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Waiting On You
Kristan Higgins


Is your first love worth a second chance…?Colleen O'Rourke is in love with love…just not when it comes to herself. Most nights, she can be found behind the bar at the Manningsport, New York, tavern she owns with her twin brother, doling out romantic advice to the lovelorn, mixing martinis and staying more or less happily single. See, ten years ago, Lucas Campbell broke her heart…an experience Colleen doesn't want to have again, thanks. Since then, she's been happy with a fling here and there, some elite-level flirting and playing matchmaker to her friends.But a family emergency has brought Lucas back to town, handsome as ever and still the only man who's ever been able to crack her defenses. Seems like maybe they've got some unfinished business waiting for them–but to find out, Colleen has to let her guard down, or risk losing a second chance with the only man she's ever loved.







Is your first love worth a second chance…?

Colleen O’Rourke is in love with love…just not when it comes to herself. Most nights, she can be found behind the bar at the Manningsport, New York, tavern she owns with her twin brother, doling out romantic advice to the lovelorn, mixing martinis and staying more or less happily single. See, ten years ago, Lucas Campbell broke her heart…an experience Colleen doesn’t want to have again, thanks. Since then, she’s been happy with a fling here and there, some elite-level flirting and playing matchmaker to her friends.

But a family emergency has brought Lucas back to town, handsome as ever and still the only man who’s ever been able to crack her defenses. Seems like maybe they’ve got some unfinished business waiting for them—but to find out, Colleen has to let her guard down, or risk losing a second chance with the only man she’s ever loved.


Select praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author Kristan Higgins (#ulink_05b1ccae-3826-5395-9244-bff6cdb2047f)

“A deliriously funny story.… The Best Man is Kristan Higgins’s best book—and that’s saying a lot.”

—Eloisa James

“You’ll adore every bit of this story.… Higgins’s latest is sexy, screwy, funny and fulfilling—a simply radiant read.”

—USA TODAY on The Best Man

“Strong storytelling and a refreshing, sarcastic edge…thoroughly entertaining.”

—People magazine on Somebody to Love

“A funny, poignant romance.”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review, on My One and Only

“A heartwarming, multi-generational tale of lost love, broken hearts and second chances.”

—BookPage on The Next Best Thing

“The path to love is bumpy in this surprisingly deep charmer from rom-com queen Higgins. Emotional resonance balances zany antics in a powerful story that feels completely real.”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review, on The Best Man

“Kristan Higgins specializes in the kind of prose that makes you laugh out loud…hilarious on the surface, but with a bittersweet subtext.”

—National Public Radio on Somebody to Love

“Another sweet, touching must-read for Higgins fans and anyone who enjoys a perfect combination of humor and romance.”

—Kirkus, starred review, on The Best Man


Waiting on You

Kristan Higgins




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to my beamish boy, Declan,

who makes me laugh every single day. This is the part where I’m tempted to get mushy and sentimental

and use a lot of nicknames, but I’ll try to keep it dignified. Let’s just say that you’re everything a mother could ever hope for in a son, and I love you. Tremendously.


Contents

Cover (#ue29f94dc-8f58-559b-a701-ef5b156bfe42)

Back Cover Text (#u7e8e4d75-cbcf-5dec-9ba3-b78c852fedf6)

Praise (#ub48304c4-7cc5-5a8e-ba15-faf290bf72a8)

Title Page (#u8c23fe81-ce6d-5ee0-8bda-0a893d22b3ce)

Dedication (#ud78c2bd1-2cbd-562b-a74f-e522b24ac2ef)

CHAPTER ONE (#uc4bc4b4b-6f51-5014-bb32-7528bb0c8da3)

CHAPTER TWO (#u632b28cf-35b7-5b5e-a053-e5bd116dd439)

CHAPTER THREE (#u1dbebcc8-680b-5e67-a4c8-b85f0a70e700)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u83487591-5d53-5ec3-a60e-9a68ed926153)

CHAPTER FIVE (#uad026151-05b7-57f3-8303-908ef3a1b27f)

CHAPTER SIX (#u76401e39-df5d-55b3-8116-b096d82821e6)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#u839a2be3-7ec9-5afc-ba46-f2488ac9a921)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_291e4a6c-75f7-5dfa-84f9-605f36c38b40)

“DRINKS ARE ON the house!”

