Soldier's Choice (9 page)

“Yeah, I didn’t know what the old guy’s name was. But…
wow.
” Georgia grinned at her. “It’s Rain Man,” she said. “And it’s awesome. Can I keep it? Will you sign it for me?”

Luka blinked. “You want me to sign it.”

“Of course! You’re the artist.”

Her chest tightened, and the threat of tears pricked her eyes. “All right,” she said slowly. “Let me finish it, though.” She bent to the sketch, avoiding their gazes as she added a few trees, fleshed out the figures, and shaded the cloud. As a final touch, she drew a poker hand above the cloud where the sun would’ve been.

She hesitated, and then scribbled
Luka Dawson
hastily in the bottom right corner.

Dawson. She was a Dawson, not an artist. Not worthy of Reese Mathers.

Why was she still here?

She pushed the sketchpad toward Georgia and stood, struggling not to break down. “It’s all yours,” she said. “And I have to go.”

“Luka?” Reese stared at her with concern flooding his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…I’ve got things to do.” If she didn’t leave soon, she was going to lose it. “I’m sure I’ll see you around,” she said. “You too, Georgia. Thanks for the game.”

Reese got up. “Wait. I’ll walk you out.” He glanced at Georgia. “Will you be all right alone for a minute?”

“I’m thirteen, Reese,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not going to climb into the cabinets and drink drain cleaner. Promise.” A fresh smile surfaced as she said, “Bye, Luka. Thanks for the awesome picture.”

“You’re welcome.” She managed to sound normal, but the lump in her throat grew bigger. “See you later.”

Without waiting for Reese, she headed out of the kitchen.

He caught up to her at the front door. He didn’t touch her, and she was grateful for that. She might have screamed if he did. “What happened?” he said in a low voice. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Yeah. The ghost of her rotten reputation. “I’m fine,” she said. “I just have to get home, before my brothers do something stupid like come looking for me.”

“I could come with you,” he said.

Her heart froze. “Why?”

“Your paintings. I want to buy one, remember?”

Oh. That. “Look…it’s just not a good time right now,” she said. “I guess I could take pictures of them for you. Will that work?”

The clear disappointment on his face almost broke her resolve. “All right,” he said. “I’ll give you my number, and you can text them to me.”

She nodded, took her phone out and entered the number as he told her. “I’ll send them this morning,” she said as she tucked the phone back and reached for the door. “You can just let me know when you decide which one you want.”

“Luka.”

She couldn’t look at him. “What?”

“Still friends?”

A wave of fury spread through her, and she gripped the doorknob hard enough to hurt. She couldn’t tell if she was more pissed at him, or herself. “Yeah,” she said tightly. “Still friends.”

Before he could react, she yanked the door open and strode out.

* * * *

Reese managed to hold out a lot longer than he expected. He went back to the kitchen and chatted normally with Georgia for another half hour, until their mother came back from church and the two of them headed for the mall in Greenway. Once they’d gone, he started on the downstairs den, which he planned to gut before he knocked down one of the walls to extend the living room.

In the middle of hauling old furniture from the den to the basement, his phone went off. He finished bringing the armchair he was currently wresting with down, and then sat on the stairs and watched the messages from Luka come in. Images only, no words. Not even a hello.

After the last photo, he received a two-word text.
That’s everything.

He’d already battened down the emotional hatches. It should have hurt, but he felt nothing. He hit reply on the text and tapped in
Got them, thanks.
Then he debated whether he should add a smiley at the end.

Five minutes later, he sent the message as written.

He downloaded all the images to his phone and picked three to send to Brett. The Wizard of Oz one, a storm-frothed lake seen from a beach strewn with bright plastic toys, and a woman from behind poised to enter a dark forest populated with gleaming eyes. Definitely not the painting of him. Even with all of his defenses up, that one stirred something deep and painful, something he just couldn’t face.

He tapped out a message—
Here’s some of her stuff, let me know what your mother thinks
—attached the images, and sent it. Then he headed back upstairs determined to work until he couldn’t move.

An hour later, he was boxing up the hundreds of books that lined two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the back wall when a message came in. He pulled his phone out. It was from Brett.

