Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Scout
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My head pounds like a snare drum, each new heartbeat interrupting the last until I can no longer decipher a beat, just painfully chaotic noise.
I sneak open an eyelid and wince as the bright morning sun slices through the cracks of the window shade, stabbing my eyeballs like scalding hot needles.
I throw an arm over my face to block it out.
A wave of nausea churns in my belly at the sudden movement, reminding me of last night’s poor choices. How much did I drink? Have I died and gone to hell? It’s the only explanation for the absolute misery I’m feeling, both physically and mentally.
A flash of Luka standing beneath our old tree house in that wrinkled white shirt and black motorcycle pants—hits me like a sucker punch. The look on his face when he saw me walking toward him; he actually looked happy.
I can’t believe we got married.
And just like that, the memories of last night come rushing back, bursting through me like a broken dam.
God, I wish this mattress would swallow me whole.
My nervous system does a quick roll call: shame, embarrassment, humiliation. Perfect. The gang’s all here. Oh, good, I wouldn’t want to face eternity without the company of my constant companions.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I let out a groan, attempting to smother myself with my pillow just as the door creaks open and aggressively loud rock music pours into the room. I sit up in a rush, grabbing my glasses off my side table as the blurry room comes into view.
My suspicions are confirmed when my eyes fall on Luka, grinning like the devil he is, standing over me.
“Good morning, wifey. How ya feeling?” His arms are full, holding an extra-large bottle of water, two cups of coffee, and a small paper bag.
I hate that my stomach flips at his term of endearment. “What are you? What time is it?” I scurry away until my back hits the headboard and it’s only then I realize I’m still wearing my dress from yesterday…
Luka just laughs as he takes a seat on the bed and places the cups and bag on the nightstand. “It’s eight thirty. I thought you might need a little pick-me-up.”
Translation: You got pretty trashed last night all by yourself, and it was so pitiful that—although I hate you—I still felt bad enough to bring you coffee.
He pulls a bottle of water out of the bag, opens it, then hands it to me before placing two white pills in my palm. I blink at him in confusion wondering if he also remembers anything I said last night, and if so, why is he acting as if nothing happened?
“It’s Tylenol. I thought you may have a headache.” He opens the paper bag and pulls out an everything bagel, my favorite, and my mouth waters at the delicious aroma.
Without a word, I throw back the medicine and chug half the bottle of water before I take the bagel. It isn’t very often that the universe sends you exactly what you need, so I’ll take the handout whenever I can get it, even if it comes hand delivered by Satan.
I cover my mouth as I chew. “Listen, Luka, I’m really sorry you had to see me like that. I don’t normally drink?—”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for. We were celebrating. Besides, it was nice seeing you finally loosen up.” He nudges me with his shoulder playfully, his green eyes sparkling as he watches me devour my bagel.
Okay, so maybe I didn’t overshare as much as I thought? He certainly doesn’t seem freaked out… If anything, he’s being nicer than ever.
“Breakfast in bed? You trying to poison me already?” I say between mouthfuls. My mother would have a heart attack if she were here to see me talking with my mouth full or eating an entire bagel, for that matter. Maybe Luka is rubbing off on me more than I realized?
Luka rolls his eyes and laughs. “Nah, I’d at least take out a life insurance policy on you before I killed you off.” He scratches his neck, looking almost nervous. “I was already out, and there’s no hangover cure better than Lucy’s bagels.”
I’m swallowing the last bite of my bagel when he grabs the cups off the side table. “Chai tea or Americano with cinnamon?”
I’m taken aback at the gesture. I can’t remember the last time anyone brought me anything without my having to ask, and here he is offering me choices.
Luka lifts each cup in silent question.
“Chai,” I finally say, and he passes me the cup in his left hand, slowly taking a sip of the other.
“That’s what I thought you’d pick, but I didn’t want to wrongly assume.”
I take a small sip and let out a quiet moan as the rich flavors hit my tongue. God, it’s good. I haven’t had a chai latte this perfect in years. Nobody does it like Hazel. She once told me her secret was making every drink with love, and honestly, I’m starting to believe her.
