Chapter 26 Lucas
lucas
Her lips part as she blinks slowly, trying to process what I said. “W-what?” She finally gets out.
I get it, truly. A guy who found his mom dead in her home a month ago should be rioting, throwing things, something other than spending all my time with her, so I don’t drink myself to sleep. But I’m past it, I’ve accepted it for what it is.
And honestly, I’m relieved. I’m relieved she’s gone, that she’s no longer suffering. But I do want answers. I do want to know why she was on the ranch, what ties she had, and if her knowing Ms. Anna is the reason I ended up here all those years ago. “I have questions, but you aren’t your father.”
I slowly stand, my eyes locked on her. “I need you to hear me when I say this.” I pause, waiting for her to raise her head. “I don’t blame you. But I do need some time to process everything.”
Years of silence, and her death uncovers more secrets than I thought possible. Sure, I knew she had a life before my dad died. She’d go to work, come home, and sing while she made dinner. But I don’t think I ever knew what she did.
There’s a collection of things I pulled from Ms. Anna’s house when I remodeled it. I promised myself I wouldn’t go through it without Lettie, but the need for answers overrules the promise I’d made myself.
I don’t register my surroundings as I walk back to my house.
It’s like I’m climbing a mountain, the oxygen thinner than it should be.
The effort it takes to move my body seems to get harder with every step.
I all but stumble into the house, locking the door behind me.
I swipe the unopened bottle of tequila I hid in one of the fake plants by my stairs and head to my room, where my safe is tucked safely in the corner of my closet.
My finger shakes as I hold it up to the biometric scanner.
It beeps before the lock disengages. I stand in front of the big black metal box, shaking as I wrestle with what to do.
Drink what’s in my hand, or face the music.
Take a step toward healing, or take a step back into destruction.
I think of Lettie, of what our future would look like if I pick destruction.
Would there even be a future if I took that route?
I don’t know, but it’s not a risk I’m willing to take.
No matter how bad moving forward may hurt.
I pull the shoebox out and put the bottle in its place.
I dig through the pile of pictures and receipts until I find the picture Abby had sent to Lettie.
My mom, holding me on her hip, a baby cowboy hat perched on top of my head, as I reach for the necklace hanging from her neck.
She’s looking at Ms. Anna with a huge smile on her face, while Ms. Anna is staring at me, a smile equally as blinding.
I flip the picture over, my finger brushing against my mom’s handwriting.
“Anna, thanks for loving my boy like your own. I know this isn’t his fight, but I know you’ll take care of him should they come for us.
Thank you for being our best friend. I know the circumstances we met under weren’t ideal, but you’ve been family since day one.
We love you. -Emily and Jackson Monroe.”
They were friends? Not just friends, but best friends…
I dig through the box, pulling out paper after paper. Ms. Anna kept receipts that were years old. This one is faded as all get out, but I can still faintly make out the last two numbers of the year, 76. I set the pile of papers down next to me as I dig my fingers into my temples.
I pull the last paper out of the box, the handwriting looking familiar but so foreign at the same time. “Midland, TX 1997. Thorne contract Failure.”
I pull out my phone and do a search for what's written here and come up with nothing. I shrug, putting everything back in the box before I lock it back up in the safe. Maybe Lettie will know what it means, not that either of us were old enough to know anything, but that’s where she’s from.
It could have been a big thing, part of the city's history, or something.
When I’m done, I put the box away, making eye contact with the bottle I swore I’d leave in here.
I grab it by the neck and place it on my bedside table.
I fall back onto my bed, starfishing as I stare at the ceiling.
I try to keep the darkness at bay, it’s easier to do when Lettie’s around.
She’s always been the light that chases away my dark, but right now I need to process.
I need to process the fact that there’s something big enough to kill my mom over, hiding in the walls of this place.
I need to process the fact that her father killed my mom over whatever it is.
But I also need to process the fact that I’m going to have to go out of town at some point, and it’ll be a cold day in hell before she agrees to travel with me.
The last time I brought it up, she tried to retreat. To throw her walls back up, and I don’t want that. I can’t handle that right now. I need her. I need my girl.
