Of course, that brings Luc to mind.
I can’t enter the kitchen or the laundry room without thinking of him.
Honestly? I don’t even need to be near those rooms. He hasn’t been far from my thoughts all week.
His kiss. Hiskisses.Nothing has ever turned me on like that. And I don’t just mean sexually.
I mean ON. Lit up. Electric. In motion.Alive.
And, yes, turned on the other way, too. A lot. Pictureturned on a lotand then turn it even higher. Way, way past eleven. Break the fucking dial.
Even after thinking about it for six days, I still don’t know how I let myself go there. Maybe the hours cleaning up the kitchen wore me down. Or maybe it’s his unfailing kindness. The sight of him teaching Emmett how to use the shop vac made my bones feel like melted chocolate.
The next thing I knew, we were alone. And touching. Then Iaskedto touch him.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Where did I think that would go? Touching him leads nowhere safe.
Memories fire through my hippocampus in rapid succession. Two lines on a First Response pregnancy test. Carter’s quickly masked look of terror when I told him. The way the orbit of our lives shifted when my parents died to center around my brothers and sister. The way that shared orbit broke apart entirely just weeks later.
No matter what I felt—and I felt it in every cell—kissing Luc was reckless and weak. If I know nothing else, there are two things I’m certain of:
1) The Family Curse is real. If I sleep with a man, I will get pregnant.
2) If I get pregnant, Luc won’t be able to deal. Me and my life just ask too much.
So that time-stopping, life-altering kiss? It’ll just have to be a warm memory. Areallywarm memory. Which is good because it’s going to have to last me a long time. The kiss—kisses—won’t be repeated.
Even if I wanted that to happen again—
Scratch that. Of course, I want it to happen again. It was Luc. Touching him… tasting him… crushing myself against him… It was as if the soundtrack of my life was a dial tone, briefly interrupted by “Ode to Joy.”
But it won’t happen again. Even if I allowed it. Even if I initiated it. The look on Luc’s face when I left him after that kiss made it clear I’m never getting that close to him again.
Now he barely even looks at me. We’ve exchanged maybe two sentences face to face all week. Whenever I walk into the kitchen or the part of the living room that’s open to the kitchen, if he notices me, he keeps his eyes trained on what he’s doing.
Or he finds a reason to go outside.
I think he saves any questions he has for when I’m at work because the only real exchanges we’ve had are through texts.
And, honestly, that’s a relief. I don’t know if I could bear to talk to him. If I’ve hurt his pride, I’m sorry.
If I’ve hurt his feelings, I’m even sorrier.
As Clarence and I climb back upstairs, that’s a thought that stops me in my tracks as it has again and again.
Did I hurt Luc?
The impulse that made me pull away was all about protecting myself. And thus protecting Harry, Mattie, and Emmett. And I’ll admit, at first, that's all I could think about. But after my heart stopped racing and my hands stopped shaking, I kept seeing that look of shocked confusion in the dark, wide open pools of his eyes, and the thought of hurting Luc hurt me too.
What I did was selfish. To run away without explaining was selfish. And cowardly.
Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep. Part of the reason, anyway.
But bringing it up now would be soawkward.Yet if I don’t bring it up, how are we going to get through the next three or so months of this job? That’ll be even more awkward.
I close the door of my bedroom and flop back on my bed with a groan. Clarence jumps up beside me and sniffs my head. Deciding that my distress is not life threatening, he lumbers around in a circle, shaking the entire bed before he lies down with a sigh.
