Yours to Keep (40 page)

Tearing himself away, he looked over at the closet, holding every stick he had ever played with, and smiled. When Beth had said, “I’d be damned if there is going to be a room just for your old sticks. I will think of something,” he didn’t think twice about it. What was she going to do with forty-six sticks? She had surprised him with the closet, having cut and glued each stick around the walls. He decided that Beth King was pure genius, and he couldn’t wait for his mom to see it.

Now all he had to do was unpack his personal stuff. He was hanging up his clothes when Levi came in with a box in his hand. Lucas didn’t pay attention to him until Levi said, “Please explain to me why you brought Fallon Parker’s stuff with us to Nashville.”

Lucas turned quickly, seeing the blue box in his best friend’s hands. He could have sworn that he had hidden that box away. Shit.

He walked over, took the box from Levi, and placed it on the floor of his closet.

“I’m waiting,” Levi said.

Lucas rolled his eyes. “What was I supposed to do with it? Leave it in California?” he asked with a shrug.

“Yes! Or hell, here’s an idea, throw it away!”

Lucas ignored him as he went back to hanging up his clothes.

“I just don’t understand it. It’s been a billion years since she left. You haven’t seen her or
talked to her. Why keep her things when we both know it still bothers you?” Levi asked.

“Nothing in that box bothers me, it’s just memories.”

“Memories you need to throw away. There is no reason why you still have all the clothes she left, or her hair supplies, or …”

Lucas turned and glared at Levi. “You went through the box?”

“Yeah, like five years ago. Come on, dude. It’s crazy! Why do you need her hairbrush?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because it’s weird and I think you need help.”

Lucas rolled his eyes again and turned back toward the closet. “I’m fine, I just like having them.”

“Why?”

“Because I do, don’t worry about it. Don’t you have something to do?”

Levi laughed as he shook his head. “Jeez, Luc, still sensitive after seven years? Maybe you do need help.”

Lucas shot Levi a maddening look just as Levi walked out the door, leaving Lucas with thoughts of Fallon and her box of things. He had thought about her from time to time, but finding the box when he was packing had opened—again—a can of worms that he had tried to seal a long time ago. Losing Fallon was his epic failure, more so than even his alcoholism. How he could have fucked up something so beautiful and perfect would disturb him for the rest of his life.

Lucas looked back at the door, making sure Levi wasn’t around, then pulled the blue box out of the closet and opened it. The first thing he saw was a picture of him and the caramel-eyed beauty on the beach outside his house. Fallon was so beautiful, with her wide eyes and sweet smile. She was everything a man wanted, and he had ruined it. He moved the picture aside and found a T-shirt with a Rocky Top Wines logo on it. Fallon had worn the shirt almost every night to bed. It was her favorite shirt, and he loved the way the orange brought out her tan skin.

Lucas had asked Levi to do some research about Rocky Top Wines awhile back, and he found out that it was still in business and doing very well. Levi had also mentioned that Rocky Top Wine was a proud sponsor of the Assassins, which gave Lucas the hope that he might see Fallon again. His heart skipped a beat at the thought.

He couldn’t fathom seeing her, or touching her again. It had been so long ago, so much
had happened, so much had changed. They were two different people now. Who was to say that she would even want to see him or talk to him? Lucas shook his head as he held her bright orange shirt in his hand, knowing one thing for sure. If he’d ever get the chance to be with Fallon Parker again, he wouldn’t fuck it up.

Fallon didn’t remember anything after dropping the wine bottle. All she could think as she drove home from the arena was,
Oh, fuck, Lucas is coming to Nashville.
She hadn’t seen him in seven years, and she kind of wanted to keep it that way. Lucas Brooks was a disease, and she refused to be infected by him again. The thought of possibly running into him again made Fallon nervous. She lived in the heart of Nashville and worked right alongside the Nashville Assassins, the team he was gonna play for. There was a great chance that she would bump into him, even if she’d try to avoid it.

She had to move.

That was the only thing she could think of when she pulled into her driveway. She put the car in park and sat there for a moment. What the hell was she going to do? She wouldn’t even know what to do or how to act if she saw him. He still affected her that much, after all these years.

