Coming Home Again (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 1)

by Lowe, T. I.

  I ended up failing the statistics exam the next week, and I was right disgusted with myself. I studied as much as possible, but the sporadic sleeping schedule, mired with my usual nightmares, was becoming my undoing.

  After receiving my exam grade that morning, I walked in a deep gloom to Lucas’s apartment to bid him goodbye. He was heading home for the small break, but I had decided to hide out in my dorm instead of facing Jean for Thanksgiving. I had a feeling I was going to have to see way too much of her soon enough after flunking out of college.

  I let myself in his unlocked apartment as I normally did, and tripped right over Lucas’s suitcase. I laid there stunned for a moment before he strolled out of his room. He stood over me with a curl hanging in one of his amused eyes. The teal-blue shirt he wore was causing his eyes to shine with a unique green hue that day.

  “Walk much?” he asked in an even tone, which made me want to crack up.

  “You booby-trapped your door, hotshot,” I said as he helped me stand.

  “How about a peace offering then?” he asked as he released me to shove the suitcase out of the way. He pushed the curl back into place as he waited for me to comment.

  “Yeah? What’s the offering?” I asked as I headed to take a seat at the table, where the bedroom keys continued to patiently wait on me. Lucas stood by the table without taking a seat and I wasn’t too pleased. He was ready to go home, but I wasn’t ready to let him.

  “Stay here while I’m gone.” This is all he said as he slid the keys in front of me. Without another word, Lucas grabbed his suitcase and walked out the door. I stood to follow him, but he raised his hand up with a wave and shut the door behind him.

  I sat a little longer, taking in my surroundings while I reevaluated his offer. My gaze eased over the apartment. The open concept was masculine with crisp, grey walls and dark, chunky furniture. The small living room was dominated by a dark grey micro suede sofa that you could just sink into because it was so plush. A black leather recliner and massive TV joined in the mix. The only wall décor was a giant framed Gamecocks emblem. The table I sat at matched the black chunky coffee table, so I guess they came as a set. The kitchen was a generic apartment setup with grey Formica counters and a black fridge and stove set. Nothing fancy, but incredibly tidy for a young man.

  Curiosity finally won out. I walked to the vacant bedroom to peek, and was surprised at what I found. The last time I had glanced into the room, it was bare, with white walls and a mattress set without a bedframe. The space had been transformed into a beach-themed room with light blue walls and gauzy, cream-colored curtains. The bed had been outfitted with a comforter set in a thick, striped pattern in delicate shades of blue and cream, and framed by a wicker headboard. A large seascape picture of the ocean and beach shore that glowed warmly under a tender sun dressed the wall behind the bed. In awe, I skimmed my fingers along a cream-colored, distressed dresser that sat quietly in the corner carefully holding a vase full of seashells. After circling the room in admiration, I took a seat on the edge of the bed, sinking slightly in the softness. A conk shell rested on top of the nightstand, giving me permission to pick it up. I raised the iridescent shell to my ear and let it whisper the secrets of the ocean to me for a while. I let out a sigh. It baffled me as to why Lucas would do this for me, and I was more astonished by how well he really knew me.

  I stayed that long weekend and never left. Every night I locked myself in my room, but he never tried to enter that space. Believe it or not, for the remaining two and half years of college, Lucas never stepped one foot into my bedroom. When he made a point, he didn’t do it halfheartedly. But I promise you I never forgot to lock that door behind me and even placed my desk chair under the knob every single night I slept there. Most importantly, my grades improved and I was able to stay in college.

  Lucas’s apartment was deemed the hangout spot because his buddies were exiled to either dorm life or a frat house. Most weekends you could easily find a small gathering. The typical activity was a big screen viewing of some ballgame and consuming large quantities of pizza and hot wings. Beer keg parties were found at the frat houses and sexual menageries were hidden in dorm rooms, but Lucas’s place seemed to be the safe haven where people could leave the peer pressures and social expectations at the door. I know that was exactly the way I felt about it.

