Chapter 31 Luke
Luke
We drove along the coast, windows down, the car filling with sunlight and the sharp, briny scent of the sea.
It reminded me of childhood vacations with my parents, but the vibe was different.
Back then, I didn’t fully understand the relationship my parents had, but I knew it wasn’t loving.
No lavish spending could make up for the absence of love.
The stiffness, the awkwardness. You could always feel it in the air.
Contrary to what I was feeling now. With Hazel, it was effortless. Pure ease and comfort.
Her blond hair danced in the breeze, strands brushing against my cheek as her laughter tangled with the music.
She gathered it into a messy bun, rambling about how much hair an average person has, which somehow morphed into a conversation about how bald people can’t be manipulated by shampoo companies.
The truth was, she could’ve talked about her kidneys for all I cared. I just wanted to hear her voice. More than that, I wanted to selfishly hoard her, leaving all our past demons back home. I laced my fingers through hers and pressed a kiss to her palm.
“I love this song,” she said, closing her eyes and singing along to Snow Patrol’s Just Say Yes in the background, lost in the moment. Happy and relaxed.
Happy here. Happy with me.
I smiled unconsciously, trying to remind myself I was still driving and that I should display some self-control.
Hazel reached for her water bottle and just as she took a gulp, we hit a bump, liquid spilling into her nose. She instinctively laughed.
“Damn it. Do you have tissues?” she asked, peeling her dress from her damp skin.
“Yeah, glove compartment.” The moment she flipped it open, I remembered what I’d stashed there. She froze, pulling out the containers I’d stuffed in there days ago.
“Why do you have three EpiPens?”
“I bought them,” I admitted. There was no point in hiding them.
“Why?” she asked with a puzzled look. I met her eyes. You know why.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
“Just in case, God forbid, you need help.”
She stared at me, speechless.
“Luke, you... you didn’t have to. I...”
“I just wanted you to be safe, that’s all,” I told her the truth. Also, a truth—it scared me to death, seeing her on that bench, almost unconscious.
“They’re crazy expensive, and you bought three.” Her voice small.
“They’re crazy cheap in Europe compared to the US.”
“How did you even get them? You need a prescription.”
“I made it work,” I said, giving her a reassuring look. “I have a hundred more at home, just so you know. I even tested a few on myself. Had to understand what you feel when that rush hits.”
She blinked at me, torn between concern and amusement.
“I knew it from that cliff-jumping incident you’re just an adrenaline junkie.” She didn’t believe me, but at least I got her to laugh.
“That’s stupid and dangerous. Please don’t do that.”
“Don’t worry, my spicy little Portuguese tart,” I winked. She giggled, warming my ice-cold heart.
“I don’t know about my spiciness levels.”
“Well, you were quite spicy yesterday in the kitchen.”
She quickly glanced away, and after a moment, she murmured something like Well, you brought it out of me. Pride filled my chest, and I grinned.
We stopped at a small café overlooking the ocean. The inside was narrow and quaint, but the terrace was draped in vines, with an old piano in the corner. Mostly as a decorative piece rather than a functioning instrument.
After ordering burgers, which I thought was funny because she indeed wasn’t a salad girl, we settled in, talking and enjoying the ocean view before us. I was mostly enjoying the tattooed, clear blue-eyed view at my table.
“So, can I ask?” I said, putting the last piece of lemon pie in my mouth. She nodded. “What do you and Mady have planned for next week?”
Hazel froze for a second. I suspected not from the question itself, but from the fact I’ve heard. She looked at me for more than a few seconds, searching for something, then exhaled slowly.
“It’s silly.”
“Is it, though?” I smirked, not believing her for a second.
“My mom and I used to have this tradition.” Hazel puffed out a laugh. “Every year on her birthday, we’d go to Central Park and reevaluate our year.” Her gaze softened whenever she talked about her mom. It was sweet.
“I’m not sure if she ever explained it that way or if it was something that dawned upon me considering her health, but somehow we drew the same conclusion that good and bad things happen in our lives, but both are necessary.
And in order for the new things to come into your life, you have to let go of the old ones.
” She tucked a loose hair strand behind her ear.
“We’d each find a flat stone and write the best and worst thing that happened that year.
Although eventually, even the worst thing turned out to be something good.
Like my terrible junior-year bangs I regretted as soon as I left the hairdresser’s chair, but later was the reason we won the mother-daughter look-alike contest.”
