AllFreeNovel
Share Us
From behind Billy, a familiar voice says, “You’re here now.”
I look up at Angela Torres, Jeremy and Billy’s mother—my second mother, really, who fed me and housed me just as much as my own did during my tumultuous teenage years. She’s older, which shouldn’t be a shock but is. Her hair is mostly gray. Her face, always expressive, is even more so now, marked by life’s cycles of joy and struggle.
Dark eyes glassy, she opens her arms for me. “Come here, Lucas.”
Billy moves aside as I half-stumble into Angela’s arms. I dwarf her in size, but the strength in her hug makes me feel like a child again.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble into her hair.
“I know.”
Angela releases me, bringing a hand to my cheek. She studies me with unnerving intensity, finding something I can’t fathom.
She finally nods. “We were never angry with you, Lucas.”
“I was,” mutters Billy.
I suck in a breath, but before I can speak, he winks at me.
“Only for the first five years.”
Angela clucks her tongue at him, then returns her gaze to me. A smile lifts the corners of her lips. “I always knew you’d come home. Come, come.” She wraps an arm through mine, steering me down the hallway. “Billy, would you be so kind as to put the pie in the kitchen?”
He grumbles something in response that makes Angela laugh. I don’t hear it because I can see the backyard now, visible through open French doors. To the right, Mr. Torres mans the giant grill with Celeste’s dad—they look like twins in khaki pants and polo shirts, their stocky builds furthering the impression, their heads tilted at the same angle as they discuss the mysteries of meat.
Out on the grass, there’s a play structure with a slide and two swings, both occupied by younger kids. Damien stands behind them, looking bored out of his mind as he yields to his cousins’ demands for “Higher, Higher!”
Laughter draws my gaze to the left, where a group of adults sits around a table overflowing with appetizers. Celeste’s mom chats with several strangers, who I assume are neighbors or friends of the Torres family, while Celeste sits next to Billy’s wife, Macy.
Like she feels my stare, Celeste glances my way. Shock briefly freezes her face before her expression goes blank.
“She’s always been stubborn, hasn’t she?” murmurs Angela.
I look at her, surprised. “Who?”
She nods toward Celeste, who has turned away from us to watch the kids. “Our girl.” Before I can make sense of the conversation, she pats my arm and releases me. “Give it time. She’ll figure it out eventually.”
The question “Figure what out?” dies on my tongue as Angela strides away, her voice lifting as she asks the grill masters when the burgers will be finished, which generates a chorus of similar, laughing demands.
I want nothing more than to turn tail and run, or find a hole to crawl inside, but instead force myself to approach the table. I’ve charmed cynical investors and board rooms full of humorless men, but this feels more daunting. I wipe clammy hands on my pants.
Celeste’s mom notices me lurking and takes pity on me, coming to my side. She introduces me to the others—I was right, they’re neighbors—and forces me into the seat beside hers. She then proceeds to steer the conversation for the next twenty minutes with topics ranging from the weather to a sale on produce at the grocery store, to Damien’s soccer camp next week.
Not until Angela announces that the burgers are ready do I realize Mrs. Miller singlehandedly saved me from the inevitable questions about Wild Lake.
“Thank you,” I murmur, standing behind her in line to get a burger I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat.
She smiles up at me. “Everyone deserves a break.”
I’m spared a response by Damien, who slips into line ahead of his grandmother. She chastises him affectionately, ruffling his hair.
The line gets shorter. Plates are distributed. We all grab buns and condiments as the grill gets closer. I almost make a break for it a few times, my heart pattering faster the nearer I move to Oliver Torres.
Angela has always been the forgiving sort—Jeremy’s dad has not. Neither of them was big on punishment, not like my dad, but my chest still stings from Mr. Torres’s disappointed lectures when Jeremy and I were caught stealing beers from his garage, caught sneaking out his window, caught sneaking back in…
Then it’s my turn, and a gruff voice asks, “Cheese or plain?”
“Cheese, please.” My voice cracks the same way it did when I was fourteen and he caught me sampling the pumpkin pie before Thanksgiving.