My thoughts are all over the place, like a game of pinball, bouncing from one thing to the next. Each thought heavier and darker than the one before, and I just want them to be quiet for a second. So I drink myself to sleep for the first time in weeks. I can hate myself tomorrow.
My heart is pounding, tequila-scented sweat pours from my body as I skate my fiftieth suicide. My legs feel like jelly, my lungs burn, and my hangover is monstrous. “What are you doing here?” Abby’s voice cuts through the silence like a machete.
“The hell does it look like I’m doing?” I yell as I push off my back skate, propelling myself further down the ice.
She steps out onto the shiny surface, arms crossed over her chest, as she watches me go back and forth two more times. “Looks like you’re going to end up on my table before the next game.”
I slide to a stop in front of her, spraying her with ice. If it pisses her off, she doesn’t show it, just brushes it off her sleeve. “What do you want, Abby?”
Her face softens, and I hate it, I hate the pity rolling off her in tangible waves. “Don’t.” I grit out as I take off toward the other side of the ice. I don’t know how many laps I skate before I look up and notice she’s gone. Good. I want to be alone, that’s why I’m here before six am.
I brace my arms on the boards, grab my water from the bench, and spray the back of my head as it hangs heavy in front of me.
I’m smacked in the ass with a stick, and my eyes shoot open.
Samuels doesn’t say anything, just hands me my stick and nods toward the other end of the ice where half my team stands.
“We’ll get through it together. Move,” he says before he joins the rest of them.
I love this team, these guys. They’ve been my family for nine years, they’ve put up with my songs, my ridiculous ideas, me.
Reed skates over, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck as he taps his head against mine like we do when one of us scores.
“You need to work through your shit, you call us.” He squeezes before pulling away and looking at me. “Got it?”
I give him a stiff nod, and he responds with a downright devious smile. “Good, go get in line. We’ve got drills to run.”
No one speaks as we run drill after drill with less enthusiasm than we would if we were geared up for practice, and by the end of it, we’re all breathless and tired. Most of my teammates file off the ice without a word, but Sammy skates back up to my side, tapping my shin with his stick.
“Want to talk about it?” he asks as we skate a lazy lap.
I look at him, really look at him, his lip ring glints in the low light of the rink, but he’s not in his usual over-enthusiastic mood.
I let out a scoff, tapping my stick off the front of my skates.
“Not really, I just had a rough night. A momentary lapse of judgement. I should have called someone to work through. But I just... gave in. ”
“Not all days are going to be good days, you know?” We round the corner, starting lap two.
I sigh as his words settle over me. “I’m still supposed to grieve, no? Make progress.”
I don’t tell him that I was starting to feel okay until Lettie showed me that picture, and it stirred up so many different feelings. What part of my life after my dad died has been real? Was Lettie and I meeting somehow orchestrated, and I just believed it was fate my entire life?
He slides to a stop in front of me, holding up his wrist that houses the tattered bracelet he fiddles with every time we get on a plane.
He never takes it off, but he never talks about it either.
“My Millie girl.” His eyes fill with tears as he looks at it.
He’s not an emotional guy, and I itch to pull him into a hug, but I don’t think that’s what either of us needs right now.
“Cecilia begged my parents and me to let her get on that plane with us.” He sniffles, still looking at the fraying thread.
“I’ve never been more thankful that my parents wanted Millie and me to end up together as badly as we wanted to be together ourselves.
Mom told Cecy we needed privacy. She could come with us next time. ”
He starts skating again. I follow suit. “She made this for me on that flight. It went down twenty miles from where we were meant to land.” He swallows, throat bobbing as a tear escapes. “There was nothing I could do.”
My chest aches as I watch the resident shit stirrer wipe a tear from his face. His entire personality makes a heck of a lot more sense once you know what he’s trying to bury. “Sammy…”
He shakes his head, dropping his hand to his side. “My point is, I drown the memory in alcohol and women every chance I get, and that happened when I was fifteen.”
He stops next to me again, this time putting his hand on my shoulder. “There is no right or wrong way to grieve, man. It’s different for everyone. But you’ve been grieving her loss for years. Now it’s just permanent.”