  Lucas’s friends were a loyal, tight group, and I was surprised at how easily they welcomed me in. Don’t ask me how someone as damaged by the male species issues as myself would actually feel comfortable being surrounded by such a bunch. I’m a tomboy through and through, so I know that made it easier. Sports and pizza were right up my alley. I also trusted Lucas, and I knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Oddly, he was the first and, up until this day, the only male I completely trusted.

  It didn’t hurt that the guys got a lesson early on in our friendship about my no contact rule. This became crystal clear one afternoon while watching our Gamecocks team crush the opposing team at an away game. Miles made the mistake of grabbing me up in a fierce bear hug in celebration. The result of this landed Miles with a broken nose. After what I endured with Evan, I had vowed to myself to never be touched by a man against my will ever again.

  My fist landed one brisk blow before I knew what came over me. “No one touches me!” I screamed at the stunned group of guys before retreating to my room for the remainder of the evening. I know someone took Miles over to the on-campus clinic to get his nose checked out, but I suppose the rest stayed and helped Lucas clean up. I was too embarrassed to find out either way.

  The next morning, while sitting in silence at the dining table with a cup of coffee, I caught Lucas studying my bruised knuckles as though he was waiting for my hand to explain my bizarre outburst. My hand gave no explanation, and Lucas seemed to think better about outright asking.

  Honestly, I had no regrets about punching Miles. He is a great guy, one of my dearest friends to this day, actually. He was just excited over the game, but I showed Lucas and myself that I had limits and would not stand to be pushed over them.

  Lucas respected my boundaries and never attempted to cross them. Not until midway through our junior year at least. If it weren’t for the overwhelming attack that crushed me, he would have received a broken nose that night just as Miles did.

  I reluctantly remember that miserable day, with Jean on a constant phone war with me. She had been calling almost every day, trying to persuade me into not finishing the spring semester so I could move back to Bay Creek to help complete some renovations planned for the family businesses before the tourist season got underway. I think she was secretly trying to make me live up to my reputation of not being able to complete anything I started. Heaven forbid I prove her wrong. She forgot to take in the fact that I’m just as stubborn as I am a procrastinator—so I showed her.

  “You need to come home to help your father out. John Paul hasn’t got an ounce of gumption when it comes to the market or restaurant,” Jean said. “You’re being selfish and just wasting time at that school. You don’t even have a major.”

  I had heard this conversation repeatedly since I arrived my freshman year and was sick of it. I had finally declared business as a major. I did this just so I could be in more classes with Lucas, but that was beside the point.

  After hanging up on her and shutting my cell phone off, I walked into the kitchen where Lucas was loading the fridge with drinks. He was getting ready for a movie night with the guys, and had rented the latest Die Hard movie for us to watch. I leaned against the counter and shuffled through the pizza menus he had set out. I skimmed my eyes over him as he continued to load the fridge. It amazed me how Lucas could make a tattered black hoodie, faded jeans, and bare feet look so appealing. He was too dang adorable with his curly hair still damp from his recent shower. He glanced over at me and caught me checking him out. I am who I am, so I answered his questioning look with a so-what shrug.

  Never one to tease me, he gave me a slight sm
irk in acknowledgement before asking, “What type of pizza do you want to order?”

  I shrugged my shoulders in answer. He seemed to catch something off with my silent gestures, so Lucas closed the fridge door and leaned against it to study me. “What’s up?” The worry glinted in his golden eyes. He didn’t miss much and was able to read people remarkably well. I suppose this comes in quite handy in his business profession as well as having such a closed-off wife.

  “Nothing.”

  He pushed away from the fridge, grabbed the kitchen phone, and placed a call. “Hey man. Something’s come up. We’re going to have to cancel tonight.”

  I didn’t wait for the rest of the conversation. There was no need in trying to make Lucas change his decision. Once he made up his mind on something, that was that. I was embarrassed for being the reason for the cancelled plans, so I retreated to my room to sulk. Nearly an hour later, I decided to take a drive.

