Chapter 2 #3
I scan the two of them with renewed interest. Maybe I need to ask this woman—someone he’s known for days, if not hours—for some lessons on how to handle my best friend I’ve known half my life.
For now, the safest bet is a subject change.
“So has my boy here told you about his other passion?” I ask Callie.
“You mean, besides music?”
Luke shoots me an annoyed look. “It’s not a passion.”
I almost laugh. “You have eight of them.”
“I like them.”
“Exactly. It’s a passion.”
“And it is what?” Callie asks, interrupting our debate.
“Bikes,” I say.
“Bikes? Like bike bikes, or motorbikes?”
Her expression triggers a strange warmth inside me. There’s an innocence about her that’s mesmerizing when juxtaposed against the fearless rock she’s been throughout the rest of the conversation.
Everything Luke said about this girl comes racing back in a punch to the heart. I can’t resist the urge to tease her and draw more of her sweet fire .
“Motorbikes? I love this girl,” I say to Luke. “Where did you find her? She’s like my grandma in the body of a cute college chick.”
I live for the delightful glare she lasers at me. “I’m sorry, but maybe if you used more adjectives I wouldn’t have to ask so many stupid questions.”
“Adjectives? Sorry, hon, the writing part was his thing, not mine.”
“That’s obvious,” she mumbles, but the subtle tilt of her mouth, the glint in her eyes… Is she flirting with me?
Damn. A sensation I haven’t felt in a long time sizzles through my body.
“Luke is awesome with adjectives,” I return.
“He is. One of the best.”
Even Luke smiles with an amused headshake.
“Wow, thanks, guys,” he says in a dry tone.
“He also sucks at taking compliments,” I say.
“How’s that possible? Isn’t a love of being worshipped part of the superstar thing?” Callie quips. That barb was definitely for me, not Luke, and I can’t stop a sly grin.
“It’s supposed to be,” I return.
“Just let me know if you need me to weigh in on anything about myself,” Luke interjects.
He and Callie exchange an affectionate smile that sends a sharp twinge through my chest.
I swallow the strange feeling in irritation. I’ve lived in Luke’s shadow for over a decade. Watched him get everything he wanted, and even the things he didn’t. Never once was I jealous.
Until now.
“Actually, I’ll make it even easier for you to talk about me and hit the restrooms,” Luke says, rising from the table. “I’ll be back.”
Callie and I watch in silence as he disappears down a hall, presumably toward the bathrooms. The heaviness is back in his gait, and any lingering resentment fades into familiar fear.
“He’s not good, is he?” I muse out loud. I don’t even know to whom. The universe maybe. It’s already betrayed him so many times, I’m positive it doesn’t give a shit.
“No, he’s not,” Callie answers on its behalf.
My hard gaze remains fixed on the wall as the last few months come flooding back. The urge to unload some of the burden on this stranger is so strong, I have to clench my jaw to keep it in. Luke said she doesn’t know his story, and it’s impossible to separate mine from his.
Besides, it’s not fair to her. She’s working so hard to unravel Luke’s mess and carry his burden. I can’t give her mine too.
A sudden protectiveness settles over me for this girl who probably has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.
Luke’s changed so much, I barely recognize him as the man I knew.
That means there’s no way this stranger knows the shitstorm she’s invited into her life.
The way she looks at him—like he’s an important part of her life—concerns me.
I can’t tell if she’s falling for him beyond that, but I’m terrified this kind, beautiful woman is going to be an innocent casualty before this is over.
I can’t stomach the thought of someone being crushed for their compassion—especially this someone.
“You know, I’ve barely seen or spoken to him in months,” I say quietly. “Last night, today, it’s the first time I’ve really spent time with him in a while. He’s not the person I knew. Not even close.”
It’s kind of a lie, since I haven’t spoken to him at all in months, but that seems like a truth just for Luke and me. Plus, I don’t know. For some reason I don’t want her to know how far we’ve drifted.
“And I can’t even imagine him being the person you knew,” Callie says .
“We both know two completely different people.”
Her gaze skims me in surprise, like she didn’t expect my response. Probably thought I was a shallow, self-absorbed rocker. The thought hurts more than it should.
“It appears so,” she says.
“He wasn’t a good person, Callie. It wasn’t all his fault, he had a lot going against him, but he wasn’t.”
I hate saying that. I hate the way she deflates and how I’ve chipped off part of her hope, but she deserves the truth. If she’s going to stand by him, she needs to know.
Her eyes search mine, and a flicker of hope spreads through me when she softens.
“I think he might be now.”
God, I hope so. I need something to cling to.
“I think he might be, too,” I say. “I really do… If he recovers.”
“If?”
“He’s not good, Callie. Luke’s been like a brother for over ten years, and I’m telling you, he’s not good.”
She flinches and looks away, but I don’t regret what I said. She needs to hear this.
Fuck. I need to hear this.
“People are drawn to him. They always have been. It’s hard to stay grounded when you’re adored. It was harder for him than most because I don’t think he’s wired to be adored. He didn’t know how to deal with it, and it all happened so fast for us once it hit.”
Old images flood my brain.
Clusters of flashing lights. Fake smiles. Scripted lies. Pretenders. Manipulators. Opportunists. Headlines. Lawsuits. Handcuffs.
“I can’t do this anymore! Please, Casey. I just need it to stop!”
Callie’s gaze shifts to the hallway that swallowed Luke a few minutes ago.
“Is that why he left? He couldn’t handle it anymore?”
I pull in a quick breath. That part isn’t mine to share .
She seems to understand my hesitation and offers a subtle nod. The strange protectiveness spreads through me again, and I lean forward with an urgency that surprises me.