Thoughts of Lucas ran through her head as she gathered up her things. It was well past 11:00 p.m. and she was glad to be home. It had been a long, rough day, and the ending didn’t make it any better. As she walked up the sidewalk, she noticed her sister, Audrey, sitting on the porch steps. Audrey waved as she looked across the yard at the complex across the street. Fallon turned and looked in that direction, seeing a moving van and a man unpacking things.

“Audrey, what the hell are you doing here?” Fallon asked.

Audrey sat wearing a bright yellow Juicy Couture jumpsuit, her long brown hair in a messy bun, and no makeup. Audrey and Fallon could have been twins, although Audrey was a little heavier and had big boobs.

Audrey smiled up at Fallon, then looked back toward the man. “Watching the show,” she said, pointing across the lawn. “Not only am I intrigued by the fact that he is movin’ in at eleven o’clock at night, but the dude is sexy, Fal! Like, super sexy, Antonio Banderas sexy.”

“Oh, Lord,” Fallon groaned, as she rolled her eyes and laid her briefcase down beside her sister. She slowly slid off her boots, standing on the cold sidewalk in her stockings. It felt great,
after the night she had.

Fallon glanced over at the guy and saw that he was older, way older.

“Jeez, Audrey, he’s like forty-five.… 
Eww.
”

Audrey laughed. “Nah, but late thirties for sure though.”

“Still, you’re only twenty-seven. Go find someone your age.”

“No, guys are stupid at my age. I want a man with some age to him, someone who knows his way around the bedroom.”

Fallon scoffed at that. “Good luck with that! Older men can’t keep it up without help, which would involve you giving a lot of head or him going on medication, or both.”

“Oh yeah,” Audrey said, as a look of disgust came over her face. “Back to men my age.”

Fallon starting laughing just as the door flung open and out came Fallon’s favorite rambunctious six-year-old. Aiden grinned a toothless grin and she gave him a big smile. Seeing him always brought such joy and love into her heart, she couldn’t imagine life without him. He was her everything.

“Why is Momma’s favorite boy out of bed?” Fallon asked.

“I was waiting for you!” he gushed, running down the stairs at a speed only a six-year-old could manage.

Aiden’s arms came around her middle and she smiled again, hugging him back. Fallon loved her baby’s hugs—they made her days worth living—but sometimes her smile fell when he looked up at her with his happy, innocent gray eyes.

The same gray eyes his dad has. The same gray eyes as Lucas Brooks’s.

Read on for an excerpt from Lauren Layne’s

After the Kiss

Chapter One

Julie Greene had built a career out of falling in love. Staying in love? Not so much.

Julie’s boss apparently hadn’t gotten the memo.

“I’m confused,” Julie said slowly, leaning forward with a placating smile. “You want me to write what?”

Translation:
You’re
confused. I don’t write that shit.

Camille Bishop leaned back in her chair and studied Julie with puzzled eyes. “I’d have thought you’d be jumping at the chance to have such a simple assignment after last month.”

Julie pursed her lips together and considered. Last month’s assignment
had
been exhausting. Documenting the seven kinds of first kisses had required a lot of research.

Pleasant
research.

But this? A two-page spread, to be called “How to Take Relationships to the Next Level”?

What was Camille thinking? This was
Stiletto
magazine, not Dr. Phil.
Stiletto
was sex and high heels, not companionship and freaking clogs.

The rocky post-honeymoon period just wasn’t Julie’s scene. Which is not to say she didn’t have plenty of other skills.

The first date? She had men begging for it.

The first kiss? An art form she’d long since mastered.

The first time you lost your panties in his sheets? Soooo not a problem.

This wasn’t to say that Julie had perfected only the major, most obvious dating milestones, however. She also knew how to finesse the subtler moments—those key moments where the breath caught and you thought,
Yes, this.
Julie could explain every single nuance, from the toe-curling euphoria when his hand brushed yours to the tingle when eyes held for just a beat too long. And then there was her personal favorite moment: the bone-deep satisfaction when you made him laugh for the first time—a
real
laugh.

