understanding how it is I let myself get into that situation. I’ve always thought of myself as a confident person, strong-willed and determined.” I let the tears fall, and Luke put his arms around me, kissed my temple. “I don’t know how I became so weak around him. How I let him do those things, how I let it—”
“It’s not your fault,” Luke cut in.
Lily raised her hand, smiled at him. “It’s extremely important for Lois to get this out.” And it was. It was exactly what Logan said. Talking helps. So I told her more about how I felt, not so much about the beatings or the shooting, but how I felt about me. Luke listened, and he learned. Always learning. And at the end, I said, “And I think it’s important for Lucas to be here so he can hear it all, so he can deal with his feelings about what happened. I worry that he’ll carry that anger, that fear, for longer than necessary. And I want us to help each other deal with those feelings.”
Lily looked at Luke, then at me, back to him. He sighed. “I try hard not to show my anger to Lane—Lois— because I don’t want her to think she’s done anything wrong, but at the same time, my anger is justified. That asshole did horrible things to someone I love, multiple times, and I’m not going to apologize for the way he makes me feel.”
It took three sessions for Lucas to understand that by me talking about it, it didn’t mean that I blamed myself. I just wanted closure. For me. So I could move on and not second-guess everything I said, everything I did, especially when it came to our relationship—which, Lucas and I agreed—was the most important thing to both of us. “And sexing,” Lucas quipped. Lily didn’t find it as funny as I did, but… she didn’t know him the way I do. No one does.
When we got home that night, he spent two hours showing me how he thought I should be treated. He was so careful with my body, so gentle with his touch, so open with his adoration both physically and emotionally. I cried when his lips skimmed my scars, when he whispered my name, when he told me he loved me, when he let me experience the pleasure of his mouth, of his fingers, of his determination to love me right. And when I was done, he lay beside me, kissed away my tears, and I thought of Dad’s words all those years ago:
“You impress people with your mind. With your kind heart and humble attitude. And while you’re a beautiful girl, your looks or the way you dress shouldn’t be the reason people are impressed by you. And when you’re older and boys start to notice you, I want you to remember that. Because if it’s only your looks they’re attracted to, then they’re not the one for you, Lo. You can do better. You will do better.”
I took Luke’s face in my hands, kissed him until I could no longer breathe. “You’re the one for me, Lucas Preston.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” It’s the third time he’s asked in the past five minutes. Today’s the first day he’ll be working with his dad. It’s also the first day classes start at UNC. He was able to defer a semester due to our circumstances (and also a little pull from Vivian), and it’s the first time he’s leaving me alone for more than an hour.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Babe.”
“I wouldn’t go if Dad didn’t need me.”
“I want you to go. I want you to have more in your life than just sitting at home and taking care of me,” I tell him, bagging his lunch at the kitchen counter of our apartment. As soon as I was able to climb the stairs without trouble, we moved back in, and I moved in—officially. Dad comes by every second day, like clockwork. I see him more now than I did when I lived at home.
Luke wraps his arms around my waist, kisses my neck. “But I like doing that.”
I turn in his arms, look up at him. “And I love you for it.”
“What are you doing today?”
“Hanging with Leo. He’s taking Vivian and me to that craft store in Charlotte. She can’t stop knitting now that she knows how to do it.”
Luke’s gaze narrows as he steps back, eyes me from head to toe. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”
I giggle. “No. But is it working?”
“Is this what you’re wearing?”
I look down at my dress. Back up at him. “Yeah. Why?”
“It’s a little too cute to be wasted on Leo, don’t you think?”
God, he does crazy things to my heart… and other places, a little lower. I pull down the collar of his Preston Construction work shirt, kiss his collarbone, bite it gently.
He moans, cups my ass, squeezes it—not so gently—and I squirm under his touch.
“I know you want me, Lane. Just ask for it.”
I do. “Shut up.”
He shifts my dress to my hips, lifts me onto the counter, then raises an eyebrow. “So?”
I shake my head, press my lips tight, and he chuckles, nuzzles my neck, kisses me there, soft and slow.
I grasp his arms, try to stay upright. But then he lowers the strap of my dress and frees my breasts from my bra and his mouth is there and I go insane with want, with need, and my hands are on his belt, on his zipper, and I’m releasing him while he pushes my panties to the side, and the front door opens, and I squeal, and Luke says, “Fuck!” and Leo says, “Fuck,” and Lachlan, eyes covered by Leo’s hand, says, “Are they sexing?”
“Two minutes,” I breathe out.
Lucas scoffs. “Twenty-eight minutes.”
Without a word, Leo takes Lachlan, and they leave, close the door after them.
I laugh. “Twenty-eight minutes?”
“What?”
“So specific. Do you time yourself?”
“Shut up. And why is the front door unlocked? I told you to make sure—”
“You were out last when you went for your run!” I cut in.
“Was not.”
“Was to!”
“Was not!”
“Was to!”
He rolls his eyes. “We’re like an old married couple.”
I smile.
“What?”
He knows what. “Nothing.”
He stands higher, covers me up and adjusts my dress. I do the same for him. His pants—he doesn’t wear dresses. He kisses me once. “Have a good day with Leo and Vivian.”
“Have a good day at work.” I hand him his lunch, and he kisses me again. “I’ll miss you,” I tell him, and I really will. I’ve gotten so used to him being around.
He heads for the door, and I start on cleaning the kitchen.
“Hey, Lane,” he says, hand on the doorknob.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll need a few years.”
“For what?”
“For the whole married-couple thing.”
My heart lodges in my throat, stops me from breathing.
“Wait for me, okay?”
I nod, unable to speak.
He smiles. “I love you, Lois Lane.”
I get home a half hour before Luke does, and when he enters our apartment covered in construction dust and dirt, I frown. “How was your day?”
“It was okay,” he tells me. “I’m going to jump in the shower real quick.”
He returns to the living room five minutes later, shirtless and in running shorts.
“You going for a run?”
He shakes his head, flops onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table, rolls his neck from side to side.
I sit behind him, massage his shoulders, and he moans in appreciation. “Tough day?” I ask, kissing his cheek.
“I don’t think I realized how hard our dads work until today.”
“Did you hate it?”
“As weird as it sounds, I really enjoyed it. I mean, I’d worked for him before, but it was different today. I was in the mix, you know? It’s good, hard, honest work. And when you think about it, we’re building a house for a family, and they’re going to live and make memories in there. It’ll mean so much to them. It’s… rewarding.”
“So… you like working?”
He grasps one of my hands, stops me from working on his shoulders, and turns to me. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”
“About what?”
“Well…” He moves to sit on the couch next to me and shifts my legs until they’re on top of his. He massages my knee, says, “This project is going to be done in a couple of weeks. After that, they’re building a new house from the bottom up, and I think I really want to be part of that. See it through to the end. Dad said he could use the extra hands, and I could work around your rehab and our therapy, and it’s not like we couldn’t use the money.”