“You seem like a cool person and it’s obvious you care about him. All I’m saying is don’t fall for him. Please.”
Her big hazel eyes probe mine. “Are you worried about me or him?”
“Both. He can’t be worshipped right now. He needs an anchor, not a dreamer.”
She shrinks like I hit her.
Dread sinks through me that it’s already too late. Of course she’s fallen for him. They all do.
A sick feeling curdles in my stomach.
“I understand,” she says finally.
Any further response is cut off by Luke’s return. His expression is casual as he rounds the corner, still wiping excess water on his jeans.
“So did I miss anything good?” he asks.
His light tone is strained. His eyes hold the suspicion of someone who knows he was the topic of conversation.
“Nope. In fact we learned you know a lot more about yourself than we do, apparently,” Callie says.
Luke returns a polite smile that means nothing. “Well, since we’re sharing, I learned the third sink in the men’s room doesn’t work.”
An awkward silence falls over us, and we all seem grateful when the server approaches with our food. That exchange was going nowhere good.
Callie’s mouth quirks in a smile as she studies her French toast. The sight releases a vise from around my chest. Her light is freaking infectious.
“I like the powdered sugar. Nice touch,” I say, half-teasing, half-seeking her attention .
She rewards me with a mischievous smile like she knows. “It’s not too much, but just enough to add a hint of sweetness.”
“Exactly. With the syrup, it would have been too sweet if they used any more.”
“It’s incredible, huh, that powdered sugar,” Luke cuts in. “They must have invested a lot of hours perfecting this particular application. Do you think they commissioned a full research study or just went with the classic focus group?”
He crosses a knowing look between us, and a wry smile slips out. “You were talking about me, weren’t you. Of course you were.”
“We care about you,” I say.
“What did he tell you?” he asks Callie. It’s clear from his expression he thinks I betrayed him.
My stomach grinds with anger and resentment. I love the guy, but I’m not a saint. I have limits too. Feelings. A fucking shattered heart and life god knows I’m still piecing back together.
“C’mon, man. Nothing,” I defend.
Callie looks concerned. “Seriously, Luke. Nothing. You have a good friend here.”
“Right… You know, just once it would be nice if people stopped treating me like a mental patient,” Luke spits out.
“Then maybe you should stop acting like one,” I fire back.
Luke shoots me a glare.
“Yeah? Well, I don’t remember asking you to stop in and check up on me. I don’t want you guys dropping in on me because I don’t need a nurse.”
He can’t be serious.
“ Check up on you? I’m not checking up on you! You’re my best friend, my brother! And I thought I was yours. Sorry if I’m supposed to be okay with you just disappearing from my life, but I’m not!”
“You know what? This was obviously a mistake. ”
“What? Becoming human again for five minutes?”
My fists clench around the napkin in my lap, but it does nothing to temper the simmering anger starting to boil over. I shove it back down with a long breath.
“Look, I get it. You had a rough road,” I continue. “But it’s time to get back up and move on. You think you’re the only one who’s suffering? You think yours was the only life ruined? You know that’s not fair, and if anyone can understand this, it’s me.”
My heart is pounding, my blood thick with pain and emotion I can’t begin to sort out.
Flashes of cold rain.
Sodden earth.
The horror of watching your best friend die.
The terror of knowing you’re about to follow.
“And anyway, what about the other guys, huh? What about your band, your friends ? What about our dreams and lives that got all messed up when you walked away and left us with a shell of what we could’ve been?
Do you ever think about that? You think we want to be playing nightclubs and opening for singing competition winners when we were booking stadiums a year ago?
The Calisto Festival? God, what a joke.”
I slam my napkin on the table. “At some point suffering gets old and is just selfish. Call me when you’re ready to be friends again.”
I launch to my feet and escape before I say something there’s no coming back from. The agony on Luke’s face while I exploded on him is already choking me with guilt.
He hates himself. I know this.
He sabotages any attempt to get close to him. I know this too.
And still I let my anger get the best of me.
A blast of fresh air when I storm outside immediately cools my temper. I have no idea what to do next as I hover on the sidewalk. My head is spinning with emotions. Remorse. Regret. Fucking relief.
I’d been sitting on that poison for so long. For ten seconds, it felt good to let it out. To bring him into my pain for one damn second.
But now, standing in the silent aftermath, knowing I just crushed a man who’d already pulverized himself to nothing, only the remorse remains. He may have deserved that, but it didn’t fix anything. And now I’ve done the opposite of what I came to this city to do.
Maybe that’s the insight I’ve been looking for. Maybe my answers are in the questions.
Did I come here for Luke or myself?
What kind of man is Casey Barrett?
What kind of man do I want to be?
I run a hand through my hair, paralyzed by regret and the constant fear I’ve been carrying since the day I learned my childhood “normal” wasn’t okay. I’ve spent the last decade fighting fate. Trying to be better than what the world expects of me, given my hard past and harder present.
Every instinct tells me to book an earlier flight and leave Luke to his misery. No one would blame me for running back to my own mess I’ve been trying so hard to survive.
But when I reach for my phone, I can’t shake the image of bright hazel eyes. A smile that has no business in our disaster, yet plunged head-first for reasons I still don’t understand. If her light is strong enough to break through Luke’s clouds, maybe there’s hope for my own.
Maybe I can be the man I want to be, the man I feared had died with my sister.
So instead of pulling out my phone, I turn right and start walking.
Past the independent bookstore and rusted bike rack. Past the pawn shop advertising lottery tickets and the bench in desperate need of a paint job.
I walk and keep walking.
Two blocks, then three, toward a luxury hotel with an empty suite on the fourth floor.
I’m not sure if I came here for Luke or myself, but I’m staying for hope—thanks to an angel named Callie.