Chapter 10
ten
. . .
Lucas
“So, when, exactly, were you planning to tell me you had a thing for my sister?”
Austin drops this question casually as he sets down his beer on the high-top table at Barney’s Beanery. We’re in a back corner where no one is likely to recognize either of us: him as a famous baseball star or me as the newly viral half of Hollywood’s most unexpected marriage.
“It wasn’t exactly planned,” I say, focusing intently on the menu I’ve seen a hundred times before.
“No shit.” Austin laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Vegas wedding? Surprisingly off-brand for you, Mr. Always-Has-A-Strategy.”
Unlike his sister, Austin has an easygoing nature that makes it impossible not to like him.
We were good friends and teammates at USC.
He was always quick with a joke in the dugout, but deadly serious on the mound.
That same duality is present now as he studies me with eyes that are eerily similar to Jess’s.
“Look,” I say, setting the menu down. “It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
I hesitate, calculating how much to reveal. Jess and I agreed to keep the truth between us, Grant, and our attorneys, but Austin is different. He’s family—her family—and if we’re going to pull this off, I need him on our side.
Still, I can’t risk putting Jess’s inheritance in jeopardy if word gets out, especially if her trust has conditions her siblings could or could not have.
“We’ve had feelings for each other for a while,” I begin, surprised at how easily the half-truth rolls off my tongue. “Been getting closer over the past few months.”
“Bullshit. She was bitching about you shutting down her questions at that Wonderland press junket three weeks ago.”
I can’t help but smile. “That’s kind of our thing. Professional antagonism, personal attraction.”
Austin looks skeptical but motions for me to continue.
“The alcohol probably accelerated the monogamy plans,” I concede, “but I’m not mad about it.”
I take a long pull of my beer. “I’ve always admired her professionally. Even when she’s making my job harder, she’s doing it because she cares about the truth.”
This, at least, is completely honest. Despite our constant professional clashing, I’ve never questioned Jess’s integrity.
“And personally?” Austin presses.
“You really want to hear this?”
“Not particularly, but as her brother, I feel obligated to assess your intentions.”
I lean forward and lower my voice, despite the privacy of our corner.
“The first time I saw her in that stadium tunnel, I was instantly attracted to her. It wasn’t just physical, though, obviously—” I catch Austin’s warning look.
“Right, not going there. But she had this fire, this absolute certainty about what she was doing and why it mattered.”
“And then?”
“And then it went south fast. We both said things and had our professional pride wounded. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her for weeks afterward.” I stare into my beer, surprised by the ring of truth in what was supposed to be a cover story. “And I guess, apparently, for all this time.”
Austin studies me for a long moment. “You’re either a better actor than I gave you credit for, or there’s some truth in there.”
“Does it matter? We’re married now.”
“It matters to me because she’s my sister.” He leans forward. “Jess doesn’t let people in easily. Not since Mom died.”
“She mentioned that,” I say quietly. “About your mom.”
Austin looks surprised. “She told you about Mom? Voluntarily?”
I nod, remembering how carefully she’d folded the Pearl Jam T-shirt, how her voice had softened when she’d shared how her mother had been a journalist, too.
“Huh.” Austin sits back. “She doesn’t talk about Mom with just anyone.”
“I’m not just anyone. I’m her husband.” The word still feels foreign on my tongue, like a language I’m learning to speak.
“That’s on paper. I’m talking about in here.” He taps his chest. “Jess puts on a tough act, the fearless journalist who doesn’t flinch from asking the hard questions, but you know what she does after every major story breaks?”
I shake my head.
“She calls me and asks if she did the right thing. If the story was worth whatever fallout it caused.” Austin picks at the label on his beer bottle. “She cares so much about the impact of her work that she loses sleep over it, but she’ll never let the subject of her reporting see that doubt.”
That catches me off guard.
The Jess I know, or thought I knew, is all confident swagger and unflinching determination. The idea of her second-guessing herself doesn’t fit the image she projects.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because if this is real, and the jury’s still out on that, you need to know who you married. Not just the public version.”
He fixes me with a level gaze. “And if it’s not real, if this is some weird PR stunt or whatever, then I’m warning you now, don’t break her heart.”
