Dreaming of a Hero (Heroes Series Book 2)

by Lyssa Layne

  “Fair enough.”

  I glance past her at the back door. “He still out there?”

  “No. Drove off as I was coming back inside.”

  “Good.” My hands still on her waist, I guide her straight for the doorway and return to the parking lot with her.

  “What are we doing out here?” She glares at me impatiently as I take the time to make sure we’re really alone and the door is sealed shut behind us.

  “This.” My lips land on hers just as she opens them to argue with me more. In a matter of seconds her body turns to putty in my hands, her weight falling into my chest, her arms draping up around my neck and the whole of her wrapped up safely in my arms. In this moment, I know she’s the one. The only one. Because there’s no one else I want to hold as tight. No one else I want to kiss as long. And no one else who makes my heart ache as if it’s about to explode from the sheer sensation of feeling so damn much.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Heartbreaker

  “Do you want to talk about this now, or later?” Sketch and Mouth are both standing less than three feet from me. Ignoring them will be a challenge. Not impossible, but it will definitely require a great amount of effort. I’m not sure it’s worth it.

  “I never want to talk about Marcus.” Playing dumb has to be tried. It’s a given. They expect it and I need to feel like I at least tried to put up a fight before rolling over like a wuss.

  “Oh, neither do we. That’s why we’re here to talk about Lucas.” Mouth marches straight into my station and spreads out in the chair usually reserved for people who have a date with my needle. She probably shouldn’t tempt me like that.

  “He seemed awfully upset after the three of you had your little meet and greet out back. What, the family reunion didn’t go so well?” Sketch meanders in as well, taking a less invasive position leaning against the wall. Of course, she’s staying upright for a reason: so she can stare me down from up there.

  “What is it going to take, Huh? Just tell me what you want to hear and I’ll say it so we can all get back to work and pretend this is a real business that needs to make real money and shit to stay open.”

  “We want to hear if you’re still craving guacamole or if you finally got your fix.” Mouth wiggles her eyebrows, grinning widely.

  “But I don’t want to hear it in avocado code. Just spit it out. Did you cave? Did you do the nasty with Pru’s kid?”

  I wince. “Why are you being mean to me?”

  Sketch claps her hands together triumphantly. “Ha! I knew you would.”

  “You knew nothing!” I inform her proudly. “I did not have sex with him!” It’s a technicality at this point, but one I’m prepared to ride out as long as Sketch is insisting on calling him Pru’s kid.

  “Not even a little?” Mouth prods.

  “How can you have a little sex with someone?” Sketch inquires, but it’s more for the sake of prolonging this torture than actual interest.

  “You know…if he only puts it in a little…” Mouth shrugs, clearly not having thought this through.

  “Nobody put anything anywhere,” I declare boldly. Now I really am lying.

  “Uh-huh.” Sketch folds her arms, letting me know she’s settling in and getting comfortable. “If that were even remotely true you wouldn’t have a hickey the size of Texas right above your collarbone, smack in the center of your tat. Don’t think I can’t tell. I drew that piece up myself. I know it’s not supposed to have a purple splotch right there in the middle of it.”

  I tug at my tank top as if I have any hope of covering up the patch of skin she’s talking about. I didn’t even think to look for evidence Lucas’s thorough mouth work might have left behind after our shower this morning.

  “Fine. Some things were put some places,” I concede shamefully.

  “And?” Mouth’s eyes look like they may bulge out at me at any second. I’m tempted to tap them to see them pop back into place.

  “And…we’re not friends.”

  “Huh?” It’s the first time since this conversation started that Sketch actually appears surprised. Dumbfounded even. I like it.

  “Look, I don’t know what we are exactly, I just know we’re not friends. At least, that’s what he announced last night shortly after he ambushed me at my front door and crammed his tongue down my throat.” I’m grinning. God, why does thinking of him make me do that?!

  “That’s great. Now how long before you’re not idiots anymore either?” Sketch cocks her brow, enabling her to appear to be glaring down at me from even higher up.

  “I resent that.”

  “You would.” Mouth laughs. “I’m with Sketch. What’s the hold up? Why stop at not friends?”

  I roll back on my chair. It’s not intentional. A reflex motion from my legs, caused by exasperation, sent me backwards.

  “Do you two hear yourselves when you talk? Or do you get to tune out the garbage that comes out of your mouths? Because I don’t. I get to hear you say things like doing the nasty with Pru’s kid. Or if I got my guacamole fix. And that’s when all I’ve done is fool around a little with a guy. Can we all just take a moment to appreciate the hell you’d put me through if I announced I was serious about him? And let’s not forget his parents in all of this.”

  “Are you?” Sketch is uncharacteristically sincere in her question.

  “Am I what?”

  “Serious about him.”

  I spin around to face my desk. “No.”

  “God, you suck at lying.” Mouth slides out of her seat to stand beside Sketch who’s just about to have another go at me as well.

  “For your information, we actually like it when you’re happy, so stop using us as one of your bullshit reasons to keep Lucas at bay when you’re so obviously into him.”

  I drop my face to my desk until my forehead touches the wood. I feel like an idiot. A pathetic idiot. A scared, pathetic idiot.

