17. Luke
17
LUKE
I fucked up. I knew she was messing with me. I knew it the second she opened the door, and I saw that tight-as-fuck black dress she was wearing. I was amused at first. The way she would lower her eyes and giggle at something Travis or Ace would say and then check my face for a reaction. It was kind of cute. I kept up my scowl throughout the night to play into her little game, but then she called him Trav and told them, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn’t my girl, and a fucking switch flipped in my brain. Easy-going, casual Luke was gone, and I became a possessive asshole. I had to claim her then and there.
I’m not gonna lie. It was the single hottest experience I have ever had in my life. Making her come apart in front of them. Watching her try to hold in her little whimpers and failing miserably in the end, smashing that glass down while screaming my name. I almost came in my pants like a fucking teenager. I’m getting hard now, even thinking about it. She makes me crazy in ways I never thought possible. She’s a drug I can’t seem to get enough of. Her smile. I want to burn it into my retina, so I never forget it. Her laugh. I want to record it and play it on repeat every night. Her scent. I want to bottle it up and bathe in it every fucking morning.
But she didn’t deserve what I did. Yes, she had been driving me crazy all night, but we’ve only hooked up in private a handful of times, and then I just thrust her into exhibitionism. In front of my friends, who she just met, no less. At first, I did intend to tease her, like she said. Remind her who the fuck she belongs to, even if she won’t admit it. But once I got started, I couldn’t stop. I had to see her fall apart on my fingers, and it no longer mattered where we were or who was watching.
When she confirmed what I had feared—that she had been in an abusive, or at least toxic, relationship in college—I lost it all over again. I don’t know the extent of it, but she said she lost herself and was broken. She wasn’t lost or broken when I knew her in high school. She was spirited and excited for the future. There’s only one way to lose that. Someone or something takes it from you. With all her other vague statements, I’m betting it was someone, and I clearly brought up those feelings for her.
Did he do what I did? Did he try to control her with sex? I feel sick to my stomach now. As much as I enjoyed what happened at the bar and as much as she claimed she did too, I can’t help but wonder if it ignited buried trauma for her.
It killed me that she couldn’t talk to me face-to-face, but I meant it when I said I would wait for her. We haven’t spoken much since that night. We’ve both been busy with work, but it’s Tuesday, and she has the day off. I just got off the phone with Marco, and he said he could cover the job site today, so I’m going to surprise her. I hope it doesn’t backfire like the last time I tried to surprise her with a date. I mean, that one ended with my dick in her mouth, so it wasn’t all bad. But she had said no dates. This isn’t going to be a date, though. Just a friendly daytime hangout.
I turn on the shower and shoot off a text to her.
Any chance you’re available today?
She doesn’t answer right away, so I shuck off my clothes and step into the hot stream of the shower. I keep it quick and PG, ignoring my semi and looking down apologetically. Sorry, buddy. No time. I hear my phone buzz as I grab my towel and wrap it around my waist.
Emory: Depends. What did you have in mind?
Just a little neighborly outing. Those are the only details I can give you, though. It’s this thing where I take you somewhere and you don’t know where it is until we get there.
Emory: You mean a surprise?
Guess so. If you need to slap a fancy label on it.
She sends a rolling eyeball emoji followed by one word: Okay . I quickly type out that I’ll be there in ten and dry my hair off with the towel. I pull on a pair of dark jeans and a white tee, then grab my leather jacket and gloves. I rummage around the closet, looking for my extra helmet and another leather jacket. As much as I can’t wait to get Emory on the back of my bike, I need to make sure she’s fully protected. I finally find my extra helmet shoved in the back.
As I take it out, I notice a business card on the closet floor next to my laundry hamper. It’s for one of the nurse managers at the psychiatric unit where my dad is. My mom gave it to me weeks ago, and it must have fallen out of the pocket of my jeans when I threw them in the hamper. She said if I didn’t want to visit him, I could always call, but I had to go through the nurse manager. Clearly, I didn’t take her suggestion. I place the card on my nightstand. Maybe if it’s there, the guilt will eat away at me enough every time I look at it that I’ll eventually make the call. I grab my extra jacket and head to the fridge, pulling out the cheese, crackers, and fruit I picked up last night and loading them into my backpack, along with a picnic blanket. I fill two water bottles, grab the helmets, and head out.
