I don't know the exact moment Luca made the decision he did the night of our accident, but I am reasonably sure it was somewhere between the numerous messages demanding he rat me out as the two-bit liar I supposedly was and his father's twentieth unanswered call.
Our hometown has been stuck in a time warp since the seventies, but at the time, it appeared as if Luca’s secret had reached his parents’ ears.
Luca was devastated—beyond my ability to comfort him.
If he had just answered his father’s call, he would have realized they were none the wiser to his secret. His dad was merely calling him to update him on his grandma’s condition after her second hip replacement.
To this day, his parents are still unaware of his sexual orientation.
And if I have it my way, that’s how it will stay.
Chapter Nineteen
James loiters at the end of the aisle, unsure whether he should adhere to Regan's request for another gin and tonic or abide by my stern warning for him to keep away. Considering Regan's chest is currently open and exposed for the world to see, I signal for him to approach.
He does, albeit hesitantly. After shoving a double shot of bitter liquor into my hands, he skedaddles away. His desire to flee isn't shocking. I hate the pained expression on Regan's face, and I'm the man responsible for it.
When I urged her to open up to me, I never anticipated the confession I got. I’ve been on edge from the minute she announced the missing photo from her mantel was a man. I didn’t care who Luca was, or how influential he had been in her life; I hated him with every essence of my being.
The way her eyes lit up when she talked about him filled me with an immense amount of jealousy. That’s why I’ve been such an asshat since we left the internet café. I was so focused on removing Luca from her memories, I didn’t register her grief when she spoke of him. I thought he was an old flame—a competitor. I’m a moron.
Hoping to make matters right, I hand Regan the glass James gave me. She smiles in thanks before taking a delicate sip. I want to continue our conversation, but I don’t know if she’s truly up to it. I’ve pushed her so far out of her comfort zone the past twenty-four hours, she’s most likely having a hard time recognizing herself. I love Regan’s stubborn, beautiful, determined personality, so anything I can do to stop her from changing, I will.
I’ll even talk with her about another man. “How did you and Luca meet?”
Regan's lips arch against her glass as her glistening eyes stray to mine. They are nowhere near as troubled as they were minutes ago. "Did you know alpacas are flame-resistant?" She asks her question as a six-year-old would to her peers during show and tell.
I’ve heard rumors that alpacas have fire-retardant coats, but that doesn’t stop me from faking ignorance.
When I shake my head, Regan informs me, “Luca wanted to test the theory on my pet alpaca.”
“You have a pet alpaca?” Now my interests are genuine. Regan exhibits glam to the nth degree. Imagining her with a farm animal as a pet is an entertaining thought.
“Had. She went to alpaca heaven a few years ago,” Regan explains.
When I give her a look, she slaps my arm. “She died of natural causes.”
“Uh-huh, sure she did.”
She slaps me again, her giggle attracting the attention of everyone surrounding us. James smiles with glee, happy Regan’s back to her usual self. The female flight attendants aren’t as overjoyed as him. They prefer us bickering over bantering.
I like when we do both.
"Did I tell you about my brother's cunning ability to lick his elbow. . .?"
* * *
By the time we land at an airstrip just north of Texas, Regan and I have spilled a lifetime of secrets. I even shared with her the time I peed my pants in the first grade, and my brother covered it up by telling everyone I sat in a puddle. I don’t know how he got away with it. The wet patch was in the front of my shorts, not the back.
Regan laughed hysterically when I told her the infamous nickname Dane made up for me, and her cheeks turned beet red when I revealed my mom forces me to FaceTime with my cat once a week. I have no idea why she got flustered over that. From her wide eyes and inflamed cheeks, you'd swear I was confessing to more risqué activities. . .
My thoughts trail as reality dawns. Stopping halfway down the gangway, I lock my eyes with Regan. “I called Maxx a pretty pussy, didn’t I?”
She doesn’t answer me. She doesn’t need to. The leering grin stretching across her face tells me everything I need to know.
“How many times did I say it?”
“More than enough to keep my fantasies well stocked for the next few weeks,” Regan replies with a sassy wink.
