Lucas
“I’m f****d up, Embree. There’s nothing left of the boy you used to know. I’m nothing but this angry, bitter, jaded shell of a man who’s a danger to anyone he gets close to. Trust me, I’m not someone you want around. I don’t belong here. Not anymore.”
This isn’t what I intended when I agreed to meet. The plan was to give her an hour, answer some of her questions, then leave with an open invitation to exchange an occasional text. But this? Agreeing to talk to my sister? Thinking of extending my stay?
“I’m so sorry, Lucas,” she responds, her gaze dropping to her hands which wring nervously on the table.
At first, her words come as a relief. The pressure in my gut easing the tiniest bit at the thought that she might understand. But when her posture slumps and her lower lip quivers, I wish I could take it all back…
Running into her yesterday.
Agreeing to this meeting.
Returning to this town when I knew it was a mistake.
Desperate to fix what I’ve done, I reach for her hands, only to watch as she pulls them away. Though I understand why, her reaction stings nonetheless.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for,” I snap in frustration, angry at myself as much as at the unpleasant sensation gnawing away in my chest.
“You’re wrong.” She rushes on, while angrily wiping away the tears running down her face. “I do owe you an apology. For pressuring you into meeting me here, for guilting you into talking to Jen. For putting my needs above yours, just like I did back then. I should have known you weren’t okay that night. I should have seen what you were planning to do. It was up to me to stop you, but I didn’t. Don’t you see, Lucas? I have a lot to be sorry for. I failed you.”
Her words land like a punch to the gut, stealing my breath and rendering me speechless. The raw anguish that emanates from her rips into my heart, shredding me to pieces in ways I don’t know how I’ll recover from.
All this time, I’d convinced myself she’d hate me for what I did. That she would see my actions for what they were. Selfish and cruel. Because it was me who used her to ease my grief and stole her virginity in the process. It was me who slept with her and took my fill, before running away, leaving her and my problems behind like the coward that I am.
In all my consideration, not once did I imagine she’d turn the blame onto herself. To hear that’s exactly what she’s done is abhorrent to me. She doesn’t deserve any of this. The guilt. The regret. It’s a burden that belongs squarely on my shoulders. Not hers.
Fuck! What have I done?
Rubbing at the back of my neck, I can’t help but question how the hell I could have done this to her. How could I have abandoned the girl I claimed to love, leaving her to bear the brunt of my mistakes while I slunk off into the night? I f*****g left her all alone. Gave her no choice but to pick up the broken pieces of my grief after I dumped them at her feet to ease my conscience. What the f**k kind of man does that make me? Could it be that all the poison and darkness, all the terrible things that make me the shittiest of humans and which I thought were a byproduct of my trauma… could it be that this is who I’ve always been?
“You think you could have stopped me?” I scoff, inadvertently spewing more anger in her direction, even though the venom is meant for me.
When she recoils at my tone, I’m taken aback by the overwhelming panic that settles like a heavy boulder in my chest. This visit has gone to s**t. Everything I feared is coming to pass, and the longer we sit here—her broken and silent, me broken and angry—well, there’s just no way in hell I’m letting things end like this.
As I shift in my seat, thinking of ways to salvage this mess, it’s then that my awareness rises to the occasion. Suddenly hyper-aware, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end while I take in the crowded space around us.
There are too many people. Not enough exits. Too many potential threats for me to mitigate alone.
My heart rate spikes at the realization, while the din of the room intensifies. Scanning the area, I watch with bated breath as the faces of happy families blur until all that’s left are menacing bodies encroaching on our space. The tightness in my chest expands. Squeezing the air from my lungs with every inhale that I fight to take.
“We need to go,” I gasp while reaching for her hand and pulling us both to a stand. When her shocked gaze meets mine, I look into those whiskey eyes, desperate to make her understand while praying she can’t see the mess going on inside of me. “I can’t be here. I-I need to go. Come, we have to go.” My tone is gruff and demanding, as I fight to keep it together so I don’t scare her.
When the shrill scream of a child makes me flinch, her eyes go wide, and she gives my hand a gentle squeeze. It helps. I don’t know how or why, but it does, though only for the briefest moment. The deafening swoosh of my heart in my ears mixed with the sounds echoing in the space overrides what little comfort her touch provides. My growing distress is obvious, thanks to the tremors now coursing down my limbs.
Mortified and unable to hide, I watch her look down at my shaky hand as it clings to hers. I’m so damn close to losing it, but I can’t fathom walking out of here without her.
“Embree. Please. I have to go, but I can’t leave things like this,” I beg, not caring how desperate I sound. “Please. Come with me.”
When she gives a slight nod, I waste no time. With a hand at the small of her back and Nero’s leash in the other, I guide them both out the doors and into the parking lot. The cool spring air goes a long way to easing the pressure in my chest, but the fear that lingers like a weighted blanket demands I get us to the safety of my Chevy Tahoe.
Once I’ve helped her into the front seat, I lead Nero to the rear passenger side. Then I climb into the driver’s seat in a rush, locking the doors before settling back on the headrest and closing my eyes. Breathing deeply and as evenly as I can, I fight to regain control over the panic. All the while I can sense her questioning stare like a brand, searing its way down my clammy skin. It’s embarrassing. Shameful, and it makes me so damn angry that this is the best version of me she’ll ever see.