A cheer went up from the gang, not just because Colleen O’Rourke—the bartender and half owner of the best (and only) bar in town—had just offered free booze, but because Brandy Morrison and Ted Standish had just gotten engaged.

Colleen hugged the happy couple once more, then went behind the bar and accepted high fives from her regulars as she pulled beers and mixed martinis, poured wine and slid glasses down the bar. After all, Brandy and Ted were her doing. That made...hmm...fourteen couples she’d set on the road to matrimony? No, fifteen! Not bad. Not bad at all.

“Good job, Coll,” said Gerard Chartier, accepting his free Cooper’s Cave IPA. He sat at the end of the bar, where the fire department was having a “meeting,” the agenda of which seemed to be O’Rourke’s list of microbrews. She wasn’t complaining. They were good for business.

“Your sorry single state hasn’t gone unnoticed,” she said, rubbing his bald head. “Not to worry. You’re next.”

“I’d rather stay single.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Trust Auntie Colleen, ever wise and all-knowing.”

“Colleen!” her brother, Connor, yelled from the kitchen. “Stop harassing the customers!”

“I’m part of our charm!” she yelled back. “Gang, are you feeling harassed?”

A satisfying chorus of no answered her. She breezed into the kitchen. “Hi, Rafe,” she greeted the backup chef, who was making one of his famous cheesecakes. “Save some of that for me, okay?”

“Of course, my truest love,” he said, not looking at her. He was gay. All the good ones were.

“Brother mine,” Colleen said to her twin, “what bug is up your ass?”

“You just gave away three hundred dollars’ worth of booze, that’s what,” he said.

“Brandy and Ted got engaged. Beautiful ring, too.”

“Your work, Collie?” Rafe asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes. They’d been eyeing each other for weeks. I gave a gentle shove, and voilà. I expect I’ll be a bridesmaid. Again.”

Rafe smiled. “And when will you work your superpowers on your own self, lovey?”

“Oh, never. I’m too smart for all that. I like to use men for purely physical—”

“Stop! No one wants to hear about your sex life,” Connor said.

“I do,” said Rafe.

She grinned. Tormenting her brother, though they were both thirty-one, was still one of the great joys in life.

“It seems like such a waste. All that, unclaimed.” Rafe gestured to her torso and face.

“She got burned when she was young,” Connor told Rafe.

“Oh, please. That’s not why I’m single. Besides, you’re single, too. It’s all part of our dysfunctional childhood, Rafe.”

“Don’t even try,” he said, adding the sour cream layer to the cake. “I was a gay boy born to Jehovah’s Witnesses and grew up in East Texas with five older brothers who all played football. It was Friday Night Lights meets The Birdcage meets Swamp People. No one can compete with me in the land of dysfunctional families.”

“You totally win,” Colleen said. “Con and I only had a cheating father and—

“Isn’t tonight your night off?” Connor interrupted.

“Yep. But I came in because I sensed, using our magical twinsy bond, that you missed me.”

“You sensed wrong,” he muttered. “Get out of my kitchen. Your posse just came through the door.”

“He has batlike hearing,” Rafe said.

“I know. It’s creepy. Bye, boys! Don’t forget my piece of heaven, Rafe. Connor, come say hi. Everyone loves you, for some reason.”

She went back out into the bar and sure enough, there were the girls: Faith Holland, her oldest pal in the world (and a newlywed, and while Colleen couldn’t claim that one as her idea, she’d nonetheless helped keep them together); Honor, Faith’s older sister (bone-dry martini, three olives), someone Colleen had definitely helped with sweet Tom Barlow—their wedding would be in early July; and Prudence, the oldest Holland sister (gin and tonic, now that it was spring), married for decades.

“How’s tricks, Holland girls? Honor, you want your usual? Pru, a G&T? And what about you, Faithie? I have some strawberries I’ve been saving for you...a little vodka, a little mint, splash of lemon...want to try one?”

“Just water for me,” Faith said.

“Oh, lordy, are you pregnant?” Colleen blurted. Faith and Levi had gotten married in January, and from the way he looked at her, those two got it on like weasels. And you know what they say about weasels.

“I didn’t say that.” But she blushed, and Honor smiled.

“Well, I hope you are,” said Pru. “Nothing like the blessing of kids, even though I thought I would kill Abby the other day. She asked if she could get her tongue pierced. I said sure, I’d get a hammer and a nail and we could do it right now if she was that dumb, and the conversation devolved from there.”

