by Mj Fields
“Such a romantic, Mr. Lane.”
I turn her to face me and untie the blindfold. “Keep your eyes closed until I say so, okay?”
“Yep,” she says as I pull the blindfold away.
Her eyes are scrunched tight, and she has a grin spread across her face.
I can’t help kissing her. That smile is...everything.
“Okay, Ava, open up those eyes.” I step to the side so she can look at the wall.
As expected, she is immediately emotional, covering her mouth as she gasps, “How...? When...? How...? Oh, my God, Luke, how?”
“It wasn’t that difficult. Dad helped. So did yours. Got a second moving truck and crossed our fingers it held up.”
“How, though? How do you move an entire wall?” She is stunned, and her eyes glisten with tears.
I shrug. “Wall was framed up and screwed to the brick. Just had to trim and unscrew. No big deal.”
Yes, I’m lying. It was a big damn deal, and I wasn’t sure we would get it back here in one peace, but apparently, that Brit was up there watching out for us. Well, probably not me, but Ava and the kids that day to make sure it happened without issue.
Ava was okay with selling the Brooklyn house. She knew it had to be done, but it hurt, and I know why. This wall. There was no choice but to bring it home to her.
Tears are now falling as she looks over at me. “Thank you? Is that even enough?”
“It’s plenty, Ava.”
She fists my shirt in her hands and pulls me close to her before resting her head against my chest as she stands and stares at the wall.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you,” I tell her back, wrapping my arms around her.
“No, Luke, like, I really love you,” she says, and I can’t help laughing. “It’s not funny.”
“Blue eyes, it’s funny. Like you really weren’t sure until just now.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know, Ava,” I tell her, pulling her hair so she looks up at me. Then I lean down and give her a kiss, both of our eyes wide open. “You wanna see our room?”
“Yeah.” She wipes her eyes.
“You sure?”
She nods.
Our room is blue, dark blue, and it has a nautical theme. Why? Because every year, as far back as I can remember, our families vacationed together at the Cape. As kids, she was always by my side, and most boys at that age wouldn’t have liked it, but I did. I always liked having Ava around. Not because I thought we would end up here, but because I genuinely liked her.
I still do.
I watch her walk around and smile. “The Cape?”
I nod.
She grins. “You had a crush on me then, just like I did you. Admit it.”
God, I love her smile.
So what do I do? I lie.
“Sure did, blue eyes, sure did.”
Ava
One Month Later
This cannot be happening, I think when I wake up for the thousandth time to use the bathroom.
I don’t want to get out of bed. Luke is sleeping, as he should be, and I wake the poor man every time I get out of bed. He should have bought a king, but insisted on the queen, saying he would have bought a princess if they made one.
If it wasn’t so sweet when he said that, I may have laughed. I mean, Luke Lane was not a romantic guy, or so I thought. Now, I know different.
I slide off the bed very slowly, hoping not to wake him. Then I tiptoe into the bathroom where I sit on the toilet and all hell breaks loose.
“Fuck. Son-of-a-bitch,” I groan as I feel like...“Luke!”
I hear him jump out of bed. “Fuck! Son-of-a-bitch!” He hops into the room, holding his toe, hair sticking up all over, and in his boxers. “You okay? What’s wrong? Is it the kids?”
“It’s one of them,” I answer, crouching over and holding my belly.
“You mean, you’re in labor?”
I nod when I realize that’s exactly what I am, and I start to panic.
“I can’t do this!”
He squats down in front of me and whispers, “Shh...you can. You have no other choice. Besides, I am here with you.”
“We need to go to the hospital now!”
“Okay.”
The calmness in his voice is almost annoying, and the way he looks at me, he can tell I feel that way.
“Blue eyes, we got this. Let me go call Mom.”
Tessa’s mother, Caroline, and Maddox’s sister, London, show up to watch the kids. I pull out the notebook of their daily schedule and thank them through the contractions.
While en route to the hospital, I tell Luke, “I can’t do this.”
“You’ve done it before, Ava; you’ll be fine.”
“No! I didn’t!”
He nods, takes my hand, and drives a little faster.
I close my eyes and think of the last time. Death and life.
Tears fall as I think about what followed.
“Ava,” Luke whispers, squeezing my hand.
Guilt washes over me when I think of Thomas.
“This is you and me, and we’re both okay. We will be okay.”
I nod and wipe my tears. “Sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t needed.”
I know it’s not. I know that this is a journey, that love and people and circumstances change. I know that we all deserve to be happy, and I know that both men I have loved know how much I love them.
“I love you.” I squeeze his hand. “I’m scared.”
“I know both those things are true. I promise I’ll be right there, feeling every bit of it with you.”
I can’t help laughing.
“It’s true, Ava. Your pain is mine. Your joys are mine.”
Tears of joy are followed by a painful yet beautiful experience.
Luke is without words as he holds her. She is eight pounds, pink-skinned, blue eyes, and beautiful. She is healthy and adored, and his and mine. There is no question, or doubt, or worry.
She is ours.
“Your sister and brother are going to love you so much,” he tells her then kisses her cheek.