Who would have thought I’d be getting words of advice from him? Sure, he’s one of my best friends, but he only lets you see what he wants you to see and hides everything else under the facade of “playboy.”
I guess we’re not so different. He’s right, I have been grieving for a long time. I’ve just hid it behind my desire to make sure none of my friends ever felt the way I felt. Lost, alone, and abandoned.
“You have every right to be angry, Monroe. It’s okay to work it out on the ice. In fact, I’m sure coach would love nothing more than a slightly more aggressive version of you when we go out of town after New Year's.”
My chuckle rumbles in my chest. I’m sure he would.
“But, and I know I’m being a hypocrite to the tenth degree here, you aren’t alone, and you don’t have to shoulder this by yourself, either.
You’ve got us, we’ll carry you as long as we need to.
” He stops, looking at something over my shoulder, smirking before he looks back at me.
“More importantly, you have her.” He points at the glass, and there, on the other side, is Lettie, wrapped up in the hoodie I pulled over her head the last time she was here.
My chest seizes, heart skipping a beat, not that I’m not happy to see her, but I’m not exactly ready to face her disappointment.
When she steps up to the open door, I see her skates already attached to her feet. Her timing is lethal, or maybe perfect. The exact thing I need right now. I can’t tell anymore.
My smile breaks through the heaviness that’s been following me around this morning. It's a reflex, an instinct when she’s involved. As I skate toward her, my hand extends, sliding to a slow stop in front of her.
“Hey, Lettie Girl.” Her eyes are red-rimmed, as is the tip of her nose, but somehow, she still smiles as her hand slides into mine. I don’t deserve her softness today. Not right now.
She takes a second to find her balance, “Abby called. I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”
She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, clearly nervous that I’ll tell her to leave. “I know you said you needed some time, but she said you needed me, and I couldn’t…”
She sighs, shaking her head as she pulls her hand from mine and crosses her arms over her chest. A tiny part of me panics at the loss of contact.
“I couldn’t just leave you. I couldn’t stay away knowing you were hurting.
And I’m sorry if that makes you mad, but I just can’t do it, Lucas. You mean way too much to me.”
For a moment, I stand before her, wondering how I got here.
How I let myself slip back into the dark after being good for weeks.
Shame and guilt swirl like poison in my gut, so acidic it threatens to choke me.
She has no idea how close I came to losing myself again.
How easy it still is to reach for the neck of good ole’ Don. How much I despise that it is.
I want to tell her, I want to beg her to never leave me alone again.
But that would be counterproductive. I need to be able to stand on my own.
Instead, I bring my hand to her cheeks, dragging her closer to me.
My lips slant against hers, swallowing the rest of her words before they undo me completely.
She melts into me, my hand moves to rest on the small of her back, pressing her further into me. My tongue sliding against the seam of her lips, she opens for me as she slides her hands into my hair.
I laugh against her when she recoils, “I’m sweaty, sorry.”
When her hand wraps around the back of my neck, the other finds purchase against my cheek as we lose ourselves in one another. I allow myself to feel it. Not run from it, not hide behind her. Just... feel.
The guilt doesn’t vanish. It lingers behind my ribs, even as I deepen the kiss. No one tells you how bad healing hurts, and maybe that’s what this is. Pain with a greater purpose.
When we pull away, we’re alone, our heated breath making little clouds between us. I’ll have to thank my teammates for letting me have a minute with her. Although I’m sure they knew exactly what I needed.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Her eyes widen, “Really?”
“Yeah,” I say, the truth settling over me with surprising clarity. “Really.”
I take her hands, pulling her across the ice. Her confusion morphs into something brighter the faster we start to move, until eventually her arms are out to the side, my hands on her hips as I push her from behind. “Weee!” she yells, and I can’t help the laugh that falls from me.
The world could be burning to ash around me, and as long as she was here, I’d see nothing but her. Her laugh is novacaine, numbing me to the pain of life that exists outside of her. “I could really go for a grilled cheese,” I whisper into her ear.
Her head tilts back, a smile gracing her face as she nods. “Me too.”