She took out her phone and pulled up a picture of them together—ridiculous hair, both with wide smiles and hugging.
“Wow, you really do look similar.” Our fingers brushed as I took the phone, electricity zipping through me. I tried to ignore it, but stored it somewhere in my mind.
“I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was a cloudy day, but I still got sunburned. Then she forgot me in the parking lot after I ran errands for an hour,” Hazel laughed deliciously, but I froze in my seat. Hazel noticed.
“It’s okay. By then, I already knew her condition. I didn’t hold it against her. Knowledge always helped.”
But that was what gutted me. That something like that happened to her, and she didn’t mind.
She’d rationalized something that should’ve hurt.
She managed to explain to her brain something that her heart was feeling, and suddenly, the heart wasn’t angry anymore.
I wanted her to be angry. I wanted to be angry for her.
She didn’t deserve this. Not her mother dying, not her father avoiding it. Avoiding her.
I felt my muscles tense up, and a bubble stuck in my throat. Hazel placed her hand on mine, not to lighten her own load but to try to ease the weight sitting on my chest.
“It’s okay. Really.” I held her gaze. “It’s my favorite one hanging on the wall.”
She glanced at the picture again, and I noticed the small wrinkles on her cheeks. Probably from the constant smiling. How was she so... Kind? Beautiful? Functioning? I didn’t have the word, even though she was all those things.
“Mady has done this with me ever since she died.”
“She sounds like a good friend.”
Hazel nodded. “She is.”
“So, have you figured out your best and worst thing for this year?” I asked. Her lips curled slightly, her eyes saying things her mouth didn’t.
“I have some idea.” Somewhere deep in my chest, something pulled at my heartstrings. A selfish hope. That maybe this—this trip, these people—was her good thing this year. Maybe I was one of these people.
Meanwhile, the waiter arrived to collect our dishes that Hazel had already arranged neatly together, making it easier for him to collect them, I was sure.
All the plates stacked accurately by their sizes, one on the other, forks together, prongs facing the same direction, cups with their handles pushed together.
“Podia trazer a conta, por favor?” Hazel said with perfect pronunciation.
“Claro,” the waiter replied and went off. I assumed for the check. Hazel pulled out her wallet.
“I got it.”
Hazel looked at me, contemplating. She rubbed her palms under the table, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that I wouldn’t let her spend her money. But I didn’t give her a chance to fight me. “Another company perk.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
She needed it for herself. Her health. For more EpiPens? An uneasy feeling ran through my bones.
“Luke M. Davis,” she repeated the words written on my leather wallet, as I tossed it on the table.
“A gift from my father.”
“What does the M stand for?” Hazel asked, as I knew she would.
“Miles.” The corners of her lips raised. I never used the name, but seeing her smile, it somehow seemed worth having it.
“It suits you.”
“Not really,” I laughed.
“Really.” Her voice was so soft, so sure, I had no choice but to believe her.
“Do you have one?” I asked.
“What? A middle name? No, but my mom almost named me Daphne before choosing Hazel.”
“Hmm,” I smirked to myself. “Daphne, the librarian.” The sound of that amused me. We shared a look before her gaze wandered again. She had done that at least four times in the last half hour. I turned and instantly connected the dots.
“Are you a good teacher?” I asked, nodding toward the old piano in the corner. Hazel raised an eyebrow.
“No, I’m not,” she laughed.
“C’mon, teach me something,” I insisted. She shook her head, hiding a smile behind her hand. “No?”
I rose slowly, letting the challenge hang between us as I walked toward the piano. I could practically feel her eyes tracking me, her shoulders tensing. I sat, flipped the lid open, and set my fingers over the keys with an exaggerated seriousness.
I knew I was about to make a fool of myself, and I knew she knew it, too.
Hazel glanced nervously at people around us, enjoying their lunch, clearly imagining the embarrassment of me hammering out some dreadful tune.
Her lips twitched, torn between laughter and panic.
I pressed one note, deliberately off-beat, and her eyes widened.
“Okay, okay!” she burst out, rushing to my side, laughing as she grabbed my wrist. Her touch was warm, her grin helpless.
She leaned closer, light and alive, her skirt exposing her thigh, and I had to draw in a full breath.
It was completely unacceptable how much the ink covering her was affecting me.
Controlling my thoughts, my attention, my impulses. My sense of reality.