It dawns on me that every fear I have, when I allow it—the babies paternity, what may happen in the future, what struggles they will go through—he has been through most of it, and he will help them...and me figure it out.
“What name do you want on her birth certificate?” the delivery nurse asks.
Luke looks at me and smiles. “We were told it was a boy.”
“So you want some time to think about it?” she asks.
He shakes his head, and I am shocked because we haven’t discussed it at all.
“Her name is Faith.”
I smile. It’s perfect.
“Faith.” I smile as I say her name.
“We have Hope, Chance, and Faith.” He smiles at her. “Nothing else we need.”
One last thing…
It is rare, but it is true that twins can have different fathers.
Don’t believe it?
CHANCE IS POSSIBLE...hehe
Preview of Her First Kiss
Want more from the Legacy crew?
Continue reading for the first chapter of HER FIRST KISS, Logan and London’s story.
Chapter One: Becoming Elle
London
What does a seventeen-year-old, single girl, who isn’t only a virgin, but who has never been kissed know about love? What does a seventeen-year-old who has never been on a date know about relationships? What could she possibly know about love, dating, men, and the occasional musical comparison to each?
Much, much more than one would expect.
My parents’ relationship wasn’t what one would consider good, and that’s putting it mildly. What they have both assured me was the best part—me—is a sign of that.
My name is London. It’s not your average name, and the meaning behind it should have been a warning to them that maybe their love wasn’t meant to be.
> They didn’t have a lot of money, but they did well by the standards of the good ol’ American dream. For years, they saved money so they could someday take the trip of mom’s dreams to London of all places. With each failed fertility treatment, that trip became farther and farther away, and so did their desire to take the trip. In fact, that trip became less and less important, and so did their love. Their dreams changed, their paths changed.
No one knows I know the truth behind my name.
I once overheard my grandparents talking about the fact that my father, Troy, was thought to have been having an affair. Feeling guilty, he told my mom to take the London money and use it for their final shot at having me.
My name is London because the money saved for the trip ended up becoming the one treatment that resulted in a pregnancy that lasted past twenty weeks. When they told me the story, they said it was the best trip they had ever taken.
At four, I recall the muted arguments.
At five, I recall Mom reading to me for hours at night. I loved hearing the stories of princesses and princes and love. It was also then I realized my parents didn’t seem to have that kind of love. It was also then I asked my mom, “When will you find your prince, Mommy?”
Her answer was a smile that didn’t even come close to touching her eyes and the words, “I did, London. Your father.”
At six, I realized, when he had a glass of the amber liquid, he wasn’t nice, not even to me. Then I asked her the same question.
That time, she didn’t smile. She hugged me and asked, “When did you become smarter than me?”
A week later, we moved out.
Not long after that, Mom found her prince, and guess where he was from? England.
A year or so after that, my father got himself together and things were so good. Then the accident happened, and he died.
Brody, my stepfather, has and always will be a huge part of my life. And yes, I call him Dad.
My stepfather is a legend, and no, not self-proclaimed. He’s a legit rock and roll legend. The entire world knows his story. He rose from ruins to become something based on pure drive and the use of his God-given talent. He’s also pretty well-known for some sex tapes that were leaked, and his son—my brother Maddox, who is also a rock star—who Brody didn’t know about until Maddox was fifteen.
But this isn’t their story. It’s mine, and it’s about what I have learned about love.
My knowledge of love wasn’t because of growing up with two legends. It doesn’t come from my parents truly being a loving couple, or that my brother and his wife Harper are equally as loving. It doesn’t even come from the fact that I witnessed anything different from the rest of the world. Where my knowledge comes from is the ability to see the truth in it, to see the broken in it, to see the beauty in it, which means inevitably seeing the warning signs.
I feel my earbud being popped out of my ear and quickly hit save on my draft before closing my laptop.
“London,” my sister Lexington whispers.
I inhale a deep, calming breath, trying to rid the annoyance I have kept at bay for the past month. The annoyance that only a little sister can spring on, like nails on a chalkboard.
I look over and smile. “Yes, Lexi?”
She points out the window at the mall, Destiny USA in Syracuse. Then she points to our mom. “She’s being strong.”
I nod my agreement.
“But you should pay attention to her. She loves you, London.”
Lexington’s irritating know-it all statement precedes her blue-green eyes filling with tears.
Lexi’s tears don’t come often. She is a very happy and self-confident child. Even at the age of ten, she has that blind sort of confidence gained from a lifetime of love and near pain-free living.
Her tears are my weakness. The tears of anyone I love messes with my persistent—or as some may see it, tenacious and unfaltering—grip on the strength I have gained through a life of questions and life-altering lessons.
Weak, I am not. Swayed easily from my beliefs and morals, I am not. Well, not until I see tears.
Like water to Elphaba, Christine to the Phantom, and legacy to Hamilton, Lexington’s tears are all those things to me.
Her eyes now red, I’m unable to resist. I reach over and grab her hand, giving it a light squeeze and trying my best to smile.
“You should, too, then, okay?”