Emory opens her door wearing a long, flowy white and blue dress and tan sandals. Her hair is tied back in French braids, and her full lips glisten with subtle gloss. She’s always beautiful, but damn, she looks breathtaking right now. Unfortunately, she also looks like she’s going to a beach party. I guess I should have given her some information about what we were doing. I finish my slow and very obvious perusal of her body and take a step inside. She eyes me up and down right back, and I love how shameless she is about her attraction to me.
“What is that?” she asks, pointing to the leather jacket in my hand.
“A jacket.”
“Oh”
I chuckle. “It may be a little big, but I want that soft skin to be protected on my bike.”
“Your bike? I…I’ve never been on one before.”
“Do you want to?”
Her eyes light up with excitement, reminding me of the Emory I knew in high school. She’s still in there. That wild-eyed girl filled with wonder and fascination. The thrill-seeker who always insisted on tagging along with Nate and me to the amusement park and rode the biggest, scariest roller coasters. It makes me downright homicidal to think that some asshole took that from her, but the fact that I still see glimpses of that girl gives me hope that she’s still in there.
“Yes,” she says excitedly. Then she looks down. “I’m not exactly dressed for it, am I?”
“Nope.”
“And you’re still not going to tell me where we are going?”
“Nope,” I repeat. “Just change into comfortable pants, a T-shirt, and sneakers.”
“Got it. I’ll be right back.”
She disappears down the hallway, and I notice Allie sitting on the couch with her laptop, grumbling and cursing to herself. Not touching that with a ten-foot pole. Instead, I pretend to check something on my phone until Emory returns. She rounds the corner, now wearing black leggings and a heather grey t-shirt. She slips on white sneakers, and I hand her the extra jacket. It’s way too big for her, but at least it will protect her from the elements and road burn if we get into a crash. She shrugs it on and frowns.
“This is like five sizes too big. I look ridiculous,” she complains as she gestures to the jacket hanging well below her hips.
“You don’t look ridiculous. You look like mine,” I say, checking her out from head to toe. The mere sight of her in my jacket does things to me. Can I not spend five minutes in this girl’s company without popping a boner?
She blushes at my words but doesn’t respond as she grabs a small black purse, positioning it across her chest like a messenger bag. “Anything else I’ll need?” she asks.
“Nope. I have everything covered,” I say as I open the door and gesture for her to go out. When we get outside, I secure the helmet on her head before putting on my own gear.
“Do you mind wearing the backpack?” I ask.
“No problem,” she says, and I fix the straps on her shoulders.
“Good, because I can’t wear two,” I say, winking at her.
She blushes as I help her on the back of my bike before hopping on myself. She doesn’t move to hold me, so I gently take her arms and position them around my waist. “Don’t let go. Even if we’re stopped. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she says as she salutes me. I roll my eyes, but fuck if I don’t get another semi from hearing her call me ‘sir.’ I start the engine, and the bike roars to life.
I’ve had this bike for about five years now, and I have never had a woman on the back of it. I gave Nate a ride a few times when he came to visit, but I’ve never felt the need or desire to have anyone else ride with me. Until now. I sneak a quick glance behind me as soon as we get onto the main road. I can’t see her expression through the helmet, but I can see her braids snaking out beneath it, her hands clasped tightly around my waist.
We cruise along the winding back roads for a while, and then I turn towards the highway. I merge onto the road, feeling her hands to ensure they are still secure around me. As I accelerate, the world blurs around us, and I feel Emory’s breathing pick up. She’s a little scared. Or maybe exhilarated. The warmth from her body bleeds into me, her hold tightening ever so slightly. I reach back and rub her leg for a second, just to let her know she’s safe. Her breathing slows as she relaxes a little. A few exits later, we leave the highway and veer off onto a back road. We pull into a parking lot right next to the trailhead, and I kill the engine.
I hop off before she can move, grasping her waist and lifting her off the bike and onto the ground. She goes to remove her helmet, but I bat her hand away, undoing the strap and lifting it off her head.
