The Pieces Of Us (The Firebird Trilogy Book 3)

by Jennifer Loring

  “Lucas, I am so sorry. Oh my God.” Anya shoved back in her chair and flung it at the table, where it knocked against the edge and rocked back onto all four legs. She stomped through the great room, out the front door. She stood shivering on the front walk, rubbing her arms despite her cable-knit sweater. Frigid tears rolled down her cheeks. The urge to throw up besieged her; several rapid swallows and deep breaths kept it down.

  “Hey, don’t cry.” Lucas laid a hand on her shoulder.

  She tried to gather her fragmented thoughts only for them to slip away. She’d have felt less naked standing bare-assed on the sidewalk. “He’s such a jerk sometimes.”

  “He has a point. I’ve been keeping my distance because I want to be friends. I want to be friends with all my players, but I think people might be getting the wrong idea.”

  Anya wrapped her arms around herself and scraped her shoe against the concrete. “Then why did you come?”

  His pupils dilated, and she detected a slight pucker of his lips before he lowered both his eyebrows and his head. But he didn’t answer the question, or couldn’t. “Anyway, don’t hold it against him. It was stupid of me to show up. He’s being a good dad, if a little…blunt.” Lucas, smiling now, tilted up her chin. If his intention was to avoid hurting her further, it was misguided; touching her inflicted the greatest pain. “At least now I know where you get it from. Happy Thanksgiving, Anya. I’ll see you at school next week.” He grazed his lips over her cheek, over the tear track, then walked to the curb and a blue Honda Accord coupe.

  Inside, Dad was sitting with his forehead against his steepled hands. “I don’t know what to do with you sometimes. What are you thinking? He’d lose his job, you’d destroy everything you’ve been working for…”

  “The age of consent in this state is seventeen.”

  The eyebrow shot up, the “Why do you know that?” expression momentarily supplanting his anger. Her first time had been right after Mom died, a seeking of comfort in someone still intact the way she wasn’t. A paper lantern afloat on the river; a throwaway night she’d hoped would carry her grief with it. She hadn’t told him. A handful of others had followed over the summer. She assumed he’d figure it out and, with his own exploits in the rearview, leave her alone about it. Even with someone literally filling her up, she remained as empty as a promise.

  “I mean ethically, Anya. He’s a school district employee. And believe me, I am well-versed in this state’s consent laws.”

  “Of course. You know it all. You’ve seen it all.”

  Dad left the table and scraped the remains of his dinner into the garbage. “More than I wish I did.”

  The strained calm in his voice was never a good sign. Though his explosive outbursts were rare, she sensed the tremors of one to rival a Yellowstone eruption.

  “You don’t know what people are capable of. But anyone—anyone, Anya—can find themselves in a situation beyond their control. People will try to take advantage of you because of who you are.” He loaded the dishwasher, popped in a pod, and turned it on. “So forgive me if I think a twenty-two-year-old school employee likely has ulterior motives for sniffing around my seventeen-year-old daughter.” His glistening eyes told a second, silent, story. A narrative for which he hadn’t received true closure.

  “Something…happened to you.” She blinked as though the man who had raised her, her beloved father, was a mirage on the horizon. He’d been the definition of strength. Invincible. Childish, of course; the older you got, the more you realized everything you believed about your parents had been a fantasy all along.

  “Da. Something happened to me.” And he left it at that.

  “He doesn’t have feelings for me. He told me as much. I invited him because he didn’t have anywhere to go.”

  Dad rested his elbows on the counter and leaned forward, his spine rigid. Whatever secret he kept, he had dead bolted the door to it and disposed of the key. He clenched and unclenched his fists, a physical indicator of his constant subconscious war with himself. “You have a good heart, Anya. I don’t want you to lose that. But you can’t be so trusting either. That’s how you get hurt, when people find a weakness to exploit.”

  Anya rose from the table and threw her arms around his back, longing for one of his hugs, for him to accept one in return as the only way to express her regret for all he had suffered. He would always be her hero. She rested her cheek on his neck, where she felt his pulse thumping.