My throat goes a little dry. For the first time, it hits me: she’s Jess Lexington-Carmichael now.
She has my name.
It was just a legal formality, a check box on some paperwork, but suddenly, it feels bigger than that.
He’s trusting me. She’s trusting me. And I’m not sure what the hell to do with that.
“Break her heart? She’s more likely to break mine.” I say.
Austin just gives me a knowing look. “You’d be surprised.”
We spend the next hour catching up on safer topics like his rehab progress, mutual teammates from USC, and the current baseball season, before he checks his watch and announces he has a physical therapy appointment.
“It was good seeing you, man,” he says as we part ways outside. “Weird circumstances, but good.”
“You, too. Your slider looked deadly before the injury. You’ll get it back.”
“That’s the plan.” Austin hesitates. “And Lucas? Whatever’s really going on with you and Jess? Just be careful with each other, ok?”
I nod, giving him a tight smile before heading for my car. The conversation has left me off-balance with too many half-truths and too many feelings I’m not ready to face.
My phone buzzes just as I slide behind the wheel. “MOM” flashes on the screen.
With my dad, every call feels like an obligation, a test, a power play I didn’t agree to but will somehow still lose.
But my mom? She’s different.
She’s the reason I haven’t cut ties completely. She’s the tether that pulls me back in, even when I swear I’m done.
I take a breath and answer. “Hi, Mom.”
“Lucas, darling.” Her voice is warm and composed, polished like silver but not cold. It’s a voice that has comforted foreign dignitaries and family friends alike. “I was just checking in about the gala. Your father mentioned you hadn’t RSVP’d yet.”
Of course he did.
The Carmichael Foundation Gala. Black tie, donor schmoozing, political networking disguised as charity.
“I’ll be there,” I say, starting my car.
“Wonderful. When do you think you’ll be up to visit? A few days before, perhaps? The Bishops will be there, of course, and Madeline has been asking about you.”
Of course she has. Despite my unplanned Vegas elopement, my father is clearly still pushing the Carmichael-Bishop merger.
“Actually, Mom, I’ll be bringing someone with me.”
A beat of silence. “Oh? Instead of Madeline?”
“Yes. My wife.”
The word slips out before I realize it, and something shifts in my chest. My wife. Jess. Jessica Carmichael. The name has a rhythm to it I hadn’t noticed before.
My mother is silent long enough that I check to see if the call dropped.
“Mom?”
“Your wife,” she repeats carefully. “I thought your father said you were arranging an annulment.”
“Nope,” I say. A beat of silence follows.
“I see.” Her tone is unreadable. “Lucas, are you happy?”
The question catches me off guard. My mother has always been the perfect political spouse. She’s supportive, elegant, and unfailingly appropriate, but she’s always been my biggest supporter, even when I’ve made decisions that go against my father’s wishes.
“I am,” I answer, surprised to find I’m not entirely lying. “Jess is… She challenges me. Makes me think. She’s brilliant and fearless and completely herself, no matter the consequences.”
“You sound like you admire her very much.”
“I do.” I pause, realizing I’m revealing more than I intended. “She’s not who Dad would have chosen for me.”
“No,” my mother agrees softly, “but I’ve never cared about that as much as he does. I’ve only ever wanted my children to be happy and healthy. If Jess makes you happy, then I’m truly happy for you, and I can’t wait to meet her.”
There’s a sincerity in her voice that makes a lump form in my throat. “Thanks, Mom.”
“I’ll let your father know—”
“No,” I cut in quickly. “Let it be a surprise. I’ll handle any backlash.”
After another moment of conversation and promises to send details about our travel plans, we hang up. As I sit there, a wave of something like panic washes over me.
Christ. I’m lying to everyone.
The guilt hits harder than expected. I’ve spent my career crafting narratives, but those were for movies and talent, not my family, not people I care about. Not Austin, who shared his sister’s vulnerabilities with me out of genuine concern. Not my mother, who sounded truly happy for me.
Worse, I’m starting to believe my own spin. The truth is, parts of what I told Austin weren’t fabricated at all. I was instantly attracted to Jess eight years ago. I did think about her for weeks afterward. And when I called her my wife just now…
“It’s just proximity,” I mutter as I start the car. “A chemical reaction. Nothing more.”