“Hi, girls,” Connor said dutifully, having emerged from the kitchen.

“Con, bring Pru and Honor their regulars, and a big glass of ice water for Faith here.”

“I thought you wanted me to say hi, not to wait on you,” he said. “Faith, are you pregnant?”

“No! Maybe. Just shush,” Faith said. “I’m thirsty, that’s all.”

“Connor Cooper would be a great name,” he suggested.

“I think it sounds pretentious,” Colleen said. “Colleen Cooper, or Colin for a boy...now we’re talking. Con, how about those drinks? And some nachos?”

Her brother gave her a dark look but left obediently, and Colleen settled back in her seat. “Guess what you missed? Brandy Morrison and Ted Standish just got engaged! He got down on one knee and everything, and she was crying, and it was beautiful, ladies! Beautiful!”

Hannah, Colleen’s cousin, brought over their food and drinks, and Prudence launched into a story of her latest adventure in keeping things fresh in the old conjugal bed. Very entertaining. Coll scanned the bar as Pru talked, making sure all was running smoothly.

It occurred to her that spending her night off at work was maybe not 100 percent healthy. Granted, options were limited in Manningsport, New York, a town of just over seven hundred. She could be home, reading and cuddling with Rufus, her enormous Irish wolfhound mutt, who would love nothing more than to stare into her eyes in adoration for several hours. One couldn’t rule out the ego boost that provided.

Or, Colleen thought, she could be out on a date. Rafe had a point.

It’s just that every guy she met seemed to be lacking something. She hadn’t felt the tingle in a long, long time.

As the proprietor of the only year-round alcohol-serving establishment in town, Colleen saw a lot of relationships blossom or end in a fiery crash. When things went right, it was generally because the woman had cleverly manipulated the guy into good dating behavior. He’d call when he said he would. Put some thought into dates. He’d ask questions about her life because she didn’t vomit up all her personal history in the first ten minutes.

Far more common, however, was the fiery crash model, when Colleen mixed a sympathy cosmo or poured an extra ounce of Pinot Grigio into a glass for a woman who had no idea what went wrong. Colleen could tell her, of course, and sometimes did... Maybe you shouldn’t have talked about your ex for two hours, or Is telling him you were just cleared for fertility treatments a good idea on the first date?

Happily, the now-engaged Brandy had asked Colleen for advice from the start. Should I go out with him again tomorrow? Is it okay to sleep with him yet? How about if I text him right now?

The answers: No, no and no.

“Colleen,” said the bride-to-be now, “I just wanted to thank you again for everything.” She bent down and gave Coll a hug. “Bridesmaid?”

“Of course!” Colleen said. “You two...mazel tov! I’m so happy for you!”

“Thanks, Coll,” Ted said. “You’re the best.”

“My fifteenth couple,” she said to the Holland sisters as the happy couple left for some monkey sex, one presumed.

“You have a gift,” Faith said, taking a slab of nachos onto her plate.

“And yet just last night, there was some poor woman in here, begging the guy she was with not to dump her, and I took her aside and said, ‘Honey, if you have to beg, do you really want this loser?’ But of course, she kept crying and begging, and it was agony, I tell you.” She finished her drink, one of the strawberry thingies Faith had passed on. “Maybe I should teach a class. Pru, when Abby starts dating, you send her to me.”

“Will do. And thanks, because God knows, she’s not listening to me these days.”

“Excuse me,” came a voice, and all three of them looked up.

“Hey, Paulie,” Colleen said. “How are you? Have a seat!”

Paulina “Paulie” Petrosinsky pulled up a chair, swung it backward and straddled it. She’d been Faith and Colleen’s classmate—not quite a friend back in the day, but really nice. She came into O’Rourke’s once in a while, usually after a workout at the gym, where her weight lifting skills were the stuff of legend.

“Um...I overheard you say something about, uh, teaching people? Women?” she asked.

“Slut University,” Pru said, and Faith and Honor snorted.

“Very funny,” Colleen said. “My reputation is greatly exaggerated.”

“And whose fault is that?” Faith asked. “You should stop spreading rumors about yourself.”