Luka clears his throat. “So… I was thinking after breakfast we could go for a ride. There’s something I want to show you.”
My brows pull together, but before I can ask what he’s up to, he adds, “Think you can be ready in an hour?”
He gives my leg a playful slap before hopping off the bed. “I found some of your old clothes in a box in the attic. I’m sure they still fit and will be much more comfortable than all that prudish shit you packed.”
“Thank you for offering, but there’s nothing wrong with my clothes. I’ll make do with?—”
“It wasn’t a question.” He cuts in before I can finish. And as I want to fight him on it, I don’t have the energy. Besides, breathable fabric doesn’t sound like the worst idea in this heat.
He must be pleased by my lack of protest, because now he’s wearing a smug-ass smile as he pulls out his phone. “I’ll meet you outside in fifty-five minutes.”
I stare at my reflection one last time as I tug at the hem of my black cutoff denim shorts, feeling like I’m no more covered than if I were wearing a bikini. I know that’s dramatic, but these shorts really aren’t that short; they’re a bit tighter in the hips than they used to be.
That’s exactly why we don’t eat bagels for breakfast, Scout . Too many curves make a woman look easy. I hear my mother’s patronizing voice reminding me.
She hated these shorts, but they were always my favorite—probably because they’re the only pair of cutoff denim shorts I have ever owned. I can’t believe Luka found them in the attic.
The bright pink cropped band tee is modest enough, as long as I don’t lift my arms. I remember the night I got it—Luka actually bought it for me.
We’d snuck off to a concert a couple of towns over after Jett managed to get us VIP tickets during Spring Break.
It was the best concert I’ve ever seen. In fact, it was our last one.
We stayed out until two in the morning. Luka had paid Guy to sneak into my bedroom and pretend to be me if my parents happened to check.
Guy was fully committed to the task—he wore a wig and everything.
That was our thing. We may have had different interests; he enjoyed playing video games and talking sports with his brothers, while I was happy as long as I had a paintbrush in my hand. But music was always something we could agree on, especially live music.
My parents would freak to know that only about half of the Girl Scout volunteer hours I racked up during my junior and senior years were real. Good thing I was such an overachiever, I still managed to graduate with plenty to spare.
My heart hiccups in my chest as all those suppressed memories come rushing to the surface, and it’s almost more painful than it is comforting.
How did I go from this girl, who seemed so sure of herself and what she wanted, to the dull, lifeless woman who’s spent the last eight years trying to blend in? Luka’s right, I am a sellout.
My existential crisis is interrupted by the sound of a horn honking, and I’ve never been so grateful for Luka’s lack of manners.
I slide my slip-on checked Vans on my feet as I rush out the door, stopping in my tracks at the sight of Luka leaning against his bike with his arms crossed over his chest.
He’s wearing faded black cutoff jorts that should look ridiculous but somehow look hot as hell with his black boots and faded black graphic t-shirt. His emerald, green eyes sparkle back at me, and he makes no effort to hide his obvious perusal of my body.
“It’s about time.” He wets his lips as his eyes roam down over my exposed legs, lingering a little longer than seems appropriate. “Clothes look like they still fit. Don’t you feel better?”
I roll my eyes, choosing to ignore his rhetorical question.
He may be right, but he’s never going to make me admit it out loud.
When I reach for the spare helmet, Luka jerks it away, then slides the heavy helmet over my head himself.
I try to buckle the chin strap, but he smacks my hands away before slapping the front glass closed.
When he’s finally satisfied with all my gear, he climbs on the bike and gestures for me to follow suit.
And despite everything inside of me screaming that this is dangerous, I can’t help the excitement bubbling inside of me. When I reach around and grab his waist, I swear I feel him shiver before he takes off down the winding country road.
Luka revs the bike forward, and I let out a squeal as I feel myself begin to slip.
“Hold on, Girl Scout. I won’t be taking it easy on you this time.” I can practically hear the smile in Luka’s voice as he speaks to me through the speaker in my helmet, and I hate the way my stomach does a somersault because of it.