  “He just has this way of making me count on him,” I mutter quietly into the smooth surface right below my mouth.

  “Yeah. It’s called showing up. He’s good at that. Has been for a while if I recall correctly.”

  My father’s funeral for starters. I remember too.

  “Girl, you deserve this. And if us giving you shit is making you hesitate to jump in with both feet and arms wide open, then I’m going to shut up from this moment forward.”

  It’s a statement so ridiculous, I have no choice but to snap out of my wallowing mode to stare up at her in disbelief.

  “Right. You shutting up is real likely,” Sketch says dryly, rolling her eyes at Mouth. “Come on, I can hear Cherry talking to people up front. Time to do something along the lines of work today.”

  She tugs Mouth by the arm and they both abandon my station and me in it. I should feel relieved that the interrogation is over, but I don’t. Mostly, I just feel foul and cowardly. And like I need to see Lucas. But that’ll have to wait because one of the voices I can hear moving through the shop now belongs to Brit, a longtime friend and customer and more importantly, my one o’clock appointment.

  Lucas

  “Where’ve you been?” my mother greets me from the kitchen sink. She’s got her back to me, but that’s never stopped her from knowing exactly which one of us was passing through.

  “Went to see a friend.” I stop at the center island. I know my mother. ‘Where have you been?’ isn’t just a casual question. It’s an opening line to a long-winded interrogation. If I play nice from the start, maybe I can shave a few unnecessary questions from the list. Like the ones I’m not ready to answer just yet.

  “I noticed you didn’t come home last night.” And here we go.

  “Diving right in, I see.” I smile at her. My mother’s the only woman my charm has ever worked on. I assume it relates to my dad somehow, but I prefer not to break it down beyond that.

  She dries her hands on a towel and comes to stand across from me. “It’s my right as your mother to be as intrusive as I please.”<
br />
  “Oh, believe me, that much I know.”

  “So…who is she? Someone you knew back in high school?” She seems downright giddy at the prospect of a girl. Not exactly the reaction I was expecting, but then I know a little something she doesn’t.

  “Uh, yeah, I knew her when I was still in school.”

  She nods, glancing down at the counter and trying to hide her satisfaction. “Do I know her?”

  “Yep.” This is not going well. I can tell by how happy she’s getting. My plan to be vague without lying has definitely backfired.

  “It’s Darcy, isn’t it?” She claps her hands together several times in all the excitement. “I saw you two talking at the barbecue. I just knew you two would wind up together again in the end.”

  “Darcy?” Who in the hell is Darcy? “When was I ever together with Darcy?”

  “What do you mean? You two dated in high school.” Her gleeful dancing has stopped and the delighted expression previously plastered all over her face is quickly fading.

  “I never dated a girl named Darcy. Honestly, I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”

  Now she seems outright shocked. “Of course you dated a Darcy. Darcy Winters. Frank and Suzanne’s daughter.”

  “D.W.?” I laugh. “That’s who you thought I dated in high school?!”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No!”

  She looks around helplessly confused. “Then what was she doing over at the house all the time?”

  “Making out with my buddy Travis, mostly. Her parents hated him. That’s why they always met here.” I guess looking back, I can see why she assumed the only girl hanging out with me and my guy friends every day after school was there to see me, but nothing could have been farther from the truth.

  “Oh.” Then she scowls. “You made me that mother?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “That mother – the one who let all the horny teenagers hide out at her place.”

  “Two horny teenagers, Ma. The rest of us all went over to Derek’s house. Both his parents worked full time.” I’m doing my absolute best to lighten the situation up a bit, but as uncomfortable as it is, I’d so much rather be talking about this than Heartbreaker.

  “Oh my God!” She wrings the dish towel in her hands, completely distraught now. “I didn’t know you guys were there unsupervised!”

  “Relax.” I rub her shoulder. “It’s not like anything happened. Well, nothing with any lingering side effects at least. Not to mention, it’s a little late to be worried about high school stuff now.”

  But I can tell she’s going to let it all simmer for a bit longer so I take this moment to make my exit. “I’m just going to go grab a shower. Memphis and I are meeting up in a bit.”

  “Yeah.” She nods absentmindedly. “Memphis. Did he go hang out at Derek’s too?”

  “No.”

  “Well, at least one of your friends had some morals.”

  Memphis had morals, but that wasn’t keeping him from spending every waking minute with a girl he was completely consumed by. He just wasn’t doing it at Derek’s house.

  I’m nearly out her sight when she reels me back. “You still haven’t told me.”

  I turn back, but I stay put. You don’t give up when you’re this close to making your getaway. “Told you what?”

  “Where you’ve been spending all your time.”

  “Ma.” My eyes dart all around this kitchen, hoping something will catch. Anything other than her. I can’t lie to her face. She’s still my mother. “Can’t you just let me keep this to myself for now? I promise, when it’s serious, I’ll tell you.”

  “Oh my God,” she gasps, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes widening as if she’s just seen a cow flying by the window, like in that movie, Twister. I don’t know why, but that scene always stuck with me. Anytime someone takes on that expression of disbelief and horror, that’s what I imagine them seeing. Only, it’s sunny out and there’s barely a breeze. Zero percent chance of flying cattle today.

