Chapter 77
What am I doing?
Pa would be horrified to know this is what I’m using his advice for. Have I really lost enough hope that I’d sabotage someone else’s property and risk a fine—or worse?
Closing the cabinet, I stand up, almost too afraid to meet my own gaze in the mirror. This is what it’s come to, huh?
Lucky is leaning on the wall in the hallway when I exit. “Pretty sure you’re not meant to use the facilities at these things,” he jokes, but his eyes are scanning me worriedly.
It’s sweet that he’s concerned about me. It makes me feel about ten percent worse than I do.
“Water pressure is important to me,” I say.
With his forearm perched on the doorframe, he leans past me to take a look inside, reigniting my shame. “That’s something we have in common.”
He’s not even going to say he was right, is he?
Eager to leave, I’m almost at the door when I see a familiar face, his dark hair standing out easily above the crowd—literally a head above—and if I didn’t think Fate was laughing before, well, bumping into my most decorated coworker after being unceremoniously fired would do it.
Sterling stops and stares.
What’s really interesting though is that he isn’t looking at me. No, he’s staring straight at Lachlan as he walks over.
“Mac?” Lachlan asks, and they must really go back if he feels comfortable calling Sterling that.
“Can we talk?”
Lucky’s expression is strained. It pinches under my skin, the sight of it, ill-fitting and unfair. He’s hurt, and I need to do something about it. Find who did it. Make them apologize.
Reach out and make the pain go away.
“Now’s not a good time.”
“Okay. Look, uh …” And Sterling does something I’ve never seen him do—he pauses.
This is not a man who is without words. They’re his livelihood. But right here, right now, Lachlan—and whatever history they have—has taken them.
“I wanted to—” He cuts himself off, no longer looking at Lucky, but at me. There’s a flicker of surprise and … something else I don’t catch before it’s gone.
Lachlan shoves a hand in his pocket, drops eye contact. “Mia and I were just on our way.”
“Lucky …” Sterling takes a step forward, reaching for him but pulling back before they touch.
Oh. Oh. Well, that would explain why none of the girls at work have ever been able to score a date with him. Except Lachlan has done nothing but flirt with me all morning, so maybe this isn’t as cut and dry as I think.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say because it’s clear there’s something here they need to talk about and it won’t happen if I’m around. “I promise not to start any fires.”
For all his earlier joking, Lachlan can be intense when he wants to be. As we stand together in the cramped hallway, his eyes locked on mine, I have the urge to cover up somehow, like he’s seeing everything I’m feeling lit up in neon.
“No, I think I will worry. So sorry, love, but you’re going to have to come with me.” He looks at Sterling. “You too, it seems.”
This will be interesting.
* * *
Lucky is sprawled in the center of his sofa, arms and knees wide, looking like lord of the manor. “Aww, Mac’s gone shy.”
Sterling, who is brooding by the window, huffs out a breath like this isn’t a new accusation and he’s going to humor Lucky, which is not something I thought he was capable of.
But he’s a man who calculates his exits, and right now, he’s standing as far from the door as possible. He wants to be here. He just doesn’t really like it.
“Maybe I don’t always have to fill every silence.”
“No?” Lucky asks, a smile pulling at his mouth. “Is there anything you do want to fill?”
“Stop,” Sterling commands, but it’s marbled with fondness.
Lucky’s apartment is an extension of the man himself—aesthetically pleasing, surprisingly warm, and brimming with curiosity.
There are more records than I can count, separated by genre tabs with labels like Eardrum Destroyers and Warning: Will induce imposter syndrome.
The kitchen looks professional, full of cast iron and stainless steel that Ma would drool over.
It resembles a showroom, but there are small touches—a dish towel by the sink, a couple of spice jars left by the stove—that prove it’s a hub of contentment.
Not that there’s much of it in the air right now. Lucky is putting on a good show—I’ll give him that—but he can’t go five seconds without glancing at the line of Sterling’s back.
I take a seat in the armchair across from him. “What happened between you two?” I direct the question at Lucky—because of the two of them, he’s more likely to spill the goods.
“Oh, just your classic tale of a daft kid getting a crush on the strong and silent guy from across the pond, becoming best mates with him, and accepting that’s all they’d ever be, only for this guy to crush his heart and run off forever.”
“Jesus, Lachlan, could you be more dramatic?”
Lucky leans back, crossing his arms over his chest with a pained smile. “How would you tell it then? You kissed me, if you’ve forgotten.”
“I remember every second.”
The smile drops off Lucky’s face. The only sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall.
“Everything but my number then,” he finally says.
“What do you want me to say? I fucked up—I know that. It won’t change anything.”
“Sorry is a good start, if you give a shit.”
Sterling finally decides to join us, and I can see how much it means to Lucky for him to be the one to bridge the divide. “Of course I’m sorry. I haven’t stopped being sorry since I left. I know what I gave up. Why do you think it’s taken so long for me to come here?”
Lucky scoffs. “What happened to you? I know you’ve always been a surly bastard, but now you’re downright sour.”
“Why shouldn’t I be angry? It used to be that reporting on criminal actions put a stop to them. Now, it’s an advertisement for them. The world is in the equivalent of a ten-car pileup, and I might as well be standing on the sidelines, selling tickets.”
