My Lucky Days: A Novel (38 page)

But never in the way I had loved Lucky.

Not the epic kind of love, full of breathless passion and beautiful laughs and soul-shattering heartache. That was the once-in-a-lifetime kind of love that could never be repeated.

Maybe I would eventually say yes to someone. I hoped I could. Maybe even to Ryan or maybe to a different guy. But not to Lucky. That part of my life was over. Fireworks could only be burned once.

As Lucky held my hand against his warm chest, my fingers started to tremble from the contact. I pulled free of his grasp.

“Maybe we could have tried harder back then. But that’s not what happened. And we can’t stay stuck in what might have been. We can’t undo the past. You need to be focusing on who is in your life right now. That little boy needs you.” I shook my head. “And I don’t.”

The emotions rippled across his face. I saw heartache like I’d slapped him.

“I should go inside.” Letting out a deep breath, I opened the truck door and jumped out on the cement. I needed to get out of there. I needed to not see his face. Not smell his cologne. “Goodbye, Lucky.”

“Katie, wait.”

But I put a metal door between us as I slammed it shut on his words. This could go back and forth all night. And it needed to just stop before someone got hurt by something careless slung in the heat of the moment.

As I made my way down the sidewalk, I heard the click of the driver’s side opening. I looked over my shoulder, seeing him get out of the cab. “Lucky, I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”

“We’re not fighting. I’m going to walk you to the door.”

“I’ve lived in my house for thirteen years. I know where the door is.” I kept moving, but I didn’t hear his boots behind me anymore. As I went up the steps, I glanced back toward the truck. He was still standing there. Not smiling. Not laughing. Just staring.

I went inside the house and shut the door, leaning back against it. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. The confusion. It hammered away into some spiraling mess of an old pain that had resurfaced by spending time with Lucky.

Surviving those dark months had come at a price for me. What my hormones had not controlled, the grief had destroyed. Some days, it took everything just to get up in the morning. To get up and not cry. To get up and face the students without falling into a giant wet puddle on the floor. I learned to hold it all in, which caused the pain to settle along the edges, turning into a hard shell.

That shell had kept me going and made me who I was today. I would need to remove that protective coating to even consider what he was asking with him. With Sam. And I couldn’t.

“Hey, where have you been? Booty call with Ryan?” Peyton looked up from the couch. I hated that she tossed that out there like it was some common thing I had going on with him. I hadn’t done that in six months.

I went straight into the kitchen, pulling out the bottle of Crown my roommate used to make rum and Coke. I got out a small glass, pouring it half full. I was already chugging the burning liquid when she sat down on the barstool.

“Umm. Did I miss something, Katie? Did the kids tie you to the merry-go-round as an end-of-school prank?”

“Lucky made me have dinner with him.” I let out a slight cough, feeling the alcohol swimming around in my stomach. I poured another shot in the glass.

Her freckles crinkled up with her smile. “Well, that’s an interesting turn of events. What happened?”

“Well, let’s see. He wants us to be friends. Then told me his birth mother gave him a little boy.” I swallowed more of the amber liquid. “His name is Sam. And Lucky wants me to be his mother. Oh, and he did his best to fuck every woman he met. But that didn’t help. Because he still
loooves
me. And says I pushed him away when I was out of my mind with grief. And I didn’t let him have a choice. That it was
all
my decision. That I personally fucked us up.”

“Wait. Mother to his what?”

“Nephew—now son. And not just his mother. He wants us. Me and him.” I pointed the glass in her direction, slinging it all over the counter. “He wants us to be his parents together. Lucky, me, and Sam. He wants us to be one big
happy
fucking family.”

“That’s some messed-up shit.” Peyton got out another glass, pouring herself a drink.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

I don’t think I had ever cursed that much in one conversation, but that seemed to be the only word running through my head—like the little scroll bar at the bottom of CNN. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

I collapsed on my bed, feeling the ceiling spin around above me. I let Peyton take care of my self-destructive meltdown. And that was a very bad idea. I was drunk. I hadn’t been this drunk since the night I turned down Ryan’s proposal.

Fishing my phone out of my purse, I saw a text from Lucky. He wasn’t going to let this rest. Damn it. I opened up the message, but it wasn’t words.

I saw a picture of a little boy, sleeping in a bed with Lightning McQueen sheets. A lamp cast a soft glow across his face. He looked so sweet, so innocent, so real. It grabbed my heart—gripping and squeezing until I almost gasped.

But the alcohol brought out an angry streak, and I fired off a message without thinking.

M
E:
Stop. I’m not playing this game with you.

L
UCKY:
You were right. This isn’t about us. It’s about Sam. He needs you.

M
E:
You have all the money in the world. You can give him a good life without me.

L
UCKY:
We both know it takes more than that.

And with that text, I set the phone down on the bed. He’d played the right card. The one that spun through the air and cut deep into another old wound. My phone beeped again.