  “What?”

  “No.” She’s tossing her head back and forth so hard, her usually perfectly placed hair is going wild. “No!”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  One shaky finger comes out to point at something. A barstool. The one she always sits in.

  “It’s Olivia,” my mother hisses through her teeth. And she’s not so much having a psychotic break as much as she’s pissed the fuck off. I don’t remember the last time I saw her this furious about something. Wait. Not true. The night I told her I joined the army she looked alarmingly like this.

  “Why would you say that?” Because there’s no way in hell I’m just admitting it now.

  “You were avoiding eye contact. And you chose that spot.” She jabs the air above the empty stool. “You were lying to me and your mind went straight to the thing you were lying about. Her.”

  Fuck it. “Fine. Yes. You’re right. It’s Olivia. I’m with Olivia.”

  “End it.” Her words are cold and final. “Now.”

  “Ma, I’m twenty-five. You can’t tell me what to do anymore.” As angry as she is, it’s impossible to take her even remotely seriously when she’s throwing orders my way. She hasn’t been in a position to tell me to go to bed or do my homework or ground me in years. The concept of having her exert any sort of control over my love life is laughable.

  “As long as you live in my house, I will have my say!”

  And here we go. The conversation has reached the place I never wanted it to go.

  “That’s fine. I’ll move out.” Problem solved. Argument over, at least as far as I’m concerned. I might as well start packing.

  “Don’t you walk away from me, Lucas. This is far from over.” I can hear her heels snapping hard on the tile as she stomps after me.

  “You don’t get it, Ma. It is. You don’t want me seeing Liv while I live in your house, I won’t live in your house. End of story.”

  “I can’t believe you would choose her over your own family.” Guilt. She likes guilt. Thing is, I’m already carting around more of that than I can manage, so I’m not really in the market to take on any more. Especially not the manufactured kind that has no basis in reality.

  “Stop. You can’t put me in a position to pick one over the other and then be mad when I don’t choose the way you want. I’m not choosing her over you. I’m choosing being with her over living in your house. They’re not the same, and frankly, living here was never going to be permanent anyway. Hell, maybe I shouldn’t have move back home to begin with.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have come back at all,” she says bitterly. A quiet coolness settles in around us. The heated fight is winding down and moving into the more manageable, but usually hurtful and calculated part of the process.

  “I was always gonna come back, Ma.” Maybe it’s time she heard it. All of it. “I know my leaving caused you pain and that was never what I wanted. That’s why I came back here, to this house. That’s why I moved back in. To give you back some of the time I took from you when I ran out. To try and make right what I did wrong back then. But I came home…for her. I was always coming back for her. And somewhere deep inside you, I know you knew that all along.”

  “But…she’s…her.” The anguish in my mother’s face is the first genuine thing I’ve seen there since this turned ugly. I hate this. Hate that this is hurting her. The only thing I hate more is that my feelings for someone so incredible can bring out such horrible emotions in my own mother.

  “Yeah. She is.” I don’t know what else to say. “I guess we both just have to live with being disappointed in the other, Ma.” I shake my head at her and start down the hall for the third time.

  “I’m not disappointed.” The clarity of her words strikes me. They’re no longer shrouded in hurt or anger.

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Clearly.” She catches up to me. “Fine. Olivia’s not the first woman I would have chosen fo
r you, but you’re right. I did know. I was there. I saw you. Saw the way you were captivated by her even when you were just a kid. I expected you to grow out of it. Expected your teenage fantasies to give way to real girls – girls your own age – but they didn’t. You adored Liv. When you came back here for Mateo’s funeral, I knew then, she was always going to have a hold on you. If years apart and distance couldn’t help you forget, nothing was ever going to. I get that. And I don’t disapprove. Liv is a remarkable woman. She makes me crazy a lot of the time, but often it’s out of envy more than anything. I’ll never be as brave or bold as she is.”

  I’m speechless. It’s like I’m talking to a complete stranger. A complete stranger who knows me inside and out. It’s surreal.

  “Then why?” I motion toward the kitchen. The scene of her outrage. “Why did you say those things?”

  “Because I’m scared.” Tears well in her eyes in an instant and I realize she’s been holding them at bay this whole time. I’m a shit son. “Liv’s family history scares me. The idea of having another person I love involved with a Badilla…scares me.”

  I could defend Liv. Could insist on my mother seeing the difference between her and Marcus. Myself and my aunt, my mother’s sister, but I don’t. I get it. Fear is irrational. Hurt is hurt. She’s entitled to her feelings. She has good reason to have them. They don’t have to be logical, or even based on truth. No matter what the reality is, her feelings are equally real, and I’m not going to disrespect her losses by insisting otherwise.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble. Empty words because they won’t change anything. I won’t change anything.

  She just moves her head up and down, pressing her lips together and dabbing at her eyes with her fingertips so not to smear her perfect makeup.

  And I do something I haven’t done nearly enough since I showed back up on her front door step. I hug her. I hold her tight and tell her I love her. I’m never going to be the son she wants me to be, but she’s always going to be my mother, and I’m always going to love her.