Her lips quiver a bit as she nods. Then one tear escapes her pretty blue-greens, a perfect combination of Mom’s and Brody’s eyes.
“I’m an hour away, Lexi. Just an hour.”
As the second tear spills down her cheek, she quickly licks it away as it hits her top lip. I am done for.
I look down at my seatbelt, reaching to unbuckle it as my hands shake in resounding fear.
When Lexi covers my hand with hers, I look up as she whispers, “You don’t have to.”
“The only reason she’s alive is because of her seatbelt,” I hear the paramedic’s voice in my head as if it were yesterday, and not ten years ago.
I lived through the accident that killed my father because I had mine on. He would have lived had he worn his.
Fear. Fear is crippling to us all. When the fear stems from an actual event, or a lesson, as I like to call them, causing a person not just the worry of what could happen, but stops them from doing what must be done in order to stop another chain of events that will inevitably cause more tears, a person needs to do what they have to.
I hit the orange button that pushes up the console between us. Then I scoot closer to Lexi and grab the seatbelt to secure me. Looking for the latch, feeling the onset of an anxiety attack, I find it in Lexington’s hand.
I push it in and wait for the click. Then I breathe in a sigh of relief as I put my arm behind my sister and she rests her head on my shoulder.
“You’ll be fine, Lex,” I whisper.
“So will you, London. You are fine.” She smiles up at me as, what I hope, the third and final tear falls.
I lay my head atop hers and nod. “We all will be. Change isn’t easy, but it’s sometimes for the best.”
“I know,” she sighs out.
I look up to see Brody’s eyes on me in the rearview mirror. He gives me a wink, and I give him a nod. He then turns up the radio and, as if on cue, The Brody Hines Band booms through the Bose system with the latest platinum selling single, “That’s My Girl.”
I smile at him, and when he smiles back, I think, That’s my dad.
When Brody pulls up to the curb at Lawrinson Hall, I pull every strength, plus a little bit of acting ability, out of my internal box of tricks and jump out. Dragging Lexington behind me, I get wrapped up in the excitement of the next chapter in my life, knowingly wrapping her in it, as well.
We are checking-in two hours early, another perk of being Brody’s “Girl.” That’s topped with the staff and administrators at Syracuse University not wanting a riot because Brody, the normally level-headed one, the ‘rent who doesn’t let fear and emotion cloud his judgment, told the college, “Over my dead and rotting corpse will I not be here when my girl takes her first step into adulthood because an overpriced education that will inevitably amount to her using her God-given talents to make a living, and not a piece of fucking paper legitimizing who she already is, stops me from being her dad. Figure it the fuck out or you can kiss her tuition and the new theatre construction goodbye.”
Mom and I just stood there, jaws on the floor, me seconds from yelling at him in typical teenage fashion, when he added, “Fuckers,” right before hanging up the phone.
Both of us were speechless when he stood up from his desk and turned toward us.
“I am all for being level-headed, until you fuck with what’s mine.” He pointed at me, and I stepped back. This was not normal Brody behavior. “You’re mine.”
“Brody,” Mom began, her voice a clear indication that she would be the level-headed one in the relationship this time.
“Em,” he
almost growled as he walked toward the door. “Five minutes, and then you’ll be needed upstairs.”
Now, a normal child would think the ‘rents were about to have an “adult talk” in the bedroom, beyond the ears of their children. I knew better. They weren’t normal. In fact, I not only knew differently, but I knew they needed to work through their “emotions.” Therefore, as mom walked up the stairs very slowly, I walked toward the front door, grabbed my car keys, and then grabbed Lexi’s hand.
“We going to Maddox and Harper’s?” she asked, trying to keep up with my fast pace.
“Yep,” I answered.
“For how long?” she asked as she got in the back seat and allowed me to buckle her up.
“It’s gonna be awhile.”
When I started the car, “That’s My Girl” started to play.
“Daddy’s song to you, London,” Lexi shrieked.
“Yeah.” I smile.
“That’s My Girl” was written by my stepfather Brody, my dad, as a graduation gift because, as he said, “Nothing money can buy means more than you, London.”
Yeah, I’m his girl, and I couldn’t be prouder that he has wanted that since the first time he met me.
We are met at the curb by what is possibly the entire staff of Lawrinson Hall. As a result, the entire contents of my new room are unloaded in one trip and are up on the eighth floor in no time.
Mom busies herself by making my bed, setting up the air purifier, putting away my clothes—you know, doing mom things, but with a slight obsessiveness that worries even me.
Meanwhile, to keep Lexi’s tears at bay, she and I set up my desk.
Lexington loves to organize things, much like Mom. Normally, I would tell her to keep her paws off my technology, but not today.
When she has organized and reorganized at least five times, I look back to see Mom. She is still inside my shoebox sized closet, and Brody’s watching her closely.
When she begins to color coordinate the contents, I look at my watch, and then to Brody. He glances at me, then his watch. I then watch his chest rise as if he is trying to take in enough breath to sustain the oxygen needed for the two females who will no doubt lose their cool within the next two minutes.