“I can take it off by myself, you know. Do you always insist on doing everything for every girl who rides on the back of your bike?”
“No,” I say. Her face falls a little, and I can tell there’s a hint of jealousy, even though she’s the one who brought it up.
“You’re the first girl who has been on my bike, Em,” I admit. The intensity returns to her eyes. It’s the same intensity she had when I asked her if she wanted to ride with me. I think she’s going to comment about that, but she quickly changes the subject.
“Where are we?”
“Drake Falls. It’s my favorite hiking trail. Nate and I discovered it our senior year. He only came with me that first time, though. I started coming here once or twice a month after that. When I needed to clear my head.”
“Oh,” she says, her intense eyes boring into mine. “I never knew that.”
“I guess you wouldn’t have. We didn’t talk much back then.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Is there an actual waterfall?”
“Yep. It’s about an hour’s hike to the waterfall and another thirty minutes to the top. The view is amazing. I brought us some snacks and a blanket so we can hang out up there for a bit. You up for it, Little Wells?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. After you.” I gesture for her to walk in front of me.
Two hours later, we finally make it to the summit. Emory wanted to stay and take pictures by the waterfall, so we hung out there for a bit before continuing up the trail.
“This is incredible,” she says, gazing out at the expanse of trees and rocky cliffs below us. It’s late afternoon, so the sun is starting to dip down, inching toward the horizon.
“Told you,” I say as I come up behind her, wrapping my hands around her middle. “Though I think I have the better view.”
She lets out a little giggle. “Are you trying to seduce me, Luke Collins? Because if so, you have to come up with a better line than that.”
I turn her face and place a soft kiss on her temple. Then I grab the blanket from my backpack and motion for her to follow me. There’s a little grassy area surrounded by a wall of trees. It’s hidden away from the central part of the summit, but you can still see the view from it. I spread the blanket out on the grass in the secluded area and start taking out the food. She takes her shoes and socks off and sits cross-legged on the blanket. I follow her lead, taking off my boots and sitting across from her.
“If I were trying to seduce you, you would know it, Little Wells.”
She gives me an eye roll, trying not to smile, as she kneels on the blanket. “Why did you call me that back then? The night before you left?” she asks. “You never used to. Even when the guys on the team did.”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “It just felt right in the moment.”
“Because you thought you would never see me again?”
“Maybe.”
“I had a crush on you,” she blurts. “From the moment you moved to town. You were this new, cool guy from out-of-state, and you had that little southern accent. I mean, all the girls had a crush on you, as I’m sure you know.”
I always had a feeling she felt something for me back then. It’s clear she wants me now, but she isn’t letting herself fully lean into whatever it is we’re doing.
“Had? As in past tense?” I clarify.
She rolls her eyes again. “Still TBD as to my current state of crushing when it comes to you.”
“Oh yeah? What can I do to solidify it?” I waggle my eyebrows suggestively.
She tilts her head back, a soft laugh emanating from her diaphragm, then lightly swats my chest. “Why don’t you keep it in your pants so we can eat first?”
“I still think about that night.” Now it’s my turn to blurt out a long-buried secret I’ve held onto for years.
Her carefree smile quickly fades. “What?”
“That night before I left…I still think about it. About what would have happened if I—” But I don’t finish the thought. Would it make a difference? If I told her how much I wanted her that night?
When I glance up, Emory’s hazel eyes are glittering with unshed tears. She blinks, and a single tear escapes, cascading down her cheek. I reach up with my thumb and rub it into her skin. Fuck. This is what I was afraid of.
She sucks in a breath and clears her throat, shaking her head as if to chase away all of the memories and possibilities floating between us. She grabs some strawberries from one of the containers and starts to eat them, her eyes still glistening. I follow suit and pick up the grapes, popping a few into my mouth. We sit and eat in silence for a few minutes. It’s so quiet, and I’m almost startled when she speaks again.
“My grandfather used to say that opportunities are never truly lost. Someone ends up taking the ones you let slip away. I just wish…” Now she trails off.
“What, Emory? You wish what?” I’m so close to begging her to open up to me.