  He let out a long, heavy exhale and circled his arms around her. “I know how it feels,” he said. “Wanting to be with someone you can’t. I have to live with it for the rest of my life.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be sorry. Just be careful.” He let her go to arrange the leftovers in the refrigerator. “I got you a pumpkin pie. You want a slice?”

  “Only if you have one with me.”

  He smirked and pulled out the pie tin. “Can’t say no to you, can I?”

  “You can’t say no to pie.”

  An intractable sadness tempered his smile. “You two and your sweet tooth.” He cut into the gelatinous pie with far more gentleness than the unfortunate turkey.

  If it brought happiness back to his life, she’d stay where it was safe and familiar. She’d be his little girl forever, and as long as they were together, maybe life after Mom became a real possibility.

  Chapter Nine

  Anya

  Lucas’s agape office door beckoned Anya inside, but he had abandoned his post. She knocked on the athletic director’s door a few feet away.

  “Come in,” said a bored voice.

  She poked her head in. “Hi, Mr. Jackson. Do you know where Mr. Donovan is?”

  The fluorescent light created a blazing white sun on his bald head. “I think he took a break. Should be back any minute. Help you with something?”

  “No, it can wait. Thanks.”

  Either the teachers’ lounge or the men’s room. Did he smoke? He definitely peed. The last thing she needed was to fantasize what his penis looked like, so she checked the time on her phone. She’d promised Dad a dinner date and some Christmas shopping. Anya waited a few minutes before exiting to the rear parking lot bordering the athletic fields.

  A lone figure bundled in a parka sat on the bleachers above the baseball diamond. Anya squinted. This time of year, sky and earth melded in the same shade of peroxided cotton, with a brilliance that watered her eyes. She trekked across the lot.

  “Lucas?”

  He jerked his head toward her. “Ah, shit. Hey.” Red-eyed and red-nosed, he sniffed and knuckled the corner of his eye.

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just a rough day.”

  No guy she knew, unless he was bipolar, cried over a “rough day.” Their knees bumped as she took a seat on the frozen metal. “I don’t believe you.”

  He huffed into his bare hands. “It’s the anniversary of my sister…”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I guess you’d rather be alone.”

  “No. Not really.” His distant stare and flat voice suggested otherwise.

  A plane cut through the featureless sky. Two crows alighted on the scoreboard on the opposite end of the field, their harsh caws splintering the silence. Timidity weighted her to the bleacher; both he and Dad had chased out of her the bravery to show him some comfort, to hold his hand or touch his knee.

  “I was training for the Summer Games. Made it to the Trials, actually.”

  One body she’d love to see in a Speedo. She chewed on her lip.

  “I’d already won a couple NCAA championships. My events were the two-hundred backstroke, two-hundred freestyle, and two-hundred individual medley. I’m out of town at the Trials, and I get the call.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. He fixed his glassy stare on the arguing crows. “We were best friends growing up. Instead of going out there and winning for her, and fulfilling my dreams at the Summer Games, I blew it.”

  “What happened?” Easy
enough to guess. No one was talking about Olympic Champion Lucas Donovan.

  “Didn’t make the team, not in a single event. I didn’t care anymore. I lost my spot on the university team, lost my scholarship, lost everything. I sucked it up enough to complete my program.” He pulled his broad shoulders in. “Funny thing is, she’d be kicking my ass for letting it all slip away.”

  “You’re twenty-two. You’ll be twenty-five for the next Summer Games. You could even do the one after that too. Don’t give up on it.”

  Lucas straightened a little. “See, I was thinking about giving it another try when you found me out here. Maybe it was fate.”

  Anya summoned her courage and laid her hand over his on the bench. A tiny, enigmatic smile illuminated his face, though it did not banish the sorrow from his eyes.

  “I should go. But thank you for listening. And for the encouragement.”

  “Any time. I have a lot of days like this.”

  “Yeah. I guess you would. I’m sorry—” Lucas shook his head. “Did you need something? You did come looking for me.”