Allow me to translate Mom’s ecstatic screaming and fits of artistic joy. She says yes. How soon can you get her work here?

He smiled in spite of himself. He still hadn’t figured out how he’d actually get the paintings without her knowing, but maybe her brothers would help out with that. They had to know how good she was. He replied:
Thanks, man. Will get them out ASAP, she doesn’t know I’m doing this. She’s never shown before.

It wasn’t long before the next message.
Hell of a surprise for her. Mom says by Wed? She has this big monthly event for local artists, tons of guests, they’ll love this stuff.

Perfect. Somehow, he’d find a way to get them by Wednesday.
Will do, I’ll try for tomorrow night. Be good to see you.

He moved to put the phone back when it buzzed again.

Same here. Your girl is amazing, can’t wait to meet her. I’m jealous.

“She’s not my girl,” Reese whispered to the empty room. “We’re just…friends.”

Something in him snapped. A black curtain of rage descended like a shroud, and with an incoherent roar he ran at the shelves, batting the heavy books to the floor in cascading piles, throwing a few of them hard across the room to crack the plaster walls. He ripped one of the shelves free and used it to bash a lamp on a small end table into splinters. Picked up the table and beat it against the floor, breaking it into senseless chunks.

With a single harsh sob, he collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor, where he let the blackness take him.

Chapter 9

Luka spent most of the day avoiding her brothers, until they finally got the hint and left her alone. She didn’t want any sympathy or teasing, and she definitely didn’t want to talk about her feelings. She just wanted to forget.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

Sydney texted her a few times and called once. She ignored it. Once or twice, she glanced at the message from Reese until she couldn’t stand it anymore and deleted the whole string, images and all.

Got them, thanks.
No comments, no indication that he’d so much as looked at the pictures. He couldn’t even pretend that he liked her work now. Part of her insisted that he was still acting just the way they’d arranged things—like a friend. She was the one who’d practically blown up without even telling him why.

The rest of her told that part to shut up.

She was still exhausted from the insane highs and lows she’d gone through last night and this morning. But after a few hours of lying on her bed and ignoring the world, she hadn’t even come close to sleeping. All of her thoughts blurred and tangled themselves in her head, until she was so furious that she had to do something.

So she got up, rummaged through her closet until she found the boxes she’d folded and stuffed in the back, and stomped out of her bedroom toward the attic.

The house seemed quiet. Either her brothers had left, or they weren’t going to risk incurring her wrath. Both options were fine with her. She unlocked the attic and went right to work.

It didn’t take long to assemble the boxes and load all of her paintings into them, even the unfinished one on the easel. She was careful to avoid looking at the image of Reese in the rain. Soon she had five boxes stuffed with stupid, broken dreams that needed to get out of her life.

She grabbed the first one, and started lugging it down the stairs.

Gage was sprawled on the couch, watching some action movie. She didn’t even acknowledge him as she dragged the box past and shoved it next to the front door. After a quick pause to catch her breath and shove her hair out of her face, she headed for the stairs again.

Unfortunately, Gage decided she was more fun than the movie. “Hey, woman,” he said, shifting to look over the back of the couch. “What’s all the banging for? You’re louder than the giant robots.”

“Spring cleaning.” She glowered at him. “I’m busy, Gage. Leave me alone.”

“But it’s not spring.”

“It’s an expression, moron.”

He straightened further and glanced toward the door. “Uh, Luka? Aren’t those your…”

“They’re none of your business.”

“I’m telling Mark.”

“Go ahead. They’re none of his business, either.”

She practically ran back upstairs, without bothering to see if Gage would follow through on his threat. Not that it mattered. She’d made up her mind—no more idiotic hopes. No more pretending she could have better.

Yes, it was more about Reese than painting. But she needed a clean break, and this was the fastest way. She couldn’t kick Reese to the curb.

She’d never had him in the first place.

As she dragged the second box down to the landing, Mark materialized at the bottom of the stairs. She stopped and huffed at him, reminding herself to get back at Gage later. “Get out of the way,” she said.

“No.”