She flicks her eyes to mine. “Nothing, never mind.” She starts to clean up the food, placing tops on containers and putting them into my backpack. I swallow down the frustration. You can’t force someone to bare their soul to you, and she already let one confession slip today.
“So why did you come back then?” She’s changing the subject. “You seemed so excited to get out of Emberfield. You literally left the day after graduation.”
Shit. I didn’t really want to go there with her yet, but maybe if I open up to her, she’ll let me in a little.
“I don’t know if Nate ever mentioned this…” I start. “My dad suffers from mental illness. It was bad when I was little, but then he got really good care, started taking the right meds, and was doing great. It’s why we moved to Connecticut. We needed a fresh start away from all the bad memories.”
Emory looks surprised, but I also see the faintest note of pity in her expression. That look is exactly why I was avoiding this conversation. That and I am going to have to tell her what a piece of shit I am, but I go on anyway.
“He was doing really well here. He continued with medication and therapy, started his construction business, made some friends. But then during my senior year, we got into it a lot. He wanted me to go to college. He regretted not going or something, but I always knew that wasn’t the right path for me. We had a blow-up the night before graduation. He was angry and aggressive. It almost came to blows, but my mom intervened, and we both backed down. It was just so unlike him. Even when he was at his worst, he was either manic or depressed, never aggressive. I had already planned to travel after the summer that year, but after that night, I just felt like I wanted to run away and never come back. So I did.”
I look over at Emory, and she’s listening intently to every word. She no longer has that look of pity. She just looks sad. For me. For the situation. Maybe all of it.
“I’m so sorry, Luke,” she says as she moves closer to my spot on the blanket. “I knew you had a rocky relationship with your dad, but I had no idea how bad it got. That’s why you never came back to visit.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“So, what happened recently to make you come back?”
“I kept tabs on the whole situation through my mom. I wanted to make sure she didn’t get caught up in anything bad. But once I left, she said everything went completely back to normal. Dad was back to his normal self. No more outbursts. No aggression. But then, a little over a month ago, I got a call from my mom. My dad was having manic and depressive episodes and had stopped taking his meds. He finally agreed to go into an inpatient program at Emberfield Memorial. It meant he would be away from work for months. My mom was prepared to run his business and hers, but I couldn’t let her do that, so I came home to take over his company. It meant I had to quit my job and give up my apartment in New York, so I probably won't go back there even if he comes back to work.”
Emory leans over and takes my hand in hers, running her thumb back and forth over the crease.
“Emberfield has a great in-patient program. He’s in good hands. I’m sure he will get the help he needs and be able to get back to his old life again.”
“I hope so.”
Then, understanding colors her face. “That’s why you hate doctors’ offices and hospitals,” she guesses. “You probably went to a lot when you were a kid.”
I tip my head up in confirmation. “My mom and Grandma tried to shield me from it all, but sometimes they couldn’t, and I had to go to them. I grew to hate any kind of medical facility. The smell. The sadness…”
“It’s common,” I assure him. “Especially with patients or family members who have had extended hospital stays.”
“Yeah. Anyway, that’s my story.”
“It’s just part of it, Luke. Your dad’s illness doesn’t define you. Or him.”
She’s right. I hadn’t planned on telling her the worst part of the whole situation, but something about the fact that she’s probably seen and heard it all as a nurse makes me feel like I can trust her.
“I’m gonna sound like a complete asshole for this,” I admit, “but sometimes I blame him. If he had never gotten sick, we would have been a normal family. I wouldn’t have had to become well-acquainted with the inside of a psych ward when I was eight,” I rake a hand through my hair. “It’s just—when he pulls shit like this. Not taking his medicine…” I shake my head, knowing I sound like an unfeeling prick.
Emory squeezes my hand, looking directly at me, but her gaze is not one of judgment. It’s understanding.
“I know refusal to take meds is part of the disease and common and shit, but it’s still hard to understand. Why would he not want to get better? Anyway, I’ve sort of always resented him for it. I brought up something bad he did a long time ago that night during our fight. It was something I knew he regretted. I shouldn’t have done it. It was a low blow, but I was angry. Hurt people hurt people. You know?”
