Lucas : A Preston Brothers Novel (Book 1)(52)

He’s wild, frantic, just like I am on the inside. On the outside, I try to stay calm. For him. “What happened, Luke?”

I stand.

I puke.

On his clothes.

On mine.

Blood everywhere.

Puke everywhere.

And then I lean against the wall and I cry and I puke and I cry some more.

Leo and Logan are next and they try to pull me away from my tears and my vomit and try to force me to sit on the chairs, but I choose the floor while Brian paces. Questions.

My brothers don’t ask questions.

Brian makes a phone call.

My dad arrives. Lucy, Cameron, and my other brothers in tow.

Lachlan’s in his pajamas, dinosaurs shaped like numbers, and he looks at the blood and the puke and he ignores them both and sits down next to me, his tiny hand on my knee and his head on my shoulder and I cry. Then he says, “I thought it was you.” And he cries.

I cry.

Brian cries.

Lucy cries.

The quiet that was too quiet is now too loud because a woman just entered, wailing for her son. “Where’s my son? Cooper?” She gets ushered through the doors I’m forbidden from entering, and my heart throbs and my head throbs and everything throbs and it hurts. It hurts so fucking much, and I cry harder and Lachlan cries harder. I hold him tight, tell him, “It’s okay.” It’s not. No one knows what’s happening. Brian’s asking questions no one has answers to. And then blue and red lights from outside filter into the room and two cops march in, their footsteps heavy, their focus on me and I know why they’re here. I’ve been waiting. They say my name, and I slip on the puke and the blood as I come to a stand the same time Lachlan screams my name. The larger of the cops reveals a set of handcuffs and I shake my head, look down at Lachlan and like Laney’s eyes, his tears, his tears, they ruin me.

“Please,” I whisper. I cry some more. “I’ll go wherever you need, but please don’t cuff me in front of my brothers.”

They hear my plea, give me grace, and I walk with my head down to the backseat of the police cruiser, ignoring the cries and questions from my family.



Misty’s at the police station, in uniform, on duty. She stands just inside the door as if she knows, as if she’s been waiting for me. “Lucas,” she says, her voice hoarse. Then she looks at the two officers who escorted me in here, cuffs on. “I’ll do the processing.”

It's all a blur.

She speaks, but I barely hear her.

“Assault.”

“Remand.”

“Court.”

“Bail.”

“Hearing.”

These are all words she says and words I don’t care about.

She asks to take my prints. I let her. I have no choice.

She asks to take my statement.

I tell her I can’t. Not now.

She understands.

I look down at her desk, at the scattered paperwork and half-filled coffee cup. She’d recently been promoted to senior deputy, I remember Lane telling me. There’s a framed picture of her and Brian and a smaller one of her and Lane stuck to the edge of her computer monitor. I stare at the picture, at the life in Lane’s eyes, and I force myself to breathe. I don’t have control of my body, of my emotions. I’m dull, weak, and waiting. The tears well again and the puke rises, but I manage to keep it down. “Have you heard anything?” I ask.

She clears her throat, scoots closer, starts to uncuff me. “Four gunshot wounds. Three to her legs. One to her abdomen. The paramedics on the scene said she was lucky to be alive when they got there. She'd lost a lot of blood.” Misty chokes on a sob but maintains her professionalism. “Lois is strong. She'll fight this. She has you to come back to.”

“Where is she now?”

“They’re operating on her. It could be hours until we hear anything.”

I rub my wrists, now free of the handcuffs. “And Cooper?” I ask.

Rage.

Murder.

She sighs. “He’ll be fine, Luke. He’ll survive.”

Finally, my eyes lock on hers. “Do you believe in fate, Misty?”

She forces a smile but doesn't give me an answer.

“My mother believed so boldly in fate, and if this is my fate, I’ll wear it. But this can’t be Lane’s fate because the world isn’t ready to lose her.” I glance back at the picture of Lane. “Then again, the world wasn’t ready to lose my mom, either.



The blood on my clothes is still damp, but the blood on my hands is not.