“I mean it, Mark. Move.”

“What are you doing?”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Something stupid.”

“Mark…just move.”

“Make me.”

“Fine.” With a sigh, she pushed the box aside. “Jonah!”

“He’s not here.” Mark took the stairs two at a time and stopped in front of her, rubbing her shoulder. “Come on, Lu. What’s going on? If it’s Reese, I’ll—”

“Don’t,” she said sharply. “Going caveman on him isn’t going to help. Besides, it’s not him. It’s me.”

He frowned. “Why don’t I believe that?”

“It’s the truth.” She relaxed a little and glanced at the box. “I need to make a change,” she said. “Start over. I just can’t…”

“Can’t what?”

Before she could think of a way to respond that wouldn’t sound petty and impulsive, someone knocked loudly at the door. “I’ll get it,” Gage shouted as he barreled out of the kitchen and skidded to a halt. He yanked the door open, and said, “Oh. Hi, Sydney.”

Damn. She should’ve called back and told Syd not to worry.

“Hey, Gage,” she heard Sydney say. “Please tell me Luka’s here.”

Luka shook her head fiercely and waved her arms over her head, but Gage pointedly ignored her. “Yeah, she’s here,” he said, moving back. “You’re just in time for the drama, too.”

“Drama?” Syd stepped inside, putting her in view of the stairs. She looked from the box to Luka, and immediately marched across the room. “Out of the way, Mark,” she said.

With a grin, Mark shuffled up a few stairs.

“Traitor,” Luka murmured.

Syd took the stairs with determined strides and grabbed Luka’s hand. “Intervention time,” she said. “Come on. We’re going to Pete’s.”

Luka tried to resist—but not too hard. Maybe a trip to Pete’s Diner would clear her head and let her put all this behind her. And besides, there was no point refusing now. Syd was already in full rescue mode, so short of a violent separation involving heavy machinery, she wasn’t getting out of this.

“I’ll put the boxes back upstairs,” Mark called as Syd dragged her to the door.

She looked back at him. “Don’t do that,” she said. “Just get them out of my sight. Burn them, toss them, I don’t care. I don’t want to see them again.”

Syd gave her a look full of serious concern. “You don’t mean that,” she said.

“Yes. I do.”

“Oh, boy.” Her best friend squeezed her hand tight. “Let’s go. The pie’s on me.”

Luka followed her outside, and refused to look back.

* * * *

Pete’s Diner was a popular destination for Sunday breakfast in Covendale, but by dinner the place was fairly deserted. Luka and Sydney took a table in the back, and Luka busied herself pretending to read the menu so she wouldn’t have to talk.

Syd cleared her throat until she looked up. “You’re not getting out of this,” she said. “You’re going to spill it if we have to spend the whole night in this stupid booth.”

She sighed. “Shouldn’t you be hanging out with Cam? You’re getting married in two weeks.”

“He’s still going to be there in two weeks. I’m not so sure about you.”

“Well, I’m not going to leave town or jump off a bridge, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Maybe I am.”

Luka frowned at her. “Does it look that bad?”

“Yes.”

Before she could respond to that, an older woman in a bright red apron approached their table. Holly Freschette had worked at Pete’s Diner since Pete was still alive, and now that his youngest daughter ran the place, she officially had more experience than the rest of the staff combined. “Evening, ladies,” she said. “What can I get you tonight?”

“I’ll have the lemon meringue pie and a cup of coffee,” Sydney said. “Luka, you’re getting something.”

“Yeah. What she’s having.”

Holly nodded briskly. “Have that right out for you,” she said, sweeping the menus away. “Just holler if you need anything else.”

When the waitress had gone, Syd drummed her fingers on the table. “Well?” she said. “It’s Reese, isn’t it?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” She laced her hands together and stared down at them. “I’m making a fresh start,” she muttered.

“By throwing all your paintings away.”

“They don’t matter!” She looked up, desperate to make her point clear—so maybe she’d know why she’d done it, too. “They’re a waste of time,” she said. “I’ve got to stop believing I can have things that are just…beyond me. Because it hurts too much to lose them.”