Easy

  Lucas tackled him, held him down, and slugged him four times in quick succession. The sound made me think of dad texturing steaks, and my stomach turned. Buck’s face was quickly becoming unrecognizable, and though I couldn’t feel sorry for it, I was afraid Lucas was crossing into what might be construed as deadly force.

  “Landon! Stop!”

  Dr. Heller was tearing down the driveway.

  He pulled Lucas off Buck, who wasn’t moving. For a split second, Lucas fought back, and I was afraid Dr. Heller was toast, but I’d underestimated my professor and his Special Forces background. His arms a band around Lucas’s chest and arms, he barked, “Stop. She’s safe. She’s safe, son.” When Lucas sagged, Dr. Heller loosened his hold.

  Lucas’s eyes found me instantly and he lurched in my direction. Sirens sounded in the distance, closing in quickly. I heard them turn down the far end of the street at the same time Lucas dropped to the grass beside me. He was shaking violently, the adrenaline still pumping through him with nowhere to go. Breathing heavily, he stared at me, lifting a hand cautiously, like he was afraid I might recoil.

  My jaw throbbed, and I deduced from his expression that it must have looked bad. His fingers grazed over it and I flinched. He snatched his hand back and I came up on my knees.

  “Please touch me. I need you to touch me.”

  I didn’t have to ask twice. His arms came around me, pulling me onto his lap and cradling me against his chest. “His blood? From his nose?” He pulled the shirt away from my chest, and it stuck, the blood already drying, to the bra underneath, and my skin.

  I nodded, disgusted.

  “Good girl.” His arms slid around me again. “God, you’re so fucking amazing.”

  I thought of Buck’s blood on my skin and I pulled at the shirt as my stomach heaved again. “I want it off. I want it off.”

  He swallowed. “Yes. Soon.” His fingers moved gently over my face. “I’m so sorry, Jacqueline. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I sent you out the door like that.” He choked up, his chest rising and falling. “Please forgive me.”

  As he caressed me, I turned my head under his chin, folding into him as small as I could get. “I’m sorry for looking her up. I didn’t know—”

  “Shh, baby… not now. Just let me hold you.” He pulled me tighter still after grabbing his jacket from the grass nearby and draping it over me, and we stopped speaking.

  An ambulance arrived, and the EMTs roused Buck, who at least wasn’t dead. Arms crossed dispassionately, one of the officers monitored his care as he was transferred onto a stretcher while his partner conferred with Dr. Heller over the altercation.

  “Lan—Lucas,” he called. “You and Jacqueline need to give your statements now, son.” Lucas stood carefully, pulling me up with him, supporting me fully. Dr. Heller reached a hand to his shoulder. “This young man is the son of my closest friend. He rents the apartment over the garage.” He glanced at us with an odd look before continuing. “As I said, that fella—” he pointed at Buck, who was being loaded into the ambulance “—has a restraining order filed against him on behalf of this young lady, which he violated by coming to her boyfriend’s home.” Ah, there was the reason for the look.

  The officers’ eyes widened when they took in my bloody shirt. “It’s his blood,” I said, pointing toward the ambulance.

  One of them smiled and echoed Lucas. “Good girl.”

  I leaned into Lucas, and he tightened his arms around me. The officers, already softened by Dr. Heller, couldn’t have been more sympathetic. Twenty minutes and all of our statements later, they, and Buck, were gone, and Lucas and I were gathering my things from my truck and the road after assuring Dr. Heller and his family that we would see to each other’s injuries.

  Without speaking, Lucas led me up the stairs, into his apartment and straight into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and lifted me onto the counter to pull off my boots and socks. Without pausing, he removed my shirt and bra and tossed them in the trash. His shirt, speckled with droplets of blood—both his and Buck’s—followed.

  Standing between my knees, he turned my face towards the light and inspected my jaw. “You’re going to bruise. We’ll put some ice on it to get the swelling down, after you shower.” His jaw clenched tight. “Did he… hit you?”