L
UCKY:
You could be his mother without being involved with me. It’s not what I want. But it would give Sam what he needs. Just think about it.

I couldn’t write back after that comment. I didn’t know if he meant it or half-meant it. Maybe he was telling the truth. Either way, I couldn’t. I couldn’t do this with him. I closed my eyes and passed out on top of my covers, still wearing my blue dress and brown sandals.

A
s I cooked breakfast, I glanced over, seeing Peyton’s head cradled in her arms on top of the bar as she grabbed just a few more minutes of sleep. Strands of messy blonde hair were tossed in every direction while yesterday’s black eye makeup was smudged down into her freckles. She had some distorted theory that early-morning sunshine came as a curse from God, punishing those who dared to have fun in the shadows.

As I set a plate of bacon on the counter, she felt around with her hand, never opening a single eye as she took a piece. “Remind me again why I have this job,” she mumbled.

“Let’s see . . . so you can buy things. And date pilots and flirt with mysterious men.”

“You make it sound more glamourous than it is.”

I laughed, pouring myself a glass of orange juice. “Well, you always make it sound exciting.”

“Eh. It is sometimes.” She chewed on the bacon for a moment before sitting up with a serious frown. “Patrick asked me to spend my off week in Destin, Florida with him.”

“Wow. That’s big, right?” Her latest love was a pilot she met about a month ago.

She shrugged. “I guess. We haven’t really spent any time together. I mean, there were those few hours on the Cincinnati layover. But the rest has just been flirting and turbulence sex.”

“Huh?” I stared at her.

“You know the best time to have sex on a plane is during turbulence.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Makes it all bumpy and wild with that slight underlying fear of death.”

“While he’s flying the plane!”

“You are so gullible sometimes.” She rolled her eyes, laughing. “So should I go?”

I was still trying to figure out if the truth was the story or the after-thought she used to brush it away. “Go to Destin?”

“Yes, should I go with him to his condo instead of coming home?”

I almost snorted my orange juice. “If you are asking me for advice, then I think you don’t really want to go.”

“It’s just hard, Katie.” She rested her elbows on the counter, cupping her chin in her hands. “I know my marriage didn’t work because he cheated. And well, lied about cheating. And I guess lied about a lot of things. But for a while? It was nice. I liked coming home to someone. The same someone.”

“You get to come home to me.”

“No offense, Katie. But I don’t find your ass that attractive. And you won’t let me have sex with people in the kitchen.”

I laughed, and then my eyebrows raised. “People?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

Peyton responded with a laugh. She got off the barstool and walked away grinning. “Guess I better go pack. Since I’m going to the
beach
.” She moved around, swaying her hips and arms like a luau dancer.

After cleaning up the kitchen, I went to my room and started getting ready for work. Looking over at my phone, I saw the screen was blank. It had been five days and not a word from Lucky. I didn’t know what to expect from him, but I thought it was odd. He just gave up? Just like that?

That sounded selfish. I wasn’t being that kind of girl. I wasn’t trying to play games, expecting him to keep contacting me. I just was surprised.

But it was for the best. I didn’t want to think about him or worry about how he was dealing with the pain of his past. And I didn’t want to think about Sam, which actually had become a problem. I did think about that little boy. Every night when I closed my eyes, I saw that picture again—a haunting image that wouldn’t go away even after I deleted it off my phone.

I grabbed a black sleeveless dress out of my closet, pulling the stretchy fabric over my head. Getting dressed had become a painful ritual after the accident, but my ribs were starting to feel a little better.

On the way out the door, I yelled at Peyton. “Well, have fun in Destin.”

“I’m sure I will. Lots and lots of
fun.
” She laughed. “On the porch. In the shower. On the beach.”

I rolled my eyes as I shut the door. That girl was a walking hurricane disaster. As I was getting in my car, I heard my phone ding inside my purse. A quick surge of adrenaline went through me. I needed to let go, but part of me wanted it to be him. And I didn’t want it to be him. It shouldn’t be him.

I pulled my cell from the side pocket of my purse, seeing the name, feeling just a little bit disappointed. Yet, the message made me smile anyway.

M
IA:
Katie, please come to my recital tomorrow. Please. Please. Please.

She would be in high school next year. It was hard to believe that was even possible. I still saw the little girl with rosy cheeks, who once made me play the part of a make-believe queen.

Callie had sent the information after I talked to Colt. But I couldn’t say no when the request came from the ballerina herself.

M
E:
Okay. I’ll come.

M
IA:
Yes! 2 pm at the new community theater on McElroy.

M
E:
Can’t wait.

Tucking the phone back in my purse, I drove down the road, seeing the red bud trees in full bloom as the morning sun filtered through the sky. I plugged in my iPod, hearing his voice come through the speakers. Yeah, I owned his albums electronically too.

Maybe I was in denial about how much I still held on to those little pieces. Maybe I was just undeniably screwed up now. Maybe.