Dreaming of a Hero (Heroes Series Book 2)

by Lyssa Layne

  Well, that’s it, I guess. I always wondered how I would die, and now I know. I’m going to starve to death. I don’t have much fat stored, but I can probably live off the muscle I’ve built up for a little while. On the upside, if I get to spend every meal with her between now and the moment I die, at least I know I’ll go happy.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Heartbreaker

  “Hey.”

  I stop what I’m working on and drop my pen to face him. “Why are you here?”

  He holds a paper bag out toward me as if it’s supposed to entice me in some way. “I brought veggie burgers.”

  “This isn’t the lunchroom, Lucas.” This is the third day in a row he’s done this. I’ve tried everything short of not actually eating the food he brings me, but he won’t listen. And I can’t not eat the food he brings. It’s always from some random hole in the wall place I’ve never taken the time to try out, and I’m always starving. I need to learn to pack a lunch. That’ll solve this problem, provided I can pack something that smells better than those veggie burgers.

  “I ordered yours with extra guac. I saw the way you tore up those avocadoes last night at dinner.” He grins. And then I grin, like grinning is contagious or something.

  “You’re getting awfully comfortable around here, dude.”

  He nods, taking his seat in on the edge of my desk to prove my point. “I know. I didn’t even flinch today when Mouth yelled ‘How the fuck are ya’ the second I walked in the door.”

  “Yeah, you did,” she announces, walking by. “Although, I have to credit the door a little. The way it slammed behind you just as I opened my mouth definitely added to the effect.”

  “Fine. I flinched less.”

  “There’s always tomorrow.” She winks at him and heads for the corner to join Princess at her station. It’s quiet in here today. It’s been quiet all week. I’d like to think it means nothing, but the truth is, I know we’re all spacing out our appointments and doing next to nothing to get new clients in here at the moment. It’s like we’re all on hold until this business with Marcus blows up or blows over. Unfortunately, I don’t think it will be the latter, and at this rate, my business isn’t going to survive.

  “So,” I reluctantly take the bag from him to retrieve my burger. With extra guac. “How long do you think you’ll be able to hide out here before your parents notice you’re not at home in your room contemplating life and how soon you want to follow in your father’s footsteps?”

  “I’m not hiding, and they know I’m not in my room. I’m not thirteen. I have my own vehicle. My own money. I’m pretty sure they’re aware of both.” He doesn’t even get offended anymore. Just rolls with my shit. It’s bothersome, and it makes me less inclined to give him a hard time, which in turn means I resort to being nice to him and having actual conversations. I can’t have that.

  “Got it. You’re not hiding from your big, predetermined destiny. Whatever. What are you doing? Have you made any plans for your future since you’ve been back, or what?” I lick the avocado spilling out of my burger from the edge of the bun. So good.

  “I’ve got some ideas.” But then he takes another bite and totally leaves me hanging. On purpose.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Why? Do you care about my future? Want to be in it or something?”

  “No!” I scoff at the mere suggestion. I also turn red because, on some sneaky, mortifying level, that’s exactly what I want. “I was simply hoping for some form of entertainment while I eat. Hearing about your life’s ambitions and imagining all the ways in which Pru will try to thwart them seemed like a better alternative to eating in boring silence.”

  “It’s good to know I have at least one person’s support,” he says dryly, reaching for a napkin. “Honestly? I haven’t put much thought into what I’m doing next. I’ve been following a set plan most of my life, first my parents, then the military. I’m kind of enjoying just going with the flow.”

  “Huh.” I’m not even sure I completely understand what that means. Going with the flow.“What?” He’s doing his best to look sincere as he inquires about my thoughts, but I can tell by the gleam in his eyes that he’s amused by my reaction. I don’t even know why. Huh hardly seems substantial enough to draw any conclusion from, let alone one that might delight and entertain you.

  “It’s just…I’ve never had that. That feeling of being in the moment and waiting to see what happens next. I’ve always had somewhere I was going. Something I was working toward.”