Colleen smiled. Had she in fact written something flattering about herself on the men’s room wall just last week? She had. “Ignore my so-called friends,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Um...can you really help a, um, a person? With, uh...you know. Love and men and stuff?” Paulie’s face turned deep red, then purple.

“Are you all right?” Honor asked, frowning a little.

“Oh, that. My face. It’s called idiopathic craniofacial erythema. I...I blush. A lot.”

“Wish I could hang around,” Prudence said. “We farm people have to get up early. Good luck with your man, Paulie! See you, girls!”

“So are you interested in someone in particular?” Colleen asked, scootching over into Pru’s vacated chair to make more room at the table.

Paulie swallowed. “Yeah,” she whispered, glancing around.

“Who?” Faith asked.

“Um...I’d rather not say.”

Colleen nodded. “What do you like about him?”

“He’s...he’s just so nice. I mean, really kind, right? And he’s cheerful and good and smart, I think, too. I mean, he...well. He’s great.”

Colleen smiled. “And do you feel sick when you see him, and then hot, and then nauseous?”

“Exactly,” Paulie said, her face purpling again.

“Do you imagine conversations with him, holding hands and moonlit walks and all that other mushy stuff?”

“I—yes. I do.” Paulie took a shaky breath.

“Does he make your danger zone tingly? Does your skin get hot, do your knees wobble, does your tongue feel swollen—”

Faith stood up. “I miss Levi,” she announced. She gave Colleen a kiss on the cheek and squeezed her sister’s shoulder. “Good luck, Paulie! Take Colleen with a grain of salt.”

“I’m going, too,” Honor said. “Bye, matchmaker. Do no harm, mind you. See you, Paulina.”

“So who is this guy?” Colleen asked when they were gone.

Paulie shot a nervous glance back to the bar. Aha! A hint. “You know what?” Paulie said. “Never mind. He’s...he’s out of my league.”

“No, he’s not!” Colleen cried. “Paulie, you’re so nice! You are! Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Besides, Colleen always felt a little guilty where Paulie was concerned.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“It’s true,” Colleen said firmly. Granted, Paulie hadn’t been blessed with great beauty. And her dad was a little odd—Ronnie Petrosinsky, owner of four small restaurants called Chicken King that served fried chicken thirty-eight different ways, all of them very, very bad for you. He was locally famous for his commercials, where he pranced around dressed as a rooster wearing a crown. Poor Paulie was also featured in a fluffy yellow chick suit, wearing a crown—the Chicken Princess. Try getting out from under that title, especially in high school.

“Listen, Paulie. No one is out of your league. Go ahead, tell me.”

Paulina sighed gustily and drained her Genesee (first order of business: get her to drink something more feminine). “It’s Bryce Campbell.”

Oh. Okay, so that might be tough.

Bryce was gorgeous. Jake Gyllenhaal DEFCON 4–gorgeous. He got his share of tail, as Colleen knew all too well. Bryce was a regular. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but sweet. He had a certain charm, and women threw themselves at him all the time.

Lots of women.

“That’s fine,” Colleen said, realizing she hadn’t spoken for a moment. “Not a problem.”

Paulie gave her a despairing look.

“I’m serious. We can work with this. So, tell me more about you and Bryce.”

Paulie’s expression grew dreamy, the severe blush fading. “He volunteers at the animal shelter, you know?” Colleen nodded; Bryce had in fact helped her choose Rufus the Doofus. “And the animals, they all love him. I go in a lot. I, um...I’ve adopted two dogs and four cats in the past year.”

Colleen smiled. “That’s a lot. But go on.”

“And the other day, I was getting gas, and so was he, and I didn’t even plan that! He just smiled at me and said, ‘Hey, Paulie, how’s it going?’” She sighed at the memory of the magical words. “It was amazing. I mean, that smile, right?”

Yes. Bryce had a beautiful smile. That was true.

“He’s never in a bad mood,” Paulie went on. “Never has a bad thing to say about anyone. Not that I talk to him. Not much, anyway. But sometimes we lift weights at the same time, and...well, I try to talk to him. But my mind goes blank, and I never think of anything good to say. But last week? I had to walk past him, and I said ‘Excuse me,’ and he said, and I quote, ‘No problem.’ Colleen, he smelled so good.”

The woman had it bad.

“And when we were in high school, he never made fun of me.”