He pushes forcefully off his knees. “If I point out someone’s misdeeds, I’m labeled a hater.
Call out injustice, I’m performing outrage …
I don’t remember the devil having so many defenders.
Live and let live used to stand for peace and acceptance; now it’s the slogan of people who never want to be criticized.
” His chest heaves. “Of course I’m sour. ”
Sterling leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. It stretches his button-up across his shoulders and biceps, the material taut. “I’ve missed you.”
Lucky scoffs. “Couldn’t have missed me that much.”
“You’re the one who told me to go fuck myself, remember?
I’ve tried to forget you, but I couldn’t.
I’ve dialed your number, but never called.
I thought you’d moved on, that I would be dragging you back to something you didn’t want, and then it was one work assignment after another.
I was always away, and I never knew when I’d be back. I didn’t want to do that to you.”
“You gave up so easily. You didn’t even fight.”
The pain they’re holding pills over and clouds up the space between them, fills the room like smoke, thick and acrid.
“You were better off without me.”
Lucky curses. “You’ve always been such a shitty liar.”
“Only to you.” Sterling lets out a breath, smoothing his hands over his pants.
“Was it worth it?”
Sterling opens his mouth, hesitating. He never hesitates. “That case made my career.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“I’m proud of what I’ve done, and it’s been hard. I’ve almost lost my job multiple times. I’ve brought down bad people, helped class action suits, found secrets people thought were buried or burned. I’ve done good in a world where that feels increasingly impossible.”
“I know. I’m proud of you.” Lucky’s voice is soft. “Was it worth it?”
Sterling’s gaze whips up to meet mine, causing a tremor to run through me. “Don’t ask me that. I—I can’t …”
I should leave. I’m only an interloper, and I’m clearly getting in the way of them being honest with each other.
Lucky follows the trail, finds me, nods to himself.
I don’t know what it means.
He slaps his knees, walking to the kitchen. “Drink? I’m assuming you still drink that fancy shit?”
“Whatever you have works.”
He brings back a bottle of beer for each of us, but my stomach is in knots so I wave it off. Lucky shrugs and puts the extra bottle on the coffee table, handing the other to Sterling, who takes it and looks at the bottle for a long time before drinking. His eyes fall closed on the first sip.
“You’ve done well for yourself,” he says, waving a hand around the room. There are records on the wall, a Grammy on a shelf, alongside a few smaller awards. “Not that it was in any doubt.”
Lucky chuckles, something tight releasing in his chest. This will be okay—maybe. “Pretty sure Chuck would have a few words against that.”
“How is he?”
Lucky shrugs. “Good, last I heard. He’s somewhere in Ohio now—wife, kids, cats, the whole thing. It took a long time for him to come round after I left the band, but even though we’re cool now, we don’t talk much. Best I get out of him is a Christmas card.”
Sterling smiles around his next sip. “Things were easier then.”
“Things were harder too.”
“You can’t still be pissed about the party.”
“Fuck off. I can. The one time I convince you to come to a party, and he ruins it. Expected you to scuttle off back to your shadows, but when I came inside, there you were, talking up Maisey by the kitchen.”
Sterling loosens the top two buttons on his shirt. “We were partnered on an assignment. I was asking her if she needed help, not flirting.”
“I know.” Lucky smirks. “Everyone knew she had a crush on you, except you. She was pissed that she gave you all her best moves, and all you wanted to talk about was research methods.”
Sterling lowers his beer. “She put our work at risk over a flight of fancy. I wasn’t going to encourage her when the feelings were one-sided.”
Lucky gapes before laughing. “I forgot how much of an arrogant prick you were back then.”
“I don’t think caring about my education is a bad thing.”
“Here we go. Like I didn’t hear enough of this when we were in school. I bet nothing’s changed, has it? Still working till you burn out, then working some more. No parties, no dating, no fun.”
“I have fun.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I know how to.”
This time, Lucky’s whole body loosens up with laughter. He stands, taking Sterling’s empty bottle, and comes back with two more, throwing himself back on the couch with a sigh. There’s a little ghost of a smile on Sterling’s lips, smug for making a joke, pride in Lucky appreciating it.
“Gotta be honest, it’s weird, seeing you sitting here,” Lucky admits. “Ever since I moved here, I’ve been bumping up against your ghost wherever I go. Sitting at bus stops, walking down the street, staring at me from across the bar. Started to worry I wouldn’t recognize the real you anymore.”
“I could lose every memory I’ve ever made and still know you.”
My heart is pounding at the obvious pain they still feel, and it’s time I got out of here. I’m almost at the door when I hear Lucky call my name.
“Stay. Let me cook for you. As a thank-you.”
I shouldn’t. They’ve just made up, and I’m … more invested in either of them than I should be. They need a friend, and I could be that … one day, after I figure out how to handle my feelings for them.
But before I can say no, Sterling is there, holding my hand, and all thoughts of leaving burn to ash from the intensity in his gaze. “I’d like you to stay. We both would.”
Breathless, all I can do is nod.
* * *
Make Your Choice:
it’s getting hot in here* (go to 80)
I’d like to skip to the end (go to 90)
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