Lucas : A Preston Brothers Novel (Book 1)(37)

My eyes are so wide I can feel them stretching my face. “You’ve been there for more than a week?”

She nods.

“But your dad said you were sick.”

Another sigh. “I asked Cooper to tell him that, and we both kept up the front. I told Coop I was visiting my mom—he doesn’t know about her. Not like you do.”

I WIN. Just saying.

She adds, “I just haven’t been ready to face Cooper or my dad or you, and I needed the time. You understand, right?”

Not really. “Yeah, Laney, I understand.”

And with the explanations done, she goes back to crying, and I do my best to let her go through her emotions on her own, no matter how hard it is not to shake her and tell her that her tears are wasteful and that guy was a fucking dick.



An hour later, Leo and Logan visit the apartment and tell us how opening night went. The rundown goes like this:

Logan punched Garray.

Leo got the girl’s number.

Juliet said, “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?” and Lachlan shouted, “Sexing!” and the entire theater laughed and laughed and laughed.

But Laney doesn’t. She smiles, but there’s no reality-shifting sound and the guys see it and they make an excuse to leave, and Laney goes to wash the pot and the ladle and the bowl used for her soup I’d made when she wasn’t even sick. “I’m sorry you missed it,” she says when I step behind her.

“I don’t care. I’d rather be with you.” I shut off the water and dry her hands with a cloth, leave the dirty dishes in the sink. I keep one hand around hers, the other reaching up to cup the side of her face. She flinches, probably afraid I’ll make a move now that she’s single, but I’m not a dick, and I don’t want to be her angry rebound fuck.

I want to be her everything.

“You look tired,” I tell her, and she does.

She whispers, another sob forming in her throat, “I’m so tired, Lucas. Of everything.”

I lead her to my bed, move the covers to the side and wait for her to get in. “You want one minute?” I ask, and she frowns, removes her glasses and puts them on the nightstand.

She settles on the pillow, her eyes drifting shut. “Luke?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you get over it, you know, move on?”

“I’m the wrong person to ask that question,” I say, shaking my head.

“But you’ve dated a lot of girls before, so… how?” She looks so desperate, so in need of closure.

I hate asking the question as much as I hate already knowing the answer. “Did you love Cooper?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”

“Then I can’t give you the answers you need, Lane. I may have been with a lot of girls, but I didn’t love any of them.” I look away. “I mean, there was one,”—You—“and that lasted all of one night.”

Her gasp is soft, but still, I hear it. “And that one girl?” she asks. “How did you get over that?”

“As soon as it happens, I’ll let you know.”





Chapter Twenty-Four





LUCAS





The next morning, I run my regular route. Twice. I don’t stop at the crossroads because the crossroads won’t lead me to her. It took her just over three minutes to fall fast asleep last night, and I watched her for a few minutes more. Then I thought about doing something really stupid: going through her phone. I didn’t, of course. But I wanted to. Because the entire time she sat with me, told me about the breakup, I could tell she was holding back. I just didn’t know what. But I trust her, believe in her, in us, and I know—in time—she’ll let me in.



Lane’s still sleeping when I get home and because of my extra route, I don’t have time to make her breakfast like I wanted to. I sit on the edge of the bed and shake her. She flinches awake and gasps for air, her eyes wide.

“Hey,” I try to soothe. “It’s okay. It’s just me. Were you having a nightmare or something?”

It takes her a few minutes to settle her breathing, gain focus, and when she does, her eyes meet mine. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I think… yeah. I must’ve been dreaming.”

“I ran a few extra miles this morning, so I’m running late. I’m going to hit the shower and then go to the house, make sure the boys are up and ready. Are you going to school today or you still need more time?”

“No,” she says, her voice hoarse from sleep. “I should go. I’ve missed enough.”

“All right.” I kiss her forehead. “I’ll take you home so you can get what you need.” Then I head to the bathroom.

