Chapter 5 Lucian
Lucian
The physical therapy center smells like antiseptic and dreams that died on a treadmill. I’m halfway down the parallel bars, sweat dripping into my eyes and down my spine, when her voice hits my ear like a glitter-covered hammer.
“C’mon, Luce,” she chirps brightly. “You’re doing great today!”
I’ve known this woman for seven fucking months now, and I refuse to remember her name…something ending in -ie. Carrie? Callie? Maybe Kelsey. Whichever it is, she radiates relentless positivity that should be illegal before noon.
She smiles like this place is fun, like I have not spent seven months fantasizing about throwing one of these bars through the nearest window just to escape the sight of my own struggle.
Her fingers graze my arm, and I resist the urge to recoil like a cat that hates affection.
Which is the exact opposite of Sir Sass, who loves affection, but I’m ignoring that truth.
“Lift a little higher on that left side,” she encourages. “Good. Strong and steady.”
Strong is a generous word. I grunt in response, because wasting breath on small talk feels like a luxury any time I’m in this building.
Focus.
Pretend you’re not broken.
The memory of the first day here slams into me—I was so angry and high on painkillers.
There’s a vivid memory of trying to rip the bar out of the floor so no one would see me fall.
My best friend, Orion, was with me the entire time.
He was silent, pretending to be unfazed, jaw ticking like the whole world was held together by willpower and duct tape.
“You’re too damn stubborn to stay down,” he’d said at the end.
I’d wanted to punch him.
He wasn’t wrong.
I hear his voice again, and this time it’s not a memory. “Looks like they haven’t broken you yet.”
I look up, and there he is: Orion Smith, soldier-built and annoyingly handsome, the type of man who carries a whole personality in the way he folds his arms. He fills the doorway like he owns the light. For a second, my chest forgets how to behave. God, I missed him.
I would never say that out loud. I would rather be shot again than hand him that small, dangerous truth.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Why are you here?”
He moves closer with that stupid confident stride like the world is his hallway. “Checking if you finally stopped being a stubborn bastard.”
“I’m still breathing, aren’t I?”
“Barely,” he says, smirking. Bastard.
Before I can answer, movement flickers in my peripheral vision.
Kenzie appears from the nurses’ station like a brunette alert signal.
She’s all curls and spray-tan glow and that kind of bright, effortless smile that looks rehearsed in the mirror every morning.
It is literally so big it almost feels like an accessory.
She beelines straight for Orion, clipboard hugged to her chest like a prop in a romantic comedy.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she says, all honey and professional politeness. “But this is a closed session. Clinic visits are by appointment only.”
Orion tilts his head, that disarming grin sliding into place—the one that gets him past most security checkpoints and, apparently, physical therapists. “Good thing I’m practically family. I’m Orion. It’s so nice to meet you.”
She laughs, soft and practiced. “Hi, I’m Kelsey. Even family needs preapproval.” Her hand finds his arm, and she leans in just a little too close as she tries to steer him toward the hall.
I guess if Orion knows her name, I’m going to have to remember it. They step away, voices low, and I can tell from the tone that Orion’s already flipped the conversation. Whatever she’s saying now, it’s not a no.
When he comes back, Kelsey’s smiling wider than before, twirling her pen like she’s flirting with it. She shoots a glance at me on her way back to the desk, a look between curious and smug. Great. Just what I need.
“I see you made a new friend,” I say under my breath as she walks back to her perch.
“Friend implies mutual interest,” he grumbles. “I think she wants to climb me like a tree.”
I snort. “So she’s just the latest casualty in your charm offensive.”
He doesn’t dignify that with a response, just drops down onto the bench beside me. He sits with his legs spread and his elbows on his knees, a posture of pure confidence and quiet menace. I, on the other hand, feel like a rusted hinge trying to hold itself together.
He studies me for a beat too long. The guy’s never just here. There’s always a mission, a motive, or a message I’m not going to like.
“You know I hate it when you look like that,” I mutter, not bothering to hide my irritation.
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve been sitting on a secret and can’t wait to rope me into whatever insanity you’re planning on causing.”
He smirks, and it’s enough to confirm my suspicions.
“Relax. It’s not a secret; I got approval from your doctor and physical therapist. She sure is something.” He says with a grimace.
I grunt in response. My therapist has been telling me to practice patience.
I’ve been practicing. It hasn’t helped.