At some point between the hospital and this waiting cell at the police station, it managed to become nothing more than red flakes on my palms and fingers. I can feel it on my face, too, mixing with the tears now soaked into my skin. I wonder how the others in the cell see me—barely a man, huddled in the corner of the room, bloodstained tux, and a missing shoe—and I imagine, for a moment, the thoughts and stories that run through their minds.

Maybe I was in a wreck, drunk.

Maybe I was in a fight, drunk.

Maybe I tried to kill someone.

I try not to think about it for too long, the repercussions of my actions beyond my mental capacity. So I stare down at the floor in front of me, the sole of my single bloody shoe print leading to where I sit, like a road map to my demise, and I think about the only thing that makes sense.

I think about her.

And I wonder if I’ll ever get the image, the feel, of her limp body in my arms out of my system.



Sixteen clicks.

Eight seconds.

That’s how long it took me to realize I’d been in love with her for four years.

Eight, life-changing seconds.

It’s also the exact length of time it took to lose her.





Chapter Thirty-Five





LUCAS





Lucy was three when I was born. I was the same age when Mom gave birth to Leo. A year after him, she had Logan. To say she had her hands full is an understatement. By the time Logan came around, Lucy was six and already at school so it was just the boys at home. To stop me from running around destroying everything in my path, Mom would pick me up and place me in Leo’s crib. I’d grip onto the bars and watch through the gaps as Mom changed their diapers, got them dressed. When Leo was all clean, she’d put him in with me, and I’d find ways to make him laugh. Then Mom would bring us Logan, and she’d say, every time, “Be gentle, boys. He’s just a baby.”

Fifteen years later, I’m behind a different set of bars, but I’m doing the same thing: watching them.

A few seconds ago, I heard Leo yell, “Misty!” and found the strength to stand up and see what was happening. Part of a wall blocked my view so I couldn’t see everything, but I could see them.

According to the clock opposite the cell, I’ve only been locked in for five minutes. And the processing took less than an hour. There shouldn’t be any news on Laney yet. Unless… I couldn’t even process unless.

“Misty!” Logan shouts, and fear squeezes my insides.

A gruff, male voice tries to settle my brothers. “You boys can’t be here.”

“Misty! Misty!” Logan repeats, his voice carrying through the air.

A moment later, Misty walks past the cell, her eyes narrowed, first at me, then my brothers. She asks, once behind the front desk, “What’s going on here?”

Leo doesn’t respond. He just pokes her shoulder. She steps back, surprised. Then Logan yells, “Whore!”

Two officers appear from nowhere and start to kick them out, but Leo says, “That’s assaulting a member of the police, right? Shouldn’t we be detained or something?” His voice breaks, his tone desperate. “Right, Misty?” And through the haze, through the fog, it all becomes clear. My head drops forward, smacks against the bars, and I do it again and again because I don’t want them here and I don’t want them to see me. Not now. Not like this.

“I got it,” Misty tells the officers. She grabs my brothers by the arms and leads them to the cell where I let go of the bars and step back, waiting for them to slide open and for my brothers to join me. To me, she says, “I’m off for the rest of the night to be with Brian at the hospital. As soon as we know anything…” she trails off. The bars clank closed, echo off the walls, and I don’t know how long I stand there, looking down at the floor, shame and fear continuing to build inside me. I look at my hands, at the blood, and without a word, I sit back down in the same spot, drowning in the same fear. Leo’s the first to join me, sitting to my right. Logan’s next, sitting to my left, and I finally manage to speak. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re your brothers, Luke,” Leo says. “We’re here for you.”



In a sprint, every millisecond counts. In the holding cell, those milliseconds feel like eons. Every single time I close my eyes I see those eyes, those tears, and they haunt me.

I sit with my back against the wall, my knees up, my head between them and I cry silent tears and live in silent thoughts and then Logan says, “This is my fault.”

I lift my gaze, look over at him, but he’s staring ahead, his eyes glazed.

“I was outside drinking with Dumb Name, and we saw Lane and Cooper walk out. We hid in the fucking bushes like idiots so we could spy. We thought they were screwing around behind your back, and we wanted proof. But he was just begging her to take him back, and he kept apologizing. Something was seriously wrong with him. It was like he was possessed.” He wipes his eyes on his forearm, his shoulders shaking. I try to breathe, but I can’t.