My Lucky Days: A Novel (35 page)

M
y fingers gripped the marker as I wrote this week’s spelling words in precise letters across the board. In all my days of dreaming to be a teacher, I’d never planned on working with third graders.

But that’s the thing about plans. I made so many of them through the years, yet very few ever went in the direction outlined in my mind. I think both of the Roberts got it right with roads and mice. Frost went on a different path while Burns proved foresight was a waste of time.

The ideal image of my first year of teaching turned into an improbable mess. And the teachers knew why I was a mess, which made the mess burn more vividly in my mind. I hated when they felt the need to pat me on the back. I hated their pity stares and little comments of encouragement. None of that helped me heal or move on. None of it made me feel better. And none of it made me a better teacher.

I was constantly distracted, fighting tears and blatant depression more often than I would acknowledge to anyone. I just wanted to leave. I wanted to make it all stop. I wanted to blend into the background again without people reminding me that I was the kindergarten teacher who left with “that country singer” and lost her baby.

So I took the first offer out of the Gibbs. I accepted a third grade position at a larger elementary school close to my house, thinking it was a good way to get into the school system. But then it just stuck.

I had found my calling, my place in the revolving world of helping children get an education. I found
me
again as the sad memories got filed away inside my heart. I knew I would never forget that summer, but at least I had learned to live with it.

“Okay. Let’s start with you, Travis. What’s the first word?”

“I . . . um.”

“Sound it out.”

His little nose wrinkled up as I took in the dirty marks on his old Nike T-shirt. Kids didn’t notice it much at this age. But I did. About a month into the school year, I noticed Travis usually wore the same shirt three days a week.

So sometimes I put a few new clothes in his ratty yellow backpack. Even though I never said anything, he figured out my little game. Sometimes I found little handmade cards on my desk without a signature.

“Be-be-aut. Ful. Beautiful.”

“That was great.” Pulling out a bag of miniature candy bars, I set one on his desk. “Okay, Fisher. You’re next.”

“H-ar-armful?” His little blue eyes looked hopeful.

“Good job.” I put a Snickers on his desk. “So do you see a pattern today? All of our words end in -
ful
.”

Hearing my phone ding over on my desk, I made my way across the room. “Reece. Stop trying to draw on Fisher’s arm. You’re next.”

That girl’s parents would need to keep her locked in the house until she turned eighteen. She was obsessed with Fisher. Her little eyes were always smiling at him while she used markers to draw hearts on his arms. I had even caught her kissing him twice on the playground. Before I moved Reece over to her current seat, she had been equally
in love
with Kade, which is why I had to relocate her in the first place.

“St-st-r. St-st.”

“They go together. Like Str-eet.” I picked up my phone and my heart flipped in my chest.

L
UCKY:
Just tell me if you’re okay. I’m thinking the worst.

I set it back down without typing a reply. Gripping the bag tightly in my hand, I absently smashed three candy bars.

“Str-essful.” She finally got the word out.

Half distracted, I made my way over to Reece, putting a Hershey’s on her desk. “Good job.”

Why was he still texting? I could send a simple,
I’m okay
. Maybe that would make him stop. But all of these little pieces were starting to pile up. Replying would just encourage him.

My class finished the rest of the spelling words. As the day came to the end, I divided the kids into their exit groups of bus riders, pick-up, and extended stay. I also worked the after-school program. It was a good way to help, and I made a little extra money, which I always used back on my class.

As the last kid headed out the door, I grabbed my phone to stick in my pocket. I froze for a second, seeing his name listed multiple times on the screen.

L
UCKY:
Katie. This is stressing me out.

L
UCKY:
Did I miss something? Are you pissed at me?

L
UCKY:
You could at least say fuck off if you are not speaking to me.

It had taken many years to come to terms with our past, to have peace with those feelings. And seeing his words. They were . . . they were . . . I let out a deep breath, wincing as it escaped my lungs. My ribs still hurt from the fall off my damn roof. The doctor said it would take a few weeks.

Shoving my phone down in my pocket, I would have to deal with Lucky later. I had a job to do outside. The kids were depending on me.

T
he after-school program ran until almost six, depending on how soon the parents picked up the kids. I felt exhausted. Today had been my first day back since the accident. I rubbed my forehead at the stoplight. The drive home usually took me exactly eight minutes, given the lights were all green.

My foot hit the gas, shooting through the intersection. I was ready to kick back on the couch with a glass of wine and get caught up on my recorded episodes of
Grey’s Anatomy
. I turned onto my street, seeing a large blue truck in the driveway. My fingers gripped the steering wheel as I got closer to my house.

He wouldn’t.

But he did.

My heart beat faster as I pulled into the spot next to his truck. Lucky was sitting on the end of his tailgate without a care in the world. The star on television had been replaced by a very real man in a blue T-shirt and jeans with frayed holes in the knees. But his dark-brown boots were nice—like really nice. Probably custom made by someone who designed shoes for the stars.

I climbed out slowly, seeing the wide grin spread over his lips. His head was covered with an Oklahoma State baseball cap. From the street, he appeared to be any other college student, hanging out in someone’s driveway.

“What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering my texts. So I thought I would check on you in person. Or at least make you say fuck off
to my face.”

I stared at him in exasperation before I started laughing. “I’m not mad at you.”

“See? That wasn’t hard.” He jumped off the back of the truck, landing on the cement next to me. “So you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Lucky smiled again as his gaze drifted over my body like he didn’t believe me. “Okay, enough to go somewhere with me?”