  When I opened the door, I was surprised to find Lucas sitting on the floor in front of me.

  “What on earth are you doing sitting in the hall?” I asked, confused.

  “Making sure you didn’t try for a fast getaway.” He chuckled quietly as he stood. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said and then tried to close myself back into my room.

  Lucas stepped closer to the door threshold but was careful not to cross it. “Come on, Savannah, we’ll just hang out if that’s what you want. I promise not to ask one question all night.”

  I could tell it really bothered him that I kept things to myself, but he was good at his word and didn’t ask another question all night. We ended up making it into a joke. He tortured us with CNN, something neither one of us ever watched, for nearly a half hour before I caught on to what he was doing.

  “Sorry. I promised not to ask you anything, so I can’t ask you what you want to watch,” he said remorsefully.

  “You’re not funny,” I said in a deadpan voice. We both knew he was incredibly funny. I grabbed the remote and manned our television programming for the remainder of the evening.

  He later brought me a glass of root beer from the fridge, knowing of course that I couldn’t stand the syrupy sweet taste of his favorite soda. Thinking it was plain soda, I took a big gulp and gagged. He’d dramatically shrugged his shoulders with a sheepish look and said that he couldn’t ask me what I wanted. That earned him a punch in the arm. He eventually drew me out of my funk, and we spent the rest of the night watching a comedy channel. Laughter really is good medicine.

  Or it seemed to be until I dozed off on the couch and right into a nightmare. It was the one where I was dancing with the devil in a dark field that was engulfed in flames and he had tried to smother me by holding me forcefully against his chest. I snapped out of the nightmare in a panic and totally lost it when I found myself locked in a sleeping Lucas’s arms. He somehow ended up lying behind me on the couch with his arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

  Instincts kicked in and I began to try to push him off. I struggled until he woke up with a start to find me freaking out. The tingling sensation had overpowered my entire body and the hyperventilation was past the point of no return. I wiggled my way to the floor and started crawling languidly across the room to get away from him.

  “Savannah?” Lucas asked frantically.

  I could barely hear him over the ringing in my ears. I had no voice, so I couldn’t answer him. All I could do was shake my head no and hold my hands out to keep him at bay. I backed myself into the hallway and couldn’t unscramble my thoughts enough to figure out how to get through the darn thing.

  Lucas was nearly freaking out himself by witnessing me in such a meltdown. He would take a step closer and then back off in an anxious dance once he realized it made me panic even worse. I watched as he dragged his hands through his hair and then raised them in desperation before running out of the room.

  He had just been witness to one of my hidden demons and there was no escaping it. The trembling overtook my body and my vision blurred before going completely dark.

  I woke up in the emergency room, not knowing how I managed to get there, with Lucas by my side. Embarrassed and defeated, I said nothing as I watched him watch over me from his chair.

  “You had a severe panic attack.” He answered my unspoken question in his hushed voice. He sat up straighter in his chair but made no move to near me, and I was thankful. “They gave you a sedative and said I can take you home after you wake up.” His eyes were a vigorous green on this night and held many questions that I had no desire to answer.

  I was beginning to worry I had let this man get too close to me. I felt the need to confess. He had a right to know that there was no healthy future with me. Without meeting his gaze, I admitted, “I don’t want to let you down Lucas, but I’m too damaged and it’s too dark inside.” I placed my hand sluggishly over my broken heart.

  He shook his head slightly before walking out of the small hospital room. With no other choice, I focused my disappointment on the IV pricking the top of my hand. My nose and eyes stung as though they were summoning tears, but I knew they would not arrive. I knew I needed to let Lucas go. It wasn’t right to include him in the nightmare I lived privately.

  I was wrestling with going home to Bay Creek permanently as I lay there. It was the only place I sort of fit in, and I knew I could dig my grave there and no one would be affected or stand in my way. As I contemplated this, Lucas returned with a doctor in tow.