  The gleam of amusement turns to curiosity. “You’ve always known you wanted to own a tattoo shop?” Shockingly enough, he’s completely serious now. Not even a hint of mockery in his voice.

  “Ultimately, yeah. Granted, I had no idea the timeline would be so short, but sure, the dream was to open my own place one day.”

  He’s smirking. He finds me funny again. “So, like, there you are, little six-year-old Olivia, and you’re thinking…someday, when I’m all grown up I’m going to be a badass tattoo artist who runs her own parlor of extraordinary ink.”

  “Nine.”

  “Nine what?”

  “I was nine when I decided that.”

  I think he’s almost impressed. “No shit.” He drops the last of his bun back into the take out box and wipes his hands. “How?”

  “How did I come to conclude at the tender age of nine that I wanted to grow up and be a badass tattoo artist?”

  He grins. “Yeah.”

  I shrug. “My Uncle Camilo. I was nine when I met him. He came to visit from Mexico. Spent all summer with us. And he would tell these…amazing stories. One evening, sitting outside under this crazy starlit sky, he told Marcus and I about the night he met the love of his life, Aurelia. It was the most romantic story I’d ever heard. For the first time ever, I actually believed in true love. Then, he reached the end of his story, and it was tragic. Aurelia died the night before their wedding. He never loved anyone else ever again.” My hand finds my heart without my efforts. It doesn’t matter how many years go by or how long it’s been since I’ve heard it, remembering Camilo’s story still fills my chest with an overwhelming ache.

  I’m lost in thought, remembering Aurelia’s beautiful face, when Lucas clears his throat and brings me back to the present.

  “I can totally see it now. Your dream taking shape…from that depressing story about your uncle.”

  “I wasn’t done telling it,” I huff.

  “Oh. Well, then by all means, please continue.” He does a little wave and bow combo to encourage me.

  “After I found out what happened to Aurelia, I was devastated. I even started to cry. That’s when my uncle wrapped me up in a hug and told me all was not lost. That even if it wasn’t clear to the rest of the world, really, he’d never spent a day of his life without her.” I take a deep breath in and let it out in one long, steady exhale to keep from getting more emotional. “He rolled his sleeve up to his elbow, and there she was, the most stunning woman I’d ever laid eyes on, painted into his skin, bound to him for the rest of his days.”

  “Ah.” He nods slowly. “I think I’m starting to get it now. You’re a sappy, hopeless romantic and it controls every aspect of your life, including your career choice.”

  “What? No! I just thought it was a beautiful gift someone gave him. Something eternal. A part of her that lived on with him. The idea of someday being that person who could give a gift like that, I don’t know, it just called to me in a way nothing else ever has.” Then I hear myself. Comprehend what I’m saying. Really understand it. Maybe for the first time ever. “And…I’m a sappy, hopeless romantic whose whole life has been ruled by this sick fascination with fairy tale love. Ugh.” I flop into the backrest of my chair. “God. Who knew?!”

  “I know, right?!” He laughs. It’s an unusually quiet, subdued laugh, but he’s laughing at me none the less.

  I jump to my feet, because sitting here being analyzed and consequently charmed by a man who make
s me both melty-hot-weak-in-the-knees-giddy and utterly, mind-achingly confused is simply no longer an option. “You can’t come here anymore.”

  “You still owe me half of a dragon.” It’s almost like he’s been waiting to make that argument. Like he’s had it on reserve, chilling in his back pocket, ready for the moment that he would push me too far and make me freak and insist he get lost so he could yank out his magic golden pass to remind me that I can’t get rid of him. Yet.

  “Make your appointment with Cherry on the way out, and make it for tomorrow. Or sooner. I have to get back to work.” I turn toward my desk, away from him and the nerve-wracking way he stares at me in between my saying my words and him saying his words. The time he takes to decipher what I mean. To read between the lines. I hate that he does that. I especially hate how efficient he is when he does it.

  “See you later, Heartbreaker,” he says quietly, and I can hear the soles of his shoes squeak on the floor as he twists them, starting to walk in the opposite direction. Toward the door. Where I won’t have to see him. Or hear him. Or smell him. God, he smells good.