It’s just the speakers, a natural bodily reaction to ASMR, not to mention the adrenaline rush. That’s why my heart’s racing so fast right now. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that I’m pressed flush against Luka’s strong back or that my arms are linked tightly around his impeccable abs.
I think back to our conversation last night—the giddy feeling in my stomach as he teased me—the way his expression shifted, as if my confession made him angry for me. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wondered what it’d be like to spend a real wedding night with Luka.
The thought is insane, and I shake it away the second it surfaces. I don’t know what’s happening to me but being around Luka seems to have stirred something awake inside me, something that’s been dormant for the past twenty-five years.
It scares me, if I’m honest. But despite being the good girl who’s always played it safe, for the first time… I find myself wanting to stop fighting it. I want to lean into the chaos. To push the boundaries and finally let go of control.
Sunlight streaks behind the mountains as we make our way to the densely wooded forest of Phantom’s Reach. The road doesn’t cut through the deepest part of the forest—there’s no way our Phantom would ever allow that—but you can still feel the eerie energy as we drive around the edge.
I feel Luka’s hand move to my thigh just as he makes a sharp turn, lighting my whole body in a blaze.
I grip his chest tighter as we lean in tandem, but once we’re on a straightaway, he doesn’t move his hand.
It’s as if every nerve in my body is connected to my upper thigh, and I am keenly aware of his hand placement.
I have to remind myself that Luka, at worst, hates me and, at best, pities me.
I don’t think we’ve even reached the friend category.
The man married me just to get back at my father, and now he’s just trying to make sure I don’t die on the back of his motorcycle.
I need to chill out and touch some grass.
When the smooth asphalt gives way to bumpy cobblestone, I can’t help but smile. I’d know this road by feel alone, even if I were blindfolded.
Welcome to Ashford Falls, home of the Phantom Festival.
I suck in a breath as the warm summer air caresses my skin, its healing embrace making me feel so safe and protected, like a small child wrapped in a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer.
The smell of freshly cut grass fills the air as we pass the small downtown park that still looks exactly the same as I remember.
And just like that, I’m transported back in time to when I was nine years old, playing tag with my best friend and the rest of our rough and tumble crew.
So many memories—everything I once hoped to become. The seeds of my dreams were planted here, nurtured by the community of people I’ve come to miss so much.
I take in all the tiny upgrades I didn’t notice before, the new ornate streetlights and the shiny new bench in the courtyard by the Phantom’s statue. It’s so beautiful, they’ve managed to preserve the historic charm and bring it back to life.
We roll to a stop. I can’t help but feel disappointed when Luka’s hand disappears from my thigh. He gestures to the brick building. “Here we are.”
I glance around, confused. “What exactly am I looking at?”
“I’ve been thinking about the festival,” he says, nodding toward the back of Coffee Shop, Book Store, and Bakery. “And I think I finally figured out what we can do to stand out.”
He gestures broadly. “I was thinking our downtown could use a little spicing up...”
Then, without warning, he jerks the bike around a corner, cutting through a narrow alleyway that’s definitely not street legal, and pops out on the other side of the square.
He brings us to a stop and takes off his helmet as he points to the familiar exposed brick wall. “I was thinking this would be the perfect spot for a giant mural of the Phantom.”
I shake my head. “Hang on, I think I may still be drunk. Did you just say you want me to paint a mural ? Here?”
“Yes.”
I blink at him. “You’re asking me to paint a mural on Restaurant. The historic building that your brother loves more than anything. After you served jail time for doing just that?”
He nods, a wicked grin spreading over his lips. “Exactly.”
“Have you lost your mind?” I shake my head. “Luka, I can’t do that.”
“Look, Scout, I really hate to bring this up right now…” He clicks his tongue, idly spinning the ring on his finger. “But you kind of owe me.”
I feel all the air deflating from my chest. Of course. I should’ve known he’d use this against me.
His smile grows wider, and he knows he’s got me. “I think it’s rather poetic. Don’t you?”
I roll my eyes and blow out a breath. “Yeah, looks like we’ve come full circle.”