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Alex shrugged, visibly uncomfortable. “Look, Luke, I know we’ve had our share of… problems, and I’m—”
“Why did you want to meet, Alex?”
A beat of silence passed, and Alex inhaled. “I don’t pretend to know whether you still have any contact with her. But I’m worried about her, and there’s… a complication.”
Luke raised a brow. “What do you mean?”
Alex’s fingers tightened on his coffee cup. Steam was still slipping through the hole in its lid, and Luke couldn’t imagine holding onto it that firmly was comfortable.
“She’s pregnant.”
Luke froze. “What?” he asked blankly.
“I found the test in the trash can, and it was positive. I don’t know what to do. Her phone must be off—it isn’t even ringing when I call.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Luke said before he could stop himself. His mind was spinning, scrambling to make sense of what he was hearing. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t do it.
“Well, fine, but I think I have a right to be worried about her, especially if she’s carrying my—”
“I’m supposed to believe you?” Luke didn’t know when his hands had clenched into fists, but his fingernails were digging painfully into his palms. He wanted to reject all of this, to walk away and forget he’d ever come to find Alex.
“I don’t exactly have the test with me, but I do have this.” Alex slid his phone across the table to reveal a picture of a small white stick. In the stick’s viewing window were two blue lines. Luke knew what it meant, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up to meet the other man’s eyes.
“I need to go,” he muttered.
“If you know where she is, Luke, please.”
“I’m late for an appointment.”
Without another word, Luke got to his feet and started for the door, ignoring Alex’s pleading from behind him. He didn’t look back.
Chapter Four
When Rose awoke, she felt the brush of cold silk enveloping her body. The familiar sensation brought with it an immense amount of comfort, as did the sight of Luke’s bed and the pictures of his family on the walls when she opened her eyes. She could feel him everywhere, here. She even spotted one of his gold hockey trophies wedged behind a few picture frames on a shelf. Typically, though, when she’d stirred from sleep to see these things before, he had been there waiting for her, either still asleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest comforting, or watching her wake with a smile. Now, he was nowhere to be found.
Rose stretched and sat up, frowning. A note lay on the nightstand beside her, handwritten in what she recognized as Luke’s thin, slanted script.
Had to meet a witness. I made pancakes—they’re in the kitchen. Back soon.
– L
A smile crept onto Rose’s lips. Even though so long had passed since the last time she’d slept here, it felt as though it had been only yesterday. She’d been afraid that coming back would feel awkward, alien, but the house still somehow felt like home. She couldn’t exactly say the same for the room itself—though she’d been too distracted by her desire for Luke and the pleasure of his touch to think much about it during the night, it was strange to be in this room. For the entirety of her relationship with Luke, his parents had slept here. None of their things remained in the room except a small wedding photo on one of the shelves in the corner, which were otherwise filled with books and photos of Luke with his friends and his sister and…
Rose climbed out of bed, pulled on her underwear and long-sleeved shirt from where they’d been discarded on the floor, and made her way over to the shelf. Near the back on the right-hand side sat a small frame with a photo of herself standing beside Luke on Navy Pier. They were both grinning brightly, and her cheeks were pink. A brand-new engagement ring gleamed on her finger, and she held the white rose he’d given her in the same hand.
The flower had been his metaphor for her. He’d told her it represented her beauty and her innocence—she’d laughed at that when he’d explained it—and more than anything else, it was wordplay. When she married him, she would be Rose LeBlanc. His last name, as she’d known enough French to understand even before he’d first made the joke a year or so after they had started dating, meant “white.”
She sighed. She couldn’t decide whether she should be thrilled that he’d kept this picture or sick with guilt. Before she could think about it too much, she turned away and started for the kitchen.
The scent of pancakes led her down the familiar hallway on the first floor, and when she arrived, she found them stacked on a plate beneath a plastic cover. Rose’s smile returned at the sight. She padded across the blue tile floor to the counter, and when she removed the cover, she found that the pancakes were still warm.
He can’t have been gone that long, then. But why didn’t he mention needing to meet a witness last night? I mean, I guess we didn’t exactly talk much about the basics… There wasn’t a lot of room for a “How’s work?” between the crying and the… fantastic sex.
At the thought of everything that had happened after she’d arrived in Luke’s room, Rose’s knees went weak, and she held onto the counter to steady herself. He remembered exactly how to touch her, how to make her need him. If she was being honest with herself, he was the only one she ever wanted to be with again. She couldn’t pretend she’d never loved Alex, but Luke was different. He’d never quite let go of her heart after he’d stolen it during their first year of college, no matter how many times she had tried to tell herself that she was over him. Being near him was enough to melt her, and even after so long apart, he knew her body so well that every touch made her crave more. She knew she shouldn’t be here, imposing on him and throwing his life back into chaos. But she couldn’t keep denying that she still loved him. That she wanted to be with him so much it hurt.
She settled onto a stool at the marble-topped breakfast bar with her food and a fork from the drawer beside the sink—Luke hadn’t rearranged after his parents had moved out, it seemed—and at the first bite of pancake, she let out a contented sigh. The warmth, the buttery flavor, and the generous amount of chocolate chips even in one bite made this feel like any other morning surrounded by the familiarity and comfort Luke’s house held for her. It was a large, three-story, brick-fronted home in Winnetka, Illinois, about twenty miles outside Chicago. Their college had been at the other end of the state, though both of their families were from the Chicago area, and he’d first brought her here on one of their school’s breaks. Though she’d initially found the house intimidating, Luke had worked hard to make it feel like home.
Rose heard the front door opening and closing down the hall, and her stomach fluttered as she shifted in her chair on reflex, straightening her posture and trying to look as put-together as she could in just her long-sleeved white shirt and her lacy underwear. She had more than enough reasons to feel like she wasn’t good enough for Luke already. She didn’t want to add looking like a disaster on her first morning back in his presence to the list. Pulling in a deep breath, she swept her long hair over her shoulder and smiled as the sound of footsteps from the front of the house drew nearer.