  “Good morning, Savannah. I’m Dr. Jacobs.” While the grey-haired doctor looked over my chart, I glanced at the clock and discovered it was well past three in the morning. He signed a prescription pad before tearing it off and handing it over to Lucas. “I’m prescribing you a small amount of Xanax to hold you over until you can make an appointment to see a doctor about your panic attacks. Take one pill at the first sign of an attack and never mix it with alcohol. If you don’t have any questions, I’m going to send a nurse in to remove the IV and let you go home. Is that okay with you?” He waited for an answer, so I nodded my head. I guess at three in the morning that was answer enough because he shuffled back out the door.

  Later that same day, after sleeping the remainder of the sedative off, I awoke parched like a dry desert. I shuffled out of bedroom to find some relief and came to a halt by the door. I found Lucas sitting in the hall across from my room as though he were keeping guard. With his knees drawn towards his chest and head resting on the wall, those hazel eyes looked up and begged for answers. I had never seen him in such a state of dishevelment—emitting weariness both physically and emotionally.

  “All I wanted to do was hold you last night,” he said. “What did I do wrong, Savannah?”

  He was blaming himself for my issues and I had to let him off the hook. I joined him in the hall and slid down to the floor, careful to keep distance between us in the cramped space. His somber eyes never left mine, and I knew I needed to help him understand none of it was his fault.

  “You did nothing wrong. I told you, Lucas. I’m damaged.” He began to shake his head no, but I stopped him. “I’m serious.” I placed my hand back over my heart for emphasis. “I’m broken, and there’s no fixing it…” My voice strained in defeated pain.

  “We can get you some help.”

  “I don’t think I’m fixable,” I said, but he kept shaking his head in silent protest.

  “You won’t know until you try, and I think it’s time. I’ve watched you for three years now carrying this burden around and letting it cripple you.”

  I sniffed the stinging sensation away in my nose as I sat there trying to talk myself into disappearing. This lifesaver sitting before me was making it nearly impossible. Lucas was like warm sunshine, and all I wanted to do was to figure out how I could bask freely in it for the rest of my life.

  He seemed to sense me wrestling with my demons so he ever so slowly eased his hand across the floor, welcoming me to take it.


  Shaking my head, I whispered, “I… I don’t like to be touched.”

  He studied me carefully before commenting, “Then you’ve never been touched right.”

  I scrutinized his hand but refused to take it. “I can’t, Lucas.” Refusing him caused me to ache in a peculiar way, and I was confused by it. I wanted to make him happy, but I knew I couldn’t in that moment. That made me mad with myself. I felt worthless.

  We sat in a mournful trance until the sky darkened that evening—silently calling a stalemate.

  A few weeks passed before I reluctantly agreed to meet with a counselor through some outreach organization the college provided students, but antidepressants and Xanax became my crutch. I’m sure the counseling might have worked if I had participated honestly. The generic questions of tell me how you feel – is there anything you would like to talk about and how does that make you feel – just didn’t cut it with me. I mean really, why on earth would I tell a stranger about my deepest, darkest secrets? I knew it was a waste of both the counselor’s time and mine. After dancing around the truth for a few months, I did both of us a favor and quit.

  Lucas was better than any counseling session. That man is like a salve that immediately eases the constant sting just by being near. He never stopped offering me his hand over the spring semester. He was always placing it palm-side up between us on the couch, on the console between us in his Jeep, or in the movie theaters. He never pushed the issue but also never gave up in his offering.

  More weeks passed before I began testing the waters—gradually evaluated the feel of his palm with only my fingertips at first, but would retreat hastily. Lucas never seemed bothered by this apprehensive dance, but patiently kept at his offering. Eventually I would let my hand linger on top of his and he was wise as to not try to grasp it. He seemed content with just letting me do the touching, and I found much comfort in the warm smooth skin of his hand. For his hand never stole anything from me. He only wanted to give, and that struck me in a way I can’t even describe now.