Emory brings her other hand up to my cheek and moves her head so that it’s against mine. “I do know. You’re not an asshole, Luke. I’m not exactly the poster child for successful relationships with fathers, but I think the fact that you’re worried about it means you care.”
“Thank you,” I say softly, and I mean it. She could have judged me just now, but she didn’t. I want to know more about her relationship with her father. I know Nate has never seen eye-to-eye with their dad, but I didn’t realize Emory also had a strained relationship with him. But she interrupts my thoughts before I can ask.
“So, I take it construction isn’t your dream job, then?”
I let out a low laugh. “No, definitely not. I mean, I do like working with my hands—” I see a hint of a blush color her cheeks at that. This fucking woman . “But I prefer working on my bike over painting and tiling,” I continue. “I’ve been customizing it since I bought it used a few years ago. I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”
“You mean when you’re not injuring yourself with tools that just randomly slip?” she teases.
“When I’m not being distracted by pornographic sideshows,” I throw back at her.
“Touché.” She barks out a genuine laugh, and I’ve never heard anything more beautiful. Jesus, I need to get a grip.
“Anyway, it’s stupid, but I’ve always dreamed of opening my own custom shop.”
“That would be amazing,” she says, her eyes brimming with excitement. “Why don’t you do it?”
I roll my eyes internally because that’s spoken like someone who has never struggled with money. She means well, but she doesn’t quite understand. I don’t want to make her feel bad, so I just answer honestly.
“I don’t have the cash for start-up costs,” I say. “Plus, now I don’t have the time between managing the construction company and bartending at night.”
She doesn’t say anything but nods in understanding. Maybe she does get it. I know she isn’t wealthy, and she and Nate lived modestly with their grandparents, but their father is fucking loaded.
“What about you?” I ask. “Are you happy?”
“Phewww,” she breathes out dramatically. “That is a tough question.”
“I mean with your job,” I clarify, but I hate that her words imply she’s not happy in general.
“Oh,” she says, looking slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, I love it. I mean, there’s a part of me that wants to take on more challenges, but in general, I’m very happy with it. I get to help people feel better every day. What could be better than that?”
I can’t help the smile that scrawls across my face. She lives to help others. She wants more challenges. She wants to push herself.
“What’s more challenging than being an emergency room nurse?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I’ve wanted to get my trauma certification for a while now, so I can assist in surgeries and even go out into the field. Search and rescue—that kind of thing. It would definitely be harder than what I’m doing now, but also rewarding.”
“Shit, Em. That’s badass.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not there yet. I keep putting off doing the training for one reason or another. I think I’m just scared.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know. Not being good enough? Failing? See, not very badass.”
I chuckle. “Who isn’t afraid of failing? And for what it's worth, if I were lost in the woods, bleeding out, with a boulder crushing my leg, and you came running towards me in rescue gear, I wouldn’t care if you failed your training the first time or if you didn’t get a perfect score on the written test. I would just be relieved you were there with me.”
Emory’s eyes flick up to mine, and her breath hitches. She holds my gaze, a ghost of a smile hanging at the edge of her mouth. We stay like that, staring, breathing, for several moments before she finally makes the first move. She leans in and gently brushes her lips against mine. The kiss is featherlight, and neither of us makes a move to deepen it. We sit like that for several seconds before she pulls back, and I slowly unzip my jacket. She took hers off a while ago, having gotten too hot from the hike. I shimmy the rest of the way out of mine, keeping my gaze locked on her. It’s nearing the early evening now, and a cool breeze is running through the trees in the glade, but I don’t care. I’m all for taking clothes off, regardless of the temperature.
Then she’s back on my mouth, and this time she opens, letting my tongue find hers. She runs her hand up my shirt, sliding her fingers up and down my abs before going back down to the hem of my shirt and lifting it up. I take over, grabbing the back and pulling it over my head. Then I tug her shirt off and toss it on the blanket. I look around to make sure we’re still alone before I unhook her bra, and her tits spill out. In one swift move, I grab her legs and tug her forward until she falls on her back.
“God, I want to be inside you, Em,” I rasp as my fingertips dance at the edge of her waistband.
She looks up at me with lust-filled eyes. “I want that too. I want you to fuck me, Luke.”