  “I…just wanted to apologize for Thanksgiving again.” By the way, I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’m in love with you. She cleared her throat. Hailey had read her like the latest Rachel van Dyken book.

  “No worries. But if you invite me over for dinner again, I’m shooting you down.”

  “I would too.”

  Lucas laughed, finally. He rose and offered his hand to help her down, holding it as they descended the bleachers. And crossed the parking lot. By the time they reached the Mercedes, his fingers had somehow entwined with hers.

  Some people need physical contact when they’re grieving. Not everyone is like Dad, pushing people away.

  “A Mercedes roadster.” Lucas whistled. “Well.”

  “It used to be my dad’s. You don’t think I’m spoiled, do you?”

  He frowned. His ability to remain gorgeous while scowling warranted scientific research. “Spoiled?”

  “My former best friend said I was a spoiled brat.”

  “Was he the kid staring at you at Homecoming? The redhead at the punch bowl?” Lucas rubbed his index finger back and forth across his chin, drawing Anya’s attention to it and decreasing her resistance to lick the cleft there a hundredfold. “Your former best friend is an ass. No offense. And a little possessive?”

  Why did he even notice Noah? Anya’s pulse launched into a sprint. “None taken.” She grinned. Stupidly. Was this what Dad meant? The butterflies, the breathlessness, and the perfect contentment of being in Lucas’s company, no matter how briefly, though she craved it more each time he left.

  “Your father adores you. Not hard to see why.” Lucas coughed. A crimson stain spread over his cheeks. “Uh…” His hand fell away from hers as though she’d told him she harbored a fatal disease, and maybe she did. Look what love had done to Dad. “Good game yesterday.” He playfully punched her arm. “How’s the ankle?”

  “Lucas.” Anya inhaled the needle-like air. No butterflies now, but something creepy-crawly worked its way from her stomach into her throat. “Is something going on between us? Or am I being a stupid seventeen-year-old?”

  “You’re not stupid.”

  She was losing herself in his eyes, a boundless ocean, her words drowned. The ground beneath her dissolving. “Answer the question.”

  “It can’t, Anya. And I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m seeing a couple of girls—”

  Worse than the sting of a thousand Africanized bees, the thought of him with other girls. Kissing them. Touching them. Spots danced before her eyes. Casual relationships, no commitment. But one of them, one day, would say or do whatever insignificant, inexplicable thing triggered the dopamine and serotonin release convincing his brain he was falling in love. They’d beat her to it. June, graduation, was too many months away. “Answer the question.”

  He parted his lips as if to speak. A white puff escaped. She wanted to breathe it in, if it was all she’d ever taste of him.

  “Have a good weekend, all right?”

  She stared after him as he walked toward the school, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched. Her phone buzzed.

  Dad: Everything ok? Where are you?

  Anya: On my way.

  Lucas was gone. Despite the compulsion to follow him, she got into the car instead and headed home.

  ***

  Dad had expended the minimal amount of energy on Christmas last year; this year, with two weeks to go, he’d finished shopping and today was stringing lights outside around the windows. Singing, even, in his operatic baritone. If it was all a show for her benefit, she loved him more for such a heartwarming attempt.

  “Need any help?”

  He beamed at her from the stepladder. He’d forsaken his usual designer stubble for a rugged salt-and-pepper beard and mustache. “Think I got it, baby girl. But thank you. Off somewhere?”

  “School.”

  “You know it’s Saturday, da?” Dad untangled a section of lights. “I swear these things knot themselves while I’m not looking.”

  “Yeah, I said I’d help a couple of the noobs with their shooting. Just doing it in the gym.”

  “‘Noobs’?” His hearty chuckle rang out over the front lawn. “That’s not very nice.”

  “Eh, fourth-liners. Sophomores and alternates. Anyway, you’re cheerful. And what’s with the facial fuzz?”

  “You like?” He gave her a pose straight out of Zoolander, duck lips and all.

  “Dad.” She snickered. “You were an actual model. Act like it.”

  “Your mom didn’t like that she couldn’t see my dimples when I had a beard. But you can’t see my scars so much either.”