“Your doctor said you’re healing better than expected. Your strength is up, your balance is improving, blah blah blah. All I care about is that they said you’re good to travel.”
My stomach twists, instinctively bracing for the rest.
“Travel?” I echo, trying not to get suspicious. It’s just so hard not to when he looks at me that way.
“Yeah. Nashville. You and I are going on a boys’ trip this weekend to Umbra’s next show.”
And there it is.
The name hits like a sucker punch straight to the ribs.
Umbra.
I don’t even have to say her name to feel it. Celeste.
I know she works with them in some kind of creative role, though she never said much about what exactly.
She always kept that part of her life close to the chest, like it was fragile, or dangerous, or both.
I never pushed. I know Umbra is secretive, and I didn’t want to get her in trouble.
I was just happy to be part of the small pieces of her life she did let me have.
Until I threw it away.
Even thinking her name hurts.
Seeing her might destroy me.
Not seeing her might destroy me in a different way.
I still remember waking up disoriented in the hospital to the sterile smell and the ache that swallowed everything. After I pushed her way, the quiet hum of machines filled the silence where her voice should’ve been.
She tried to see me when she found out about the accident, but I wouldn’t let her.
I couldn’t stand the thought of her seeing what was left of me. I didn’t want to watch her face when she realized half a man was all she’d get. So I made it easy for her to hate me; it was easier than watching her pity me.
Now Orion’s saying her band’s name like it’s nothing. Like he hasn’t just ripped open seven months’ worth of scar tissue.
And of course it’s nothing for him. He didn’t know about the secret relationship I had with his sister.
“You’re serious?” I ask, and my voice comes out rougher than I’d like.
“Dead serious. I already booked our flights. We leave on Wednesday.”
He says it like it’s simple. Like I haven’t spent half a year trying to walk without a limp and breathe without regret. Like stepping into a stadium where she might be, a place where I could accidentally run into her, won’t gut me from the inside out.
“You booked flights?” I ask, mostly to buy time so I can think of an excuse not to see Celeste. I’m not ready.
“Do you seriously think I’m gonna squeeze into a rental car with your giant ass for eleven hours? Of course, I booked flights. First class, so we can stretch our legs with minimal suffering.”
I snort despite myself.
He claps his hands once, like it’s all decided. “So, pack your shit. We’re going.”
I groan and drag a towel across my neck, sweat cooling on my skin. The last thing I want to do is be dragged to a concert filled with reminders of her. I know Orion. If I say no, he’ll find another way.
And maybe, God help me, maybe I’m tired of hiding.
Tired of the quiet, the therapy sessions, the “progress” charts that make healing look like something you can graph.
Still, it feels too raw and too soon, but it’s been seven months.
“You sure this is a good idea?” I ask quietly. My voice comes out more vulnerable than I mean for it to.
Orion doesn’t answer right away. He studies me like he’s searching for cracks in a wall he watched me rebuild. “No, but sometimes the good ideas don’t get us anywhere. The bad ones, the ones that scare the shit out of us, those are the ones that push us forward.”
I hate that that makes sense, and that he’s right.
He usually is. That’s the problem with being friends with a man who thinks logic is therapy and emotional repression is a hobby.
He stands and taps his knuckles lightly against my shoulder; it’s our form of a hug. The wordless, immovable kind of loyalty that says I’ve got you without needing to be said.
“We’re going,” he repeats. “Pack anyway, Lucy.”
“I have a cat, I can’t just up and leave him.” I blurt out before I can think better of it, I need an excuse not to go to this concert. I am not ready to potentially face Celeste.
He freezes, mid-step. “You have a what?”
The regret is instant and absolute. I should’ve come up with a different excuse.
“It’s not a big deal, I just can’t take off without notice like I used to,” I grumble.
Orion blinks like I just confessed to joining a cult. “You? Lucian Sterling, emotional wall of doom, patron saint of isolation, got a cat?”
“I was at the shelter planning on getting a dog.”
“A dog? What stopped you?”
I glance toward the floor, jaw flexing. “The cat.”
“Uh-huh,” Orion says. “And what’s this cat’s name?”
“It’s not important.”
He smirks. “Come on.”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Oh, you’re definitely telling me.”
I exhale through my nose, already regretting this conversation. “Fine. His name is Sir Sassafras.”
Orion blinks once. Then again. “Sir Sassafras?”
“The Sassy Ass Cat,” I mutter before I can stop myself.