And whose fault is that? You’re the i***t who left when you were still salvageable. Now you’re f*****g worthless. Incompetent. Weak. Broken.
Ignoring her stare and my useless thoughts, I push the ignition button and pull the truck back onto the highway. I can’t believe this. That I’m here with her. That I’ve made such a mess of what should have been a simple interaction. I’m a jumbled mess of conflicted emotions, ranging from wanting to make things right to wishing I’d left her back at the rest stop.
God, I want to run! More than anything, I want to leave this f*****g town and get as far away as I can from my past. From the memories. From these f****d up feelings that have no place in my life. Instead, I reach for her hand. The need to comfort and prove to her that everything is okay presses under my skin, overriding all common sense. I need this. For reasons I can’t fathom, I need the connection to her. Maybe because I’ve gone so long without feeling anyone’s touch. Or maybe it’s that I need her grounding presence to reassure myself that she’s here.
Regardless, I’m both surprised and relieved when she not only allows it but intertwines her fingers with mine. The feel of her soft skin, so warm and smooth under my rough, calloused hands, washes over me, helping to quiet the noise inside my head.
“I’m married…” she blurts, her nerves clear as in my periphery I see her picking at her jeans with her other hand. “Going on 7 years next month.” She looks over at me and I force myself to meet her gaze. Her eyebrows are drawn together with worry lines marring her beautiful face.
I do my best to hide my disappointment since this news is for the best. A man like me has nothing to offer a girl like her.
“I figured. Your rings,” I tell her, lifting our adjoined hands where an engagement and wedding band sit on her left ring finger. Rings I’ve been staring at since the moment we sat down together at that rest stop.
As if she’s grown self-conscious, she tries to pull away, but I tighten my hold to reassure her it’s okay. When she gives in and relaxes, I breathe yet another sigh of relief. It’s then that I realize I’m playing a dangerous game. One I have no chance of winning. All because I can’t bring myself to walk away. As if she’s trying to drive that very point home, she continues.
“We have two little girls together,” she adds with a half-hearted smile.
“I bet you’re a great mom,” I tell her through the bitter taste on my tongue.
“Do you have a family?”
“No. I enlisted in the Navy when I was 18. Since then, I haven’t had the time or opportunity to settle down.”
“Oh,” is all she says.
“Does your husband know you’re here? With me?” Never one to pass up the opportunity for a little self-punishment, I turn to look at her. It’s like I need to see how much she loves this other man. Like I need to scorch her devotion to him, along with the pain it inflicts onto my memory as a reminder that a life with her was never an option.
“No. He travels a lot. For his job, I mean.” Something in her expression shifts, but before I can read into it, she turns her attention to the passing scene outside her window.
For the next few minutes, we drive in awkward silence. All the while, I reprimand myself for putting us both in this situation. I’m so far off mission at this point, I see no scenario in which I will make it out of this town unscathed.
Pulling off at the first exit, I stop to grab food from a local fast-food place before getting us back onto the road. I don’t know if it’s nostalgia or a side effect from my traumatic brain injury, but I drive towards the last place I should take her. Ruby Creek Park. Our place. It’s where we would go every day after school. Where we spent almost every summer night catching fireflies and swimming in the lake. It’s the place we would go to hide from the vigilant eyes of our parents, and to escape the stress of childhood and adolescence.
It’s there on a rock overlooking the lake, where I first realized I was in love with her. I was fourteen at the time, still very much a kid, but even then I knew. As we sat there on that rock, the setting sun casting shadows on her beautiful face, there was no question in my mind. I was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with this girl. Which makes bringing her here today a mistake of epic proportions and yet, I can’t bring myself to stop.
Suddenly hoping for an out, I ask, “Do you have time to sit and eat? I should have asked before….” I look down at the bag of fast food she’s holding on her lap.
“I have time.” She interrupts with a timid smile, as she continues to avoid my gaze.
That I’m relieved for the extra time with her is a huge red flag. As is the way my heart keeps doing that weird squeezing thing it used to do when we were kids. That was back when just one look from her made my heart skip a beat. Back when her smile would sometimes steal my breath. God, I was such a goner back then. Yet here I am, feeling the same flutters all these years later. It’s the same rush of excitement. The same damn tingles run over my skin like I’m back to being that prepubescent boy.
Jesus f**k! I’m so damned screwed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author’s Note:
There are red flags everywhere in this Chapter, but I love the way Lucas is unable to stop himself. He swears he doesn't want to be a part of their lives. That he wants nothing to do with the unresolved past he left behind, yet here he is.
So tell me what you think. For Lucas, does this trip down memory lane have more to do with him finding closure? Or is it that maybe he wants to reclaim his old life more than he's willing to admit?
I can’t wait to read all your comments!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Want to read ahead? FOLLOW ME on REAM and get the NEXT 2 CHAPTERS FREE. To access see my profile.
Please remember to like, comment, & review. For updates on this and future stories, remember to follow me.
NEW CHAPTERS post at 7:00 PM EST on Tuesdays & Fridays!!!