My mind spun for a moment as his words filtered through my head, stirring up the past.
Run away with me, Katie.
Taking a step back, I looked toward the house. “It’s been a long day, Lucky. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I just want to talk. Catch up.”

“I know. Just maybe not tonight.” I said the words before I realized what they meant. I had agreed to a future time with him. A future date. Not a date.
Definitely
not a date.

Those dark-brown eyes found mine. “Are you planning to eat dinner tonight, Katie?”

“Yes, but—”

“So eat it with me. It’s just food. And I’ll do all the talking. If at any point you want out, I’ll bring you home. And you can even tell me to fuck off if you want.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because I don’t know.” He shrugged as sad creases formed around his eyes. “Maybe that’s how I thought it would be when I saw you again.”

“I would never say that to you.”

“No?”

I shook my head. “I don’t hate you.”

“Well, that’s progress.” He smiled.

I heard people walking down the sidewalk. I turned around for a second, waiting for them to pass by us. The spring breeze picked up a bit, making my short blue dress blow around my legs. I held the edge down with a free hand as I faced him again. He didn’t even bother to hide the fact that I had caught him looking at the flashes of exposed skin on my thighs.

Lucky grinned and I felt that catch in my chest. He was different, older, and yet he was the same. It was confusing.

And then his fingers brushed a stray hair behind my ear, letting his thumb touch my cheek in the process. “Please have dinner with me. I really need to talk to you.”

“Why?” I whispered, feeling the lingering effects of his fingers on my skin.

“I just do. Can’t that be enough?”

I told myself to take a step back, put a few feet between us. But my brown sandals stayed right there in the same spot as his thumb touched my cheek again. I swallowed hard, searching his eyes, trying to figure out what was so important. “Okay.”

He flashed a bright smile. And for half a second, I was afraid he would hug me or something worse. This had disaster written all over it. “I have a surprise.”

“Okay?” The hesitancy remained in my voice. The disaster was already brewing between us.

“I preordered Shortcakes. We just have to pick it up.”

“And take it where?”

“You’ll see. Come on.” He walked toward the passenger’s side, holding the door open for me.

I stared at him a second. “Where are you taking me?”

“Why can’t it be a surprise? You’re acting like I’m gonna hurt you or something.”

Physically hurt me? No. But he was very wrong. There were different definitions for the word
hurt
—like stab someone with a knife or crush someone’s heart with memories from the past. Two very different types of gut-wrenching pain.

So yes, Lucky had the ability to hurt me very deeply. Yet, I climbed inside the truck anyway, right back into my past that felt both comfortable and out of place like an awkward dance and I was all left feet.

As he got in the driver’s side, I ran my hand over the expensive leather seat, feeling the softness against my fingertips. The dash had a giant screen across the middle. It was absolutely beautiful—manly beautiful.

“So I guess you finally got a new truck?”

“I’ve still got the old one. Not sure we will ever part ways. Too many memories, you know.”

I looked away without answering. I didn’t want to bring up any of those specific memories. Watching the houses pass by my window, I slipped a few glances in his direction. I wasn’t exactly nervous, but I wasn’t comfortable either.

And then I smelled his scent.

Leather and oranges.

I’d always had a keen sense of smell. Good ones and bad ones. Smells of happiness and things that made my stomach turn. They often brought out a sense of déjà vu, leaving me baffled as to why something felt so familiar while looking so foreign.

As I breathed in his scent, my body came alive, remembering the way his hands felt, how his mouth tasted. How his presence used to linger on my skin for hours after we had sex.

The tension built inside of me. We weren’t even touching. Not even looking at each other.

But his smell.

The more it filled my nose, the more my hands clenched, making my heart beat faster in my chest. From the outside, I appeared completely normal. But on the inside, I was a wreck, spiraling down into the past as it mixed with the present.

“Katie?”

“Uhh?” I jumped in my seat. He was already getting under my skin before we even ate.

“We’re here.” He hit the button, rolling the windows up as he parked in the lot. “I’m gonna run inside. Be right back.”

“Yeah, um, okay,” I mumbled as he shut the door. Even though he’d left, his smell still lingered in the truck. Taunting me. I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake the confusion inside my head.

As I watched Lucky walking toward the diner, a girl in a green shirt and painted-on jeans stopped him before he even reached the door. Her dazed eyes were bright while her lips moved incredibly fast. I doubt he understood a single word that left her mouth.

But Landon Evans leaned in, flashing that famous smile as she held out her phone, snapping a quick picture. The girl rattled off another five hundred words before she finally released him. Lucky pulled the bill of his hat lower over his forehead as he stepped inside the diner.

This must be his life now. People everywhere. Never a moment’s peace. Not even here.

He wasn’t inside very long. As he crossed the parking lot, Lucky kept his face tilted toward the ground. The door opened and he handed me the sack with food. The smell of his cologne was replaced with the tantalizing scent of grease.

My stomach rumbled loud enough for us both to hear it. “Sorry.”

“I’m not going very far. Then you can eat mine and yours if you want.” He winked.

“I’m not eating your food.”

“I’m just saying it’s an option. I’d rather feed that bear inside of you than let it take a swipe at me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I do hate you after all.”

“Well, I guess I better be on good behavior then.”

“You don’t know how to be good.”

He laughed. “Ain’t that the truth.”

I froze for a second as those tabloid photos flashed through my head. I hated the fact that I had bought those stupid magazines, allowing the images to become permanently ingrained inside my brain.