Colleen’s heart gave a squeeze. Paulie had a solid, athletic build and held the school record for the number of push-ups, beating even Jeremy Lyon, football god, a record that stood to this day. Her father’s business didn’t help her social status; he’d started out as a chicken farmer, and Paulie hadn’t grown up as comfortably as most of the kids in town, though not as poor as others. And then, when the Chicken King became so successful, well, that was different, too, and it was hard to be different at that age.

Though she was now the chief operating officer for the Chicken King franchises, Colleen had never seen Paulie out of gym clothes, and she always seemed on the fringe of things, as nice and smart as she was.

With a pang, Colleen realized Paulie reminded her of Savannah, her nine-year-old half sister.

“You know what? Let’s forget about it, okay? I’m sorry,” Paulie said now.

“Absolutely not,” Colleen said. “He’d be lucky to have you. I’m serious. You’re great, you have so many nice qualities...it’s not gonna be that hard, Paulie. What have your other relationships been like?”

“Um...I...I’ve never had another relationship.”

“That’s fine. So, no experience with men?”

“I’m a virgin,” she said.

“No worries. Nothing wrong with saving yourself for true love.” Colleen herself had, after all. Not that hers was an exemplary story.

“It’s more like no one’s ever asked me.”

Oh! Poor lamb! “Not a problem.”

“He’d probably rather go out with you,” Paulie said.

“Oh, please,” Colleen said with a flinch. “Bryce? No. We’re not... He’s a sweetheart, but not my type. But you guys...you’d be great together.”

Paulie’s face lit up. “Really? You think so? Honest? I’ll do whatever you say. You think I have a shot?”

“Absolutely.”

Connor was back. “Dad called. Wants you to babysit. Apparently, Gail needs a break.”

Ah. Gail Chianese O’Rourke, their stepmother, four years their senior, not so lovingly known as Gail-the-Tail-Chianese-Rhymes-with-Easy-Hyphen-O’Rourke.

“A break from what?” Colleen asked. “From spa appointments? From shopping? A break from having breaks?”

“I don’t know. Ask him to call you on your cell next time. Hey, Paulie, anything else for you?”

“Uh, I’m good, thanks,” she said, shifting to take a ten from her pocket.

“On the house,” Connor and Colleen said in unison.

“Thanks.” She stood, tripped a little over the chair; Con grabbed her arm and Paulie flushed again. “Well. Thanks, Coll. You rock.” With that, she headed out into the beautiful spring night.

“I’m fixing her up,” Colleen said.

“Oh, God,” Connor muttered.

“What? You have something against true love?”

“Do you have to ask?”

The bar was emptying; the sidewalks, few that there were, tended to roll up early in Manningsport. Connor sat down with her. The only folks left were on the volunteer fire department, who felt that O’Rourke’s was their home away from home.

“Con, you think Mom and Dad screwed us up forever? I mean, neither one of us has a significant other.”

Connor shrugged. He hated talking about their parents.

“You should go out with someone. Jessica Dunn, maybe. Or Julianne from the library. Or I could fix you up.”

“I’d rather hang myself, but thanks.”

“If you do, can I have your car?” She gave him a look. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He grimaced, but hey, the twin telepathy was alive and well. “Don’t have kittens, okay? But actually, I’m seeing someone.”

“What? Since when? Who?”

“No kittens, Colleen.”

“Well, you’re my twin, my family, my coworker! We share a house!”

“Another life mistake.”

“Connor,” she said more calmly, “how are you seeing someone and I don’t know about it? Who is she? How long has this been going on? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because of this. I didn’t want you to go crazy and give me advice or start naming babies.”

“When have I ever done that?”

“An hour ago. You told Faith to name her baby after you.”

“Well, so did you.”

Her brother crossed his arms. “It’s not serious. Not yet.”

“I can’t believe you kept this from me. God, those three minutes you have on me ruined you. I should’ve been born first, and I would’ve been, if you hadn’t shoved me out of the way.”

“Okay, we’re done here. You wanna kick out the fire department, or shall I?”

“Get out, people!” Colleen yelled, and the various and sundry members of Manningsport’s bravest started reaching for their wallets.

Hello. Bryce Campbell was there, too. He must’ve come in when she was with the girls. He was watching the fire department with an almost wistful look on his face. Boys. They never got over the thrill of their first shiny red truck.

Well, no time like the present.

“Hey, Bryce,” she said, ambling over.