“Luke?” she calls. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”



The kitchen is a mad house. Lachlan’s spilled milk all over the table trying to pour his own cereal. He’s crying, wailing, and Linc and Liam are pointing, laughing, doing nothing to help him. Logan’s literally sleeping through his alarm. Obnoxiously loud gangsta rap fills his room, a room that reeks of stale socks, Cheetos and fifteen-year-old boy. The walls shake, the water in the eleventy-three plastic bottles scattered throughout his room ripple, and I pick one up, remove the lid. Then I pour the content all over his face. He sits up, gasps for air, spits and splatters and wipes his eyes. “You’re such a fucking jerk.”

“Get up. Get ready. We leave in fifteen.”

“Okay!”

Then I go to Lachlan’s room, pick out his clothes and run downstairs. “Linc, clean up the milk. Liam, help dress Lachlan.” They whine, but they do as I ask, and Lachlan won’t stop crying over the spilled milk, and he’s trying to eat, but the milk’s seeping out of his mouth and going back to the cereal bowl and Liam’s getting frustrated with him and “Where’s Leo?” I ask Linc.

“He’s at an early session with the private tutor.”

Fuck. I forgot about that, which means I have to take the minivan and drive everyone to school. I run back upstairs, open Logan’s door, catch him masturbating under the covers. “You got two minutes, jerk-off.”

“You said I had fifteen!”

I silence the music. “Change of plans.”

I start to leave when he yells out, “I’m going to have blue balls all day.”

Lachlan shouts from the bottom of the stairs, his pants wrapped around his neck, “What’s blue balls?”

“Logan’s joining the field hockey team,” I tell him, walking past him just as the front door opens. Laney’s holding a protein shake in one hand, my school bag in the other. “I wasn’t sure if you had time for breakfast. Leo’s car’s gone. Are you on your own?”

I take the protein shake, thank her, and tell her where Leo is.

Logan thumps down the stairs. “I think I have a test first period so we can’t be late. Oh, hey Laney,” he murmurs. Then he smirks at me, goes back to her. “I was just thinking about you.”

I smack the back of his head and tell Lane, “We’re running so late.”

Lane’s eyes widen. Then she claps once. “We can do this! Lachy, come here, baby.” I down the shake while she starts to dress him, talks to Logan, “Since you have the body of a girl, you think I could borrow some clothes?”

Logan rolls his eyes but starts up the stairs to his room, and Laney and I shout at the same time, “Clean clothes!”

I chuckle, and she says, “I don’t really need anything from home so we can skip that.”

I nod, then, “Crap. Laundry.” I go through the house, find the dirty clothes and put on the wash while Lincoln finishes the kitchen clean-up and Liam loads the dishwasher and Logan helps Lachlan pack his bag and then Laney appears in Logan’s jeans that somehow fit snug on her hips and legs, and a gray, long sleeve top underneath my old baseball jersey from middle school. I look at Logan. He shrugs. “You said clean. It was all I had.”



We pile into the minivan, one by one, and after making sure Lachlan’s buckled in right, I speed to Miss Anita’s house—an old lady who lives a block from the elementary school and watches a group of kids. When it’s time, she walks them all to the school. Then I drive the twins to their school, and finally, I get to the high school and quickly find a place to park. Logan jumps out before I’ve even stopped the car completely, and once he’s gone, I take a moment, take a breath.

“Can I do anything to help?” Laney asks, and I almost forgot she was sitting next to me. I look from her worried eyes down to the jersey she’s wearing. I smile, tease, “My name’s on your shirt.”

“It’s not your name.”

“Is so.”

Her lips curve. Then she says, “Why wasn’t your dad home this morning?”

Surprised by her question, I tell her, “Because Dad gets to work at five, does all the prep and paperwork before the phone starts ringing. Then he normally gets done by one, and he picks up the boys and does all their afternoon activities. It’s a good compromise.”

After a moment, her gaze drops, she says, “I already knew that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you came up with the plan.”