  I shook my head, which made it throb a bit. “Just grabbed it really hard. It’s sore, but actually the spot where I head-butted him hurts more.”

  “Does it?” He brushed the hair back from my face and kissed my forehead so gently I couldn’t feel it. “I’m so proud of you. I want you to tell me about it, when you can… and when I can stand to hear it. I’m still too angry right now.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  He ran his fingers over the back of my neck. “I knew I’d fucked up. I was getting on my bike, coming after you—and then you were running up the driveway.” His jaw compressed and flexed. “When he tackled you… I wanted to kill him. I think if Charles hadn’t stopped me, I would have killed him.”

  I didn’t move from the counter until he’d undressed. He pulled me down, slid my jeans and underwear off, and led me to the shower, where he washed and inspected every part of me. We were both bruised and abraded in unexpected places, and I could barely lift my arms.

  “That's normal,” he said, wrapping a towel around his waist and folding another around me. "During a fight, you don’t realize all the places you catch a punch, land wrong, or slam into something. The adrenaline deadens it—temporarily.”

  His dark hair grazed his shoulders, dripping lines of water down his back and chest. He sat me down to dry my hair, and I watched as thin rivulets snaked over his inked skin, flowing over the rose, cutting through the scripted words, and moving into the line of hair on his abdomen before finally soaking into the towel.

  I closed my eyes. “The last time anyone dried my hair for me was in sixth grade, when I broke my arm.”

  He lifted each strand gently, pressing the towel around it to absorb the water without tangling it. “How did you break it?”

  I smiled. “I fell out of a tree.”

  He laughed, and the sound reduced the pain of every sore place on my body to the dullest ache. “You fell out of a tree?”

  I squinted up at him. “I think there was a boy and a dare involved.”

  His eyes burned. “Ah.”

  He squatted in front of me. “Stay here tonight, Jacqueline. I need to keep you here, at least tonight. Please.” He took one of my hands in his, and I brought the other to his face, wondering how his eyes could look like chipped ice and still warm me to my core. A bruise was forming near one eye, and the skin was scuffed and split high on his cheekbone, but his face was otherwise unhurt.

  His next words were a whisper. “The last thing my father said to me, before he left, was, ‘You’re the man of the house while I’m gone. Take care of your mother.’” My eyes filled with tears and so did his. He swallowed heavily. “I didn’t protect her. I couldn’t save her.”

  I pulled his head to my heart and folded my arms over him. On his knees, his arms slid around me while he cried. As I stroked his hair and held him tight, I knew this night had struck a chord at the heart of his pain. What tormented Lucas went further than the horror of that night eight years ago. What haunted him was guilt, however insanely misplaced.

  When he grew quiet, I said, “I’ll stay tonight. Will you do something for me, too?”

  He fought back his instinctive wariness—I’d seen him do this before, but never from such close range. He inhaled a shaky breath, shoring up his courage. “Yes. Whatever you need.” His voice was gritty and hoarse. When his tongue rolled over his lip ring, I wanted him so badly that it was difficult to waste time talking.

  “Go with me to Harrison’s concert tomorrow night? He’s my favorite eighth-grader, and I promised him I’d go.”

  He arched a brow and blinked. “Um. Okay. Is that all?”

  I nodded again.

  He shook his head and sto
od, leveling the ghost smile on me. “I’m going to grab a couple of ice packs from the freezer. Why don’t you go get in bed?”

  I stood, laying my hand on his chest and staring up at him. “Is that a dare?”

  He laid one hand over mine and pulled me closer with the other. Leaning down, he kissed me gently. “It absolutely is. No falling out of it allowed, though.”

  Chapter 27

  The middle-school auditorium was packed with camcorder-wielding parents, bored siblings, and a smattering of grandparents. Skirting around clusters of people standing in the aisle, Lucas and I took aisle seats halfway between the stage and the back exit doors. I glanced down at the photocopied holiday green program. Harrison was in the highest orchestra, which meant it would be a while before he was onstage. I gave lessons to two of the other boys in the lower orchestras, though, and I’d never had the chance to see any of them actually perform. I was nervous on all of their accounts.

  I leaned close to Lucas so no parents would overhear. “I should probably warn you that many of these kids have only been playing a few months—especially in the first orchestra—so they might be a little… inexpert.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up, and I wanted to lean up and kiss him, but I didn’t.

  “Is that your polite way of saying to prepare for some nails-on-a-chalkboard sounds?” he asked.

  I heard Harrison’s voice then from a roped-off section on the right side of the auditorium. “Miss Wallace!” I searched for him amongst a sea of black polyester-tuxedoed boys, and girls with ankle-length school-color purple dresses. I located his blond head about the same time he noticed Lucas sitting next to me. His wave froze and his eyes widened. When I smiled and lifted my hand, he waved back once, dolefully.

  “I take it this is one of the ones crushing on you.” Lucas stared down at the boot balanced on his knee, scratching at a worn seam and trying not to laugh.

  “What? They all crush on me. I’m a hot college girl, remember?” I laughed and his eyes burned into mine.

  He leaned in close and whispered into my ear. “So hot. Now you’ve got me thinking what you looked like this morning, when I woke up with you in my arms, in my bed. Would it be too greedy to ask you to stay tonight, too?”

  My face warmed from his compliment as I met his gaze. “I was afraid you weren’t going to ask.”

  He took my hand and held it, balanced on my thigh, as the orchestra director took the stage.

  An hour and a half later, Harrison found me at the back of the auditorium. He was holding a cluster of long-stemmed red roses, the color of which were identical to the blotchy, embarrassed shade of his face.

  “I wanted to give you these,” he stammered, thrusting the flowers into my arms. His parents stood about fifteen feet away, allowing him to deliver his gift alone.

  I took the roses and smelled them as he shifted a cursory look at Lucas. “Thank you, Harrison. These are beautiful. You made me so proud tonight—your vibrato was awesome.”

  He grinned and tried not to, which gave him a sort of manic appearance. “It’s all ’cause of you, though.”

  I shook my head. “You did the work, and put in the practice.”

  He shifted from one foot to the other.

  “You sounded great, man. I wish I could play an instrument,” Lucas said.

  Harrison eyed him. “Thanks,” he mumbled, frowning. Even though my student was taller than me, he was lanky next to Lucas’s filled-out frame. “Did that hurt? On your lip?”

  Lucas shrugged. “Not too much. I said a few choice four-letter words, though.”

  Harrison smiled. “Cool.”

  ***

  As we lay in the semi-dark hours later, we faced each other, sharing his pillow. I took a deep breath and prayed I wasn’t about to drive Lucas away again. I’d never felt more connected to anyone.

  “What’d you think of Harrison?”

  He studied me closely. “He seems like a good kid.”

  I nodded. “He is.” I trailed my fingers along the side of his face, and he pulled me closer.

  “What’s this about?” He smirked. “Are you leaving me for Harrison, Jacqueline?”

  Watching his eyes, I asked, “If Harrison had been in that parking lot that night, instead of you, do you think he’d have wanted to help me?”

  His eyes locked to mine. He didn’t respond.

  “If someone had told him to watch out for me, do you think they would ever, ever blame him, if he’d not been able to stop what would have happened that night?”

  He exhaled harshly. “I know what you’re trying to say—”

  “No, Lucas. You’re hearing it, but you don’t know it. There’s no way your father actually expected that of you. There’s no way he even remembers saying that to you. He blames himself, and you blame yourself, but neither of you is to blame.”

  His eyes filled and he swallowed heavily, his grip on me hard. “I’ll never forget how she sounded that night.” His voice was choked with tears. “How can I not blame myself?”

  My tears spilled over onto the pillow between us. “Lucas, think about Harrison. See yourself for the boy you were, and quit blaming him for not stopping something a grown man might have been unable to stop. What have you told me, over and over? It wasn’t your fault. You need to talk to someone, and figure out how to forgive yourself for responsibility your mother never would have wanted you to accept. Will you try? Please?”

  He brushed my tears from my face. “How did I find you?”

  I shook my head. “Maybe I’m exactly where I should be after all.”

  Epilogue

  “I’m going to miss you so much. I can’t believe you’re leaving me.” Erin plopped next to me on the Heller’s sofa. Lucas’s graduation party was a backyard cookout, and we were escaping the heat and humidity for a few precious, air-conditioned minutes.

  I leaned my head on her tan shoulder. “Why don’t you go with me?”

  She laughed and leaned her head on top of mine. “That’s as silly of an idea as you staying here. You have to go do your great things, and I have to stay here and do mine. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, though.”

  I’d applied to three music conservatories for transfer in the fall. None of it felt real until after the audition that I nailed at Oberlin—my top choice—and the email I received a couple of weeks ago, notifying me that I’d been accepted.

  “Yeah, I guess you need to stay here and keep an eye on Chaz, too.”

  Erin’s opposition to Chaz’s breakup-reversal efforts ended on Valentine’s Day, when he’d shown up with reservations for “their” B&B, after having flowers delivered every day for two weeks, turning our dorm room into a hothouse. With Erin’s help, Chaz had weathered his ex-best friend’s impending rape trial—and the associated rumors and innuendoes. Buck’s recent pre-trial plea bargain for a lesser assault charge was a relief to everyone, though he probably wouldn’t serve half of his two-year sentence.

  Through the open French doors, we watched our boyfriends talking in the back yard. They’d never be best friends, but they got along well, as opposite as they appeared.

  Lucas had been so sure, when he’d encouraged me to apply for transfer into music performance programs, that we would be fine. He was still sure, and I believed him, but that didn’t mean I wanted a two-year long-distance relationship. Dead-set against me making an academic decision based on his plans, he wouldn’t accept me staying, and he wouldn’t tell me where he’d applied or interviewed for jobs.

  “I won’t ask you to give up what you want for me, Jacqueline.”

  “But I want you,” I’d mumbled, knowing he was right; I had no logical defense. In some ways, he was his father’s son.

  Ray Maxfield had become one of my favorite people. Lucas had taken me home over spring break, and I’d never seen him more nervous. For some reason, though, his father and I hit it off. I could see Lucas’s tutor persona in him—his dry sense of humor and intelligence. The night before we left,
Ray rummaged through the beach house attic and brought down a trio of framed watercolors of a small boy playing on the seashore. Rosemary had signed the paintings of her only child in the corners of each—Rosemary Lucas Maxfield. We’d hung them in Lucas’s bedroom, over his desk.

  Even stranger, Ray was sitting outside with Charles and Cindy. He’d taken a break from the fishing boat for his son’s graduation—his first since he’d left Alexandria.

  ***

  “I accepted a job on Friday.”

  This was it. After applying for dozens of jobs during his final semester, Lucas had several interviews, and a few second interviews. A week ago, I’d overheard Charles telling Cindy that he’d gotten a solid offer from an engineering firm in town. I’d been waiting for him to tell me.

  When I left for Oberlin in August, we would be twelve hundred miles apart.

  “Oh?” I avoided looking at him, afraid I would burst into tears.

  Stuffing the leftovers Cindy sent with us into his fridge, I made no further comment, and he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching me. Finally, everything was stored away, and I couldn’t delay the inevitable any further.

  At the look on my face, he caught my hand. “C’mere.”

  As he led me to the sofa, I blinked back tears and gave myself a stern lecture that mostly consisted of stop crying stop crying stop crying.

  Leaning into the corner, he pulled me into his arms. I halfway listened as he relayed the technical aspects of the job, the size of the company, the impressive pay, and the start date—the second week in July. Mostly I was wondering how often I would have the time to fly home. Free weekends were almost unheard of as a music student. Mandatory recitals and performances to perform or attend were unremitting.