  Hannah. As far as Anya knew, they hadn’t made good on their get-together, but she was at school all day. Plenty of time for long phone conversations. “Trying to hide them for some reason? Women are going to chase after you no matter what you do. Despite your age.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dad stuck his tongue out. “Felt like it was time for a change. Also, I might want to get back onstage soon. They usually cast me as a villain, so the beard works.”

  “Really?” Anya clapped. Anything to keep his mind off finding a replacement for Mom. “That’s great!”

  “I’ve moped long enough. Your mom would want me to get on with life, like you said. And she loved when I sang, so…”

  “I’m so happy for you. I want to hear more when I get home, okay?” Anya pressed the garage remote. The door rattled as it rose; Dad had forgotten to lubricate the track again.

  “You got it,” he called after her. “Have fun with the noobs.”

  She honked as she backed out of the driveway. The lines tattooed into his face by Mom’s death smoothed out; as he waved before returning to his lights, he looked younger and happier than he had in over a year.

  Anya swung into the school lot and spotted Lucas’s blue Honda, or what she thought was his. It resembled the one that had sat outside her house on Thanksgiving. She racked her brain for distinguishing features. There it was—the Gannon University sticker on the back window.

  Did the football team have a game today? Poor guy must work twelve hours a day, six days a week. No wonder he wasn’t dating seriously. But more snow than cars occupied the lot, so that wasn’t it. Basketball practice?

  Wherever he was, it wasn’t his office—locked—or the gym. She entered the girls’ locker room, set her bag on the bench, and propped her stick against the lockers. She’d kicked off her shoes before she heard splashing from beyond the showers. Anya stripped off her socks and padded past the showers, over cold tiles, into the humid pool room. The water’s reflection glowed on the walls as a pale shape undulating through the water captured her attention.

  Holy God.

  Lucas climbed out of the shallow end and shook out his limbs. Lanky, lean, muscular, his body the classic V. Big triceps and the kind of well-defined lats no one but a swimmer could boast. A six-pack�
��she counted. A beautifully chiseled chest. Long, supple arms and thighs. An icosahedron, a water symbol, decorated his right bicep. Fitting.

  The black Speedo riding low on his narrow hips yanked her gaze back to the bulge at which she could not help staring. He strolled the pool’s length—and if anyone had been blessed with a cuter ass, let her be struck dead—pulled down his goggles, and dove back into the pool. Anya rolled her warmup pants above her ankles and sat on the top rung of the shallow end ladder as Lucas resurfaced.

  “Shit! Hey.” He shoved the goggles up. “What are you doing here? You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Supposed to help a couple people with their shooting. I heard noise in here.” She swallowed before drool spilled over. “We’re doing some floor hockey exercises in the gym.”

  “Yeah, just thought I’d swim a few laps. My strokes need some work. And I need a wax.” A patch of hair darkened his chest between his pecs. More formed a treasure trail leading into those itty bitty briefs and was pasted to his wet thighs. “Anyway, uh…I should put some clothes on. Now that you’ve seen me almost naked.”

  “I’m not complaining.”

  Lucas flushed, though he was smiling. “You know, if you’re not going to move, I can just climb out or use another ladder.”

  “So do it.”

  He was shedding heat. Water droplets trickled along the contours of his muscles, and her fingers retraced their paths with a mind of their own.

  “Anya, don’t.”

  No stopping it now. She explored the ridges above his hips funneling beneath his Speedo. He was gripping the metal railings so hard she expected his knuckles to split. She’d never touched someone with a need that shone a spotlight on the empty space in her heart, on the dark things that skittered away from his light.

  He dipped his head toward hers. “Please don’t,” he whispered.

  She held on to him. Lucas sank his long fingers into her cheeks and pressed his forehead to hers. Anya wriggled her fingers beneath the edge of his swim cap. It popped off, his hair jutting in random spikes she smoothed down. Water glimmered in his dark lashes. Somehow, she knew the way he’d kiss her would be nothing like Mike, who had gobbled her face as if she was a bacon double cheeseburger.