“Hi, Colleen.” He looked at her and smiled, and yes, Paulie had a point. Bryce was cute. That wasn’t news, but still.

“How’s your dad?” Smiling Joe Campbell was one of Colleen’s favorite patrons, though he hadn’t been in much in the past year.

“He’s great!” Bryce flashed another look at the MVFD, who were now filing out the door, laughing.

“You should join the fire department,” she said.

“Yeah. I doubt my mom would approve of that. I might get hurt.”

“You probably wouldn’t, though. Their safety record is stellar, even if they are a bunch of goofballs.” She took his empty glass and wiped the counter in front of him. “So, Bryce, you seeing anyone these days?”

He raised a friendly eyebrow. “You asking?”

“No.”

“Right.” He gave a mock grimace. “Nope, no one special. I wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend, though.”

This was going to be easier than she thought. “Really? What’s your type?”

“Aside from you?” He winked.

“None of that, now. Answer the question.”

“I don’t know. Pretty. Kind of...pretty and nice and hot, you know? Like Faith Holland, except maybe taller and skinnier, and don’t tell Levi I said that, okay?”

“Bryce Campbell. Looks aren’t everything, you know.” And if he had a problem with Faith—who was built like a 1940s pinup girl—she was going to have to tread carefully with Paulie. “How about personality?”

“Really outgoing. Like me, kind of. You know anyone?”

“Hmm. No one leaps to mind.” Actually, four women leaped to mind, but Bryce was a typical man—he didn’t know what he needed; he just knew what he liked. “But I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Thanks, Coll! You’re the best!”

“It’s true. Now get out, we’re closing.”

Half an hour later, Colleen walked to the yellow-and-red Victorian she shared with her brother. A duplex, so it wasn’t quite as dysfunctional as it sounded. Connor had left a little earlier, and the first-floor lights were out. Colleen’s apartment was on the second floor—a staircase in the back led to a small deck and her door.

She wondered if this mystery woman of his had visited the house yet.

“It’s all good,” she murmured to herself as she opened her door. “After all, we have somebody to love, too. Right, Rufus?”

One hundred and sixty pounds of scruffy gray canine agreed. She allowed him to maul her, scratched his rough gray fur, gazed meaningfully into his eyes, and then extricated herself. “Who wants a cookie? Is it us? I want an Oreo, and you, my beautiful countryman, can have a Milk-Bone.”

Some bozo had bought Rufus as a puppy, then, shocker, learned that the breed tended to get a wee bit large. But the idiot’s loss was her gain, because, as Bryce Campbell had suspected, Rufus and Colleen were kindred spirits.

She called Rushing Creek and talked to Joanie, the night nurse in her grandfather’s wing, and ascertained that Gramp was having a good night. Then, with a sigh, she got the snacks, made Rufus balance his cookie on his nose before allowing him to inhale it, then flopped down on the couch with the box of Oreos. Because really, no one had just one Oreo.

Love was in the air. It was all around her, as a matter of fact—Faith and Levi maybe percolating a baby; Honor and Tom getting married; Brandy and Ted now engaged. Paulie and Bryce (complicated on several levels...but maybe a chance for Colleen to do something good).

Connor and someone.

That one gave her the biggest pang. Granted, there’d been many times over the years when Colleen would’ve cheerfully sold Connor to the gypsies (and had, in fact, put him up for adoption when they were twelve and he announced the fact of her period in the cafeteria). When their parents went through their ugly, horrible, terrible divorce, she and Connor had become closer than ever. They often called or texted each other simultaneously. Saw each other every day.

It was strange, thinking of her twin married, a dad. She certainly wanted him happy, of course she did. It was just that she always pictured it in the happy, sunny future, in which she would have a great spouse and adorable tots.

But that picture always held a dreamlike quality, the image overexposed, as if the sun shone too brightly, and her husband’s face was blurred.

Once, she’d known exactly who the face belonged to, and it hadn’t been blurry at all.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a65033ce-69bc-5e3d-87e6-6d509502e2ef)

“MOMMY SAYS YOU’RE emotionally shut down.” The voice came from the child standing in the doorway of Lucas Campbell’s office at Forbes Properties. A female child of the smallish variety. One of his four nieces, specifically.

“That’s adorable. I thought I banned you from visiting me,” Lucas said. He pressed the intercom to his assistