Truth About Love Duet: A beautiful small-town, angst filled, story of love (Legacy World Box Set Book 4)

by Mj Fields

  “I’m gonna call the cops.”

  “Uh-uh,” I quip and keep on walking.

  I have no clue how I end up in a bathroom, but I do, and she begins getting really pissed. Pain means shit.

  I count in my head, five, four, three, two, one, and it’s gone. Then I walk into the glass and stone shower, her still over my shoulder, and start the water. It pours down from the ceiling from both ends, up high, and stomach level.

  When she begins to sob, she stops fighting, and I am able to adjust the temperature. Then, when it’s damn near perfect, I let her down nice and easy, keeping myself in the doorway.

  “I hate you,” she spews.

  I shrug as I grab a bottle of body soap and squeeze it over her head.

  “I hate you!” she screams as I put my hands in her hair. She tries to pull away, but I grip her hair hard enough that she can’t.

  Still, I say nothing. I just scrub my hands in her greasy hair as she cries.

  “I hate you so much,” she says, closing her eyes and allowing me to clean her fucking hair.

  I have no idea how much time passes, but we are standing there, fully clothed and soaking wet, when I finally feel like her hair is clean enough. I turn her so she’s facing away from me and let the water rinse her hair clean. After that, I pull off my sweatshirt, my tee-shirt, and kick off my shoes before peeling off my jeans and stepping out of the shower.

  I wring my clothes out as best I can in the sink, then remember the laundry room next to the door I came in. Therefore, in my Under Armor boxers, water dripping down my face, I walk across the apartment, leaving a trail of wet footsteps, when I feel something smack me in the back of the head. A washcloth.

  I turn around and look at Ava, who is wrapped in a men’s red and black flannel robe, stomping toward what I assume is her bedroom. Ignoring her, I continue to the laundry room, throw my clothes in her dryer, and then walk out in my wet underwear and look around, thinking food first.

  I’m still standing in front of the open refrigerator, looking at the bare shelves, when she walks out.

  “My babies slept through that bullshit you just pulled, and you’re lucky they did.”

  “I wasn’t the one throwing a fit—that was you—so I guess you’re the lucky one,” I remark without looking back, half-expecting to get hit with another flying object.

  “You broke into our home.”

  “Pretty damn sure you wouldn’t have opened the door if I knocked, and it wasn’t all that hard to get in,” I say, turning to face her.

  She throws a Syracuse sweatshirt at me. “You need to leave.”

  “Not gonna happen.” I turn back around and open her freezer, seeing it full of frozen pizzas. I grab one then walk over and turn on the oven.

  “Luke, I—”

  “You’re gonna eat something, you’re gonna chill the hell out, and then you and I are gonna chat.”

  “I have nothing nice to say to you.”

  “Well, if that’s the way you wanna do it, that’s fine. Or we could be two fucking adults, who have been through hell, figuring shit out.”

  “I’ve got it all figured out.”

  “Let’s be honest here, Ava; you haven’t figured out how to take a shower when you need one. You have two babies feeding off you, and they have to smell you, get their nutrients from you, and apparently a frozen pizza. You haven’t got shit figured out.” Irritated, I slam the oven door shut before turning to look at her. “It ends now.”

  Her face is red, and her mouth is in a straight line. She’s ready to either throw something at me or break down. Neither one of us has time for that.

  I take the initiative to tell her some of my truths.

  “I lost one of my best friends just months ago and up until two months ago, I couldn’t face it. I was surrounded by all those people who care about what the fuck happens to me, and I pushed them all away because they had no clue who the fuck I am or what really happened to me.”

  “And you despise them.”

  “No, Ava, I was fucking confused. Still am a little bit, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m gonna tell you what the fuck happened to me, and you aren’t gonna say shit to any of them because you love them. Same as when I flipped out on you back at Christmas, and you didn’t say shit, ‘cause you and I are different people.”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t trust me, Luke. Nothing is the same as it was then. Not one damn thing.”

  “Maybe not, but you and I will figure it out.”

  She looks at her phone. “My babies are going to wake up and will need to eat in just—”

  “Good. I’d like to meet them.” I walk around the island and pull out a chair. “Sit, Ava, and let me tell you about what it’s like to live in the shadow of a dead man.”

  “No.”

  “You’ll sit, you’ll listen, you’ll eat, and then you’ll let me meet those babies.”

  “You need to look at me real hard, Luke Lane, and tell me if you see the girl—”

  “I left to find myself,” I start, blatantly ignoring her. “I left because I have a grandmother who distorted my view of all those people you love so much, that I”—I pause, not the kind of man who just puts his emotions out there for the world to hear—“I love. She made me believe they didn’t give two fucks who I was and only what they lost. I wanted to find me, and I did. Was damn good at it, too. I wasn’t Tommy’s kid. I was Luke. I was a soldier.”

  “A couple years into being a Ranger, I was approached to become a part of Delta Force. It wasn’t run by the military. I wasn’t following any rules. I was the rules. I was given a mission and, together with men just like me, we went in, took care of shit, and got out. We took down terrorists before they attacked our country, and we did it in small groups, not twenty to a hundred men. Within that organization, I became me.” I feel my jaw tighten. It takes a minute for me to go on.

  “Killshot and the rest of them had wives, kids, family who knew nothing about what we did. Well, not that we were Delta Force, not that we went up against terrorist cells, or lived within them for months at a time, gathering intel. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to come home in a bag to a wife and a couple of kids. I married my country and—”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because, Ava, what you and I—”

  “I don’t want to hear it. I’m sorry you went through what you did, but—”

  “I was wrong to fuck you while home on leave and expect you’d—”

  “I knew what I was doing!” she snaps. “It’s done and over with.”

  “You loved me, Ava. You told me that, and I couldn’t fucking push you away fast enough. In doing that—”

  “Just stop.” She looks away from me.

  “In doing that,” I continue, “I lost the one person who saw me. The person I couldn’t wait to come home to.”

  “Pft.” She rolls her eyes. “Me and Alexis.”

  “I didn’t fuck her. Her old man was beating her, and I helped her get out.”

  “Well, that’s neither here nor there,” she says, throwing my words back at me. “I should thank you for fucking or not fucking her. Because of that, I—”

  “T.” I say his name as nice as I can.

  “Yes,” she says, her eyes getting misty.

  I want to tell her what I think of the man who hung the fucking moon in her eyes, but I have a mission to complete, and that won’t get me anywhere, not yet, anyway. I can’t say anything, so I need to just shut the fuck up and regroup.

  “I was protecting you, Ava.”

  “Right, well, whatever it was you were doing, I thank you because, if not for him, I wouldn’t have two babies and a reason to live. Mission accomplished, soldier.” She looks down immediately, knowing damn well I can read her. That, right there, tells me she’s hiding something.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “The letters you wrote me, the prayers—”

  “About those prayers...” She gets up, her hand on the
waistband of her sweats, holding them up. “I used every one of them I had coming to me on you for all those years, so when he needed one, they were all used up.” She walks to the elevator and pushes the button. “I want you to leave. I want you to leave because you and I aren’t gonna happen. If you drove all this way, thinking now that you can walk, you can fuck me against a wall, you’re dead wrong.”

  I can’t help laughing at her, and then I want to lash out and tell her I didn’t come for her. However, I force myself to think about the fucking mission.

  “My clothes are in your dryer.”

  “I don’t give a damn. Get out of our house.”

  “You do know, you and I have lots more to talk about,” I tell her, throwing on the sweatshirt.

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “I have a hell of a lot to say to you,” I snarl as I walk toward the elevator. “I’ll be back to finish this up, because you don’t want to do it the other way.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, princess, it’s a fucking promise.”

  “You do what you need to do, and I’ll do what I need to do. And, Luke, I need to take care of my children, just like I have been for months.”

  “You could’ve had help, Ava. They are dying to help you. But you...” I stop what I am about to say and get in the elevator. “We are far from done here.”

  “Go home, Luke. I don’t need you.”

  “You need help.”

  “I need nothing you are offering,” she tells me as the gate closes.

  “I’m not offering, Ava. I’m here until this is finished.”

  Chapter Eight

  I’m sorry. — J. Finch

  Ava

  As soon as the elevator door closes, I run to the emergency exit and deadbolt it. I will call a locksmith tomorrow and have it all locked up securely. He will not get in here again. Then I am booking a flight to somewhere. Maybe Europe. England. Yes, I will take the babies to see where their father grew up.

  But Chance can’t fly. It hurts his ears.

  Then I will take a boat.

  Fucking Titanic. I hate that movie. I can’t take a damn boat.

  I am living in hell. I am living in hell, trying to protect two angels.

  I hate him. I hate him so much that I said vile things to hurt him.

  I thought I loved him once, and tonight, what was he doing, pouring his heart out to me to get laid? Who the hell does he think he is? Who!

  “I need you, T. I need you so fucking bad,” I pray to the only god I know. “Everyone is out to take them away from me, and no one, not one person, understands. You do, though. You do, Thomas, and...” I stop because, in my fear, I am getting angry at him, and being angry at him leads to nothing but hurt in my heart. He did everything to love and protect me. I would do the same for my kids.

  Figure out what he wants, Ava—what he will settle for—and give it to him. Then he will go away. He always does.

  Casey is on a much needed vacation, and I fired the help Mom hired, not wanting anyone taking care of what’s mine. Now, though, I feel like maybe Luke will stay away if other people were around.

  I am exhausted, so tired, but I can’t sleep. However, if I don’t sleep, I won’t be able to show Luke that I can do this.

  Fucking exhausting. All these people are exhausting.

  Why do they do this to me? Why does everyone hate me so much that they try to make me feel like I have to take care of them; worry about their feelings getting hurt?

  Thanksgiving, Dad was so pissed at me. He was so damn pissed that he gave Tessa the phone.

  Tessa. Would she help me? She knows what it’s like to lose someone and want to run away. Hell, she did run away. She didn’t have anything to hide, though.

  Hope starts to stir, and I take a few breaths, trying to calm myself before getting up to feed her, when the oven timer goes off.

  Dammit!

  I run out and turn it off. Then I open the oven door so the pizza doesn’t burn before running back, grabbing Hope from her crib, and bringing her into my room to feed her.

  She’s still half-asleep, her eyes fluttering like she’s trying to wake up to tell me something. As soon as she starts to get milk, though, she’s out. My beautiful girl is peacefully finding rest.

  Chance doesn’t wake up, but I know that he needs to eat, even if he doesn’t know it.

  I hold him a little tighter, a little closer, and I look at him as tears fall down my face. If Luke finds out and decides he wants to be part of his life after all these months, then I will miss so much of his life. I will miss his smiles, his coos, his little talks where I have no idea what he is trying to say to me, but I know he’s saying something important. He’s my thinker, my talker, my little man. Mine, not Luke’s.

  I look over at Hope asleep in her crib. She is so blissfully peaceful. She’s the dreamer, so happy all the time. The only time she gets upset is if she has a dirty diaper. Our little princess doesn’t like to be dirty.

  Dirty.

  I didn’t shower for three days because I have been too busy, and it isn’t like I plan on going anywhere. No, it’s not like me, but I didn’t want laundry piled up, or dirty bottles, even though I don’t use many since they breastfeed ninety percent of the time.

  Then he showed up and threw me in the shower. And now he thinks I can’t take care of myself, and if I can’t take care of myself, I bet he thinks I am neglectful to the babies. I am anything but! They are my everything, and each other’s everything.

  I have to make this work to their benefit. I don’t owe him a damn thing, and I won’t ask him for anything but to be left alone.

  Chapter Nine

  I can keep pretending to be happy...right? — A. Leanard

  Luke

  Over the next two days, my head is so fucked up that I can’t even go to her. If I did, I would have come in like a storm and destroyed her.

  She wasted her prayers on me? Wasted? I was a waste to her?

  In my head, her saying those things, those hurtful fucking things, has to mean there is no chance one of them is mine.

  Chance. Chance Thomas. It could be a coincidence. Ava and I both have dark hair and blue eyes. T had blue eyes, right? Maybe the speculation is just that. Maybe Ava knows our families are speculating, and that’s why she stays away from them all. Maybe Ava is simply grieving, and they can’t see the pain they are causing past what they see in a baby that could be mine. Maybe it’s the silver lining they see, that if he is mine, it will bring her home to them.

  Mom called me the day I left. She thought I was heading to see Lilian and her boys. I didn’t confirm nor deny it. I simply told her I need to take care of some things I have been neglecting. I do plan to do just that...when I finish here. When I have my head on straight, I will go see them. I owe them.

  What a fucking mess.

  Regardless, I am working on something, a new mission.

  Yesterday, I went in and talked to the building’s super about their inadequate security, feeding them a bunch of shit. Somehow, it landed me a job in installing the new security system. I wasn’t looking for a fucking job, but I took it. At least then I knew it would get done right. Plus, I now have the master key to every one of these places, including the top floor.

  I have been listening in on Ava’s almost daily phone conversations with the police, who can’t give her closure on who the hit and run driver was who killed Thomas Hardy. What the police don’t know is that my new friend, Nan, isn’t making enough to pay her bills, so she is running a site from her home where she dresses up and acts a part for the sick fucks who can’t go out to get a piece of ass. Instead, they pay her to video chat with them, and she plays a role.

  I know she shot from a location that faced the window, and with any luck, I will see something the police didn’t that might shine some light on who the killer is. When I have my lunch date with her tomorrow, I’m going to get into her hard drive and see if I can’t salvage some footage.
It’s a long shot, but it’s something to keep me busy.

  When I first knocked on Nan’s door, she opened it, all smiles. When I told her what I wanted, she really thought I would keep my mouth shut if she pushed her tits in my face. Clearly, she had no idea that tits don’t faze me. I’m an ass man. Had she offered that up, I would have laughed. I am not just an any ass man. I like a round ass.

  Fucking Ava.

  Nan then put on the tears when I demanded what I wanted. Tears don’t faze me much, either. Hell, I knew they were put on.

  I didn’t stop there. I also scouted the stores in the area, hoping the police missed something, though I doubt they did, not when the victim was a fucking rock star.

  Am I bitter that I watched hundreds of men die who never got a mention in the media? That their families got a flag and a thank you, maybe a “we’re so sorry for your loss”? That these men and women died fighting for the safety and security of our nation? That millions of Americans lie under the protection of our military and dare say we shouldn’t be overseas fighting someone else’s war, and that they are so fucking ignorant that we are there stopping it from coming to our soil? That instead of a worldwide memorial broadcast over the internet, television, radios, and newspapers, all the men and women in uniform get is a name on a cold stone slab? No. Annoyed, maybe. Bitter, never. We do it because we are called, not because we want a spotlight.

  What we get is the knowledge that death is a greater possibility than the average person. That’s a given in the situations we choose to be part of for the greater good.

  What happened to...him was a tragedy. What Ava is putting herself through is debilitating. I know. I did the same damn thing.

  No more.

  I sit outside her place, trying to force myself to just go in. I need answers.

  There is dim lighting in the window on the top floor. I know from the last few nights I have sat here watching that this is the time when the lights start to go out, and I can safely assume she will be asleep soon.