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I run my hand over my head and close my eyes. When I open them, I’m damned to feel tears falling onto my face. Hate that he makes me cry. I hate that I feel so much emotion when it comes to Luke.
This time, instead of holding my tears back, I let them fall and use them as my power.
I back away from him. The words I want to say on the tip of my tongue, and yet I can’t say any more. Words mean nothing. It’s only actions. For me, the action is to go inside my house, slam the door, and lock it.
If only he wasn’t the one holding the key.
thirty
LUKE
“HI. IT’S ME, LUKE. I’m sorry I had to run out on you this morning. I hope you got my message. My mom is in the hospital and I’m on the first flight back to New York. I know you probably think I’m some guy who got you into bed and then took off, but this is all real. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up, but I hope to be next time. I’d really like to see you again. Boston and Greenwood Village aren’t that far. At least for me, it isn’t. If you’re willing to take the drive, so am I.”
Those were the words I spoke on a voice mail five years ago to the woman I fell in love with over three days in Aruba. I was panic-stricken and sick with worry about my mother, and yet I still wanted to hear the voice of the girl who I vowed to make my own.
Life didn’t work out the way I’d planned. In fact, it all turned to shit pretty quickly.
In movies, men are always the heroes.
The army grunt who carries seven of his fellow men out of a burning, ravaged city.
The officer who dismantles a terrorist operation to save an arena threatened by a nuclear weapon.
The man who jumps through hoops to make the ransom payment to save his daughter.
The homeless guy who works three jobs to get his son out of poverty and provide him with the world.
When I was a kid, I knew I wanted to be that man. The one who would drop anything to save others. I never cared for the accolades. The total badassery of being sweaty, covered in soot, and shouting shit like, “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker,” was all I needed. Actually, I’m kidding with that. Maybe I never knew exactly what kind of man I would be, but I knew I was going to be one of the good ones.
Life in the country afforded me a bit of that opportunity. I learned from a young age to have unlimited freedom yet be responsible to do the right thing. I can hunt, fish, and build. I’ll take your dare and give you the God’s honest truth, and I’m not afraid to take a risk. And I was always down for a party.
While many men in my community took to farming and livestock, working at the gas company and becoming law enforcement, I worked at the local pub. I dreamed of someday owning my own bar and restaurant, where the locals could come and put their feet up after a long day—that was my kind of living. To fulfill that hero thirst in me, I figured I could become a volunteer firefighter, like most men in my town, including my own father.
I hadn’t thought about college until my older sister, Peyton, decided to become a teacher. I hated school. Playing soccer and hanging out with my friends were the only bonuses. The thought of going longer than I had to sounded like the worst kind of living one could do. Still, I enrolled because that was what my mother wanted me to do.
“Just do two years, and then you can go off and do whatever you’d like,” she said.
“What’s the point? I want to own my own bar someday.”
“Accounting and entrepreneurial courses would do you good.”
“What do you know?”
“Everything, Luke. I’m your mother.”
After getting my associate’s degree, I moved to Boston with my friends. My twenties were fun, to say the least. The drinks flowed, the jokes roared, and the women were easy. I was a line cook during the day and a bartender at night. My buddies and I joined the Boston volunteer fire department because we were tough enough, smart enough … and loved the excitement of running to the rescue. Like I said,yippee-ki-yay.
I dated a lot in those days. I had a few relationships, but nothing that went past a few months. After twenty-five, women started to hear wedding bells when you took them to bed. I learned to be up front with anyone I dated. Life was good, and I was in no rush to settle down. None of the guys were—until that one summer. I went to my first bachelor party, and my life changed forever.
A three-night bachelor party in Aruba. The first night, I was excited to party. The second night, I was in good spirits. The third night, I was over the need to see another pair of naked tits. The guys went out to a strip club, but I decided to hang back. It’s not that I don’t enjoy a good show, but after three nights of debauchery, I was ready to just have a drink at the bar before my flight the next day.
When I headed down to the lobby, I was followed by the groom’s brother and brother-in-law, who were also eager for a low-key drink. We were at a bar in the hotel restaurant, talking about the Red Sox, when there was a flash of red that caught my attention.
Porcelain skin, an oval-shaped face, the perkiest of noses, and a mouth so full that women would pay money to have lips like hers. I was lost in the sea of her emerald-green eyes and her auburn hair that I wanted to run my hand through. As if her face wasn’t stunning enough, she had this body that was a man’s wet dream. A curvy ass, full breasts, and a narrow waist you could grab on to.
I made her laugh that night, and I swear I felt that laugh vibrate in my chest. I had to rub the space above my heart because every time she laughed or sighed or giggled, I felt it right down deep in there. I thought it was indigestion or perhaps too much booze over three days in Aruba. Whatever it was, I couldn’t ignore it. I put on the charm. All the lines and bravado I had was laid out for this girl.
By the night’s end, I had her on the beach. I had no clue what the fuck I was doing, but she seemed like she needed to have a good time. When I walked her to her room, leaving her to have a good night, I pulled out my phone and changed my flight home. I couldn’t leave the next day, not without knowing more about Jillian, the beautiful woman I had only known an hour.