  But I don’t look up. And I don’t say goodbye. I just stand here, pretending with all my might to focus on the blank page of my sketch pad while I listen for the bells to jingle and let me know that he’s left the building.

  Then it happens, and I release the air I was holding in, shaking slightly. I might be losing my mind.

  “How long are you going to keep doing that?” Sketch is standing right beside me when I finally take in my surroundings again.

  “Doing what?” My attempt at oblivious fails miserably. I knew it would.

  “He’s going to get tired of your bullshit sooner or later, you know that, right? You’ll wear him down and he’ll give up. And then…”

  “And then what?” I practically spit the words at her. I don’t even know why my defenses are on high all of sudden, except maybe that I might be afraid that it’s possible that…she’s right.

  “Then you’ll be sorry, that’s what,” she more or less matches my shitty tone word for word.

  “It doesn’t matter, Sketch. Wanna know why?”

  Her hands move to her long waist and I remember why I let her tell me what to do. She reminds me of my mother when she stands there glaring at me like she’s doing right now. I don’t have many memories of her, but that pose, that expression, it’s etched into my mind for all eternity.

  “I’m dying here. Please, do tell why in the hell it doesn’t matter if you squander away the best guy who’s ever going to come along.”

  I shake my head, fighting off tears I don’t even understand and definitely can’t shed it front of my best friend, the tear Nazi. “That’s not what doesn’t matter. My being sorry won’t fucking matter. Because, Sketch, I’ll be sorry either way. Even if I wanted to pretend all of the glaringly obvious reasons I should insist he stay away from me didn’t exist, they would still be there. They would still exist, and he would get hurt, or, given Marcus’s tendencies…dead. So, I don’t care if you think it’s stupid, because I’m going to wind up being sorry either way, and personally I’d prefer to be sorry knowing he’s still among the living.”

  “You’re so full of shit.”

  “I am not!”

  Her lip curls in disgust as she proceeds to abandon me. “And fucking dramatic. Good God. Like anyone has ever actually died from going on a date with you.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” I call out, sounding precisely how I feel. A stubborn idiot who has traded maturity and smarts for the false sense of having won an argument simply by shouting ludicrous final statements.

  Lucas

  It’s not until I’m back in the truck that I realize I left my phone sitting on the dash this whole time. Automatically, I swipe the screen to see what I missed while I was inside having lunch with Liv. Seven calls. Eleven text messages. I only have to read one to know what they’re about. My old platoon was ambushed last night. Three guys dead. One I went to basic training with. And Dana Warren, the guy who pulled me out of my rig after it was blown up. The guy who saved me. He’s dead. Twenty-seven years old, with a wife, expecting their second baby. Dead.

  I should do something. Call someone. At the very least, I need to leave this fucking parking lot, only I can’t, because I can’t fucking see it anymore. Images flood my mind. Scenes from another lifetime. Sounds so loud they could drown out the entire ocean if I held it up to my ear, surround me. Screaming. Foreign words I can’t begin to translate and yet completely understand. And guilt. Guilt. Because I walked away. Because I’m here. Because I was watching some stupid chick flick on Netflix with a woman who barely gives me the time of day while the man who made that moment possible was dying, leaving a widow and two orphans in his wake.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here when a tap on my window sends my spiraling mind crashing back to reality.

  It’s her. She motioning for me to roll down the window. I do.

  “When you said see you later, I thought you actually meant later.” She stops her chit chatty ridicule. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Nothing.” I turn away from her, moving my phone to the glove compartment to hide it, as if that will hide the truth. Hide what happened.

  She watches me. I can see her from the corner of my eye. And I wait. Wait for her to press me for more answers, to continue to poke at me until I break. Only she doesn’t say anything. She just watches. Then, when she gets her fill, she walks around the hood of my truck and to the passenger side where she climbs in to sit beside me.

  Still, she says nothing. Just sits, staring straight ahead, in silence.