Most women thought these moments just happened. Julie Greene knew better. These moments were created.

As for what happened
after
all that good stuff?

Julie couldn’t care less. She had no need for the first fight, no desire to meet the parents. No interest in finding dirty boxers in her hamper or making room in her bathroom for a man’s razor. That was all a one-way trip to Julie’s personal vision of hell: couples movie night.

Julie had found that the women of New York City erroneously used movie night as a
yardstick of how close to the altar he was. After all, if he was satisfied to spend a Friday night at home instead of at a strip club, he must be whipped, right?

Wrong. So wrong.

Movie night was just another way of saying that you didn’t want to bother dressing up for him and that he didn’t care. Julie lived in fear of the moment when fancy dinners and cocktail parties would be a thing of the past, and the highlight of the weekend would be lounging in yoga pants and watching car chases or beautiful people making out on-screen.

The sexiest part of
that
scenario was the butter on the popcorn.

She shuddered. Julie Greene didn’t
do
movie night.

“Camille, look,” she tried again. “It’s not that I don’t respect your suggestions …”

“Oh?” Camille tilted her head, making her chemically straightened bob sway ever so slightly, and Julie froze. Over the years, Julie had come to think of Camille’s usually immobile hair as her “tell”—when it moved, someone’s life was about to get really messy.

Up until now, it had never been Julie’s life.

In the six years that she’d been working for Camille as a full-time columnist, this was the first time Julie had received a direct order on a story topic. Even when Julie had been fresh out of college with nothing but a handful of internships under her belt, Camille had given her wide latitude on what to write about.

Julie knew that Camille trusted her judgment. So what was with the sudden power trip?

It didn’t make sense. Julie was one of
Stiletto
’s best columnists, and they both knew it. And Camille had always encouraged her writers to play to their strengths. Julie’s niche was the single readers with the dream of falling in love. After that, they were on their own.

Julie sat up straighter. Wait, no. That wasn’t entirely true. Readers
did
have someplace to go once they got past the fun part of dating.

Grace Brighton.

“Why not have Grace do it?” Julie asked excitedly. “She’s your relationship guru.”

“And here I thought you and Grace were
both
my relationship gurus.”

“We are,” Julie agreed quickly. “It’s just that we each have our own expertise. Anything having to do with long-term relationships is Grace’s.”

Camille pursed her lips, painted today in a rather shocking coral. “And how would you describe yourself?”

Julie’s heel jittered beneath the desk in frustration. Camille knew full well what Julie’s expertise was. Everyone at the
Stiletto
office did. Heck, half the women in Manhattan knew Julie by name. Knew what she stood for.
Stiletto
was
the
magazine to work at. The Dating, Love, and Sex department was
the
department to work in. And Julie, Grace Brighton, and Riley McKenna
were
Dating, Love, and Sex, respectively.

Julie answered slowly. “I’m all about butterflies, first kiss, getting him to call. You know, dating.”

“Mm-hmm, and how is it that a woman goes from those giddy first few dates to the comfortable, committed stuff that Grace writes about?”

Julie’s mind went blank. There was really no good way to tell the editor in chief of the country’s largest women’s magazine that you’d never bothered to think about what happened
after.
And sure, maybe some people might think Julie a little insubstantial. But she was willing to bet those same people were perpetually dateless. Or entrenched in yoga pants and movie nights.

“Um, well … I guess it sort of evolves?” Julie replied finally.

“How?”

“With the right person, it just happens. That’s the mystery of what makes true love so special.”
Gawd, I almost made myself vomit.

Camille shook her head. “Not good enough. You’ve seen the letters from our readers. They want to know the specifics. These are women who’ve already had the third date. They’ve even been on the seventh. But then what? How do they move forward?”

Julie’s sleeveless Kate Spade turtleneck dress suddenly felt a little tight around her throat.

“If not Grace, Riley could write it,” Julie said, grasping at straws. “You know, I actually think she’s been looking for a way to broaden her focus and take a break from the sex stuff for a while. Can’t you just see it? ‘Outside the Bedroom’ or something like that.”