  “What are you doing, Liv?”

  “Staying with you.”

  “I don’t need you to do that.”

  She slowly moves her head around to meet my gaze. “I know, but I need you to let me.”

  Damn. All this time I thought I was so clever. Thought I had her number. Had her all figured out, and here she is playing me like a fiddle. She knows exactly what to say to me. Knows I can’t deny her, so she’ll stay. For me. By forcing me to accept that it’s for her.

  “Three guys from my old unit died last night.” My eyes lock on the glove compartment, my phone more specifically, even if I can’t actually see it. “I left my phone in the car…people were trying to call.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “It’s making you uncomfortable.”

  Her hand reaches out to touch mine. “It’s making you uncomfortable, and this is about you, not me. Silence was working just fine for you before I got here. I can do silence. I just can’t do walking away.”

  I nod, my teeth grinding my jaw tightly into place. Silence. Ironic how loud the silence is. But somehow, now that she’s here, I’m not getting lost in it all anymore. It’s like she’s my anchor, holding me even though she’s no longer touching me. Keeping me here even as I’m thrust back into the memories that usually only haunt my dreams. They’re real now. Three of my guys are dead. They’re not the first to die. They’re just the first to die without me there to try and stop it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Heartbreaker

  It’s been nearly two weeks since I found Lucas sitting in his truck, zoning out, literally disappearing right before my eyes. It was scary. Reminded me of my mom. She used to look like that. I’d walk in and find her standing at the kitchen sink, doing dishes or something, but she wouldn’t really be there. It’d just be her shell, a placeholder of sorts so she could escape and no one would notice. Of course, it only worked for so long. Eventually she really did leave. Maybe I understand her a little bit better now. Wherever she went, whatever was pulling her away from us, maybe it wasn’t a better place after all.

  “Hey,” he calls just as the door shuts behind him. It’s like he thinks he lives here now or something. Of course, the girls are slowly settling in here again as well. School starts back up in two weeks. Routines will be changing back to how
they were before, with one minor addition. Well, maybe not so minor.

  “Good workout?” I ask, determined not to actually look at him. Even drenched in sweat, he’s unbearably sexy in his stinky workout gear.

  “Yeah.” He’s not as wordy lately. A lot of short sentences. Short words, actually. I don’t like it. Not because I miss the in-depth conversations, or the way he likes to pick apart and analyze my life, but because it’s not him. This stoic, monotone robot Lucas is just a placeholder, and I can’t have another placeholder in my life. Eventually, they disappear for good. Whatever Lucas may or may not be to me, I’m not prepared to lose him.

  “This isn’t going to cut it,” I announce, setting down the notebook I’ve been drawing in. “You need to either come back or tell me where the hell you keep going.”

  He stops mid step, confused. “The gym.”

  I stand up from the recliner, my father’s favorite chair, and march straight for him. “I know that, dumbass. I mean in your head. Where are you going when your mind wanders? And why do you keep going back? And, most importantly, how do we get you to stop? How do we get you to stay?”

  His hands come out at his sides, and drop down again. There’s something heart achingly helpless in the gesture. “I’m right here, Liv.”

  I can feel a lump forming in my throat. “But you’re not.”

  “I just need time, okay? I’m fine. This isn’t anything I can’t cope with. Trust me.” He drops his chin to his chest, studying the hardwood floors. “Maybe I should stop coming around for a while until I work this out for myself. I don’t want you to think I’m…”

  “Broken?”

  “I’m not broken.”

  “I am, and you know it. Think I like that you’ve seen me that way? That you know all about my shitty past. My fucked up family?”

  He lifts his head, shaking it, about to argue. “That’s different.”

  “No, it isn’t,” I remind him. “But that’s why I know. That’s why I get it. No one wants to be seen as broken, Lucas, so we act whole, even when we’re shattered. Because we don’t want to be seen for our missing pieces. We just want to be seen. Period.” I reach out my hand to his cheek. It’s warm, and covered in a soft stubble from not shaving in days. “You see me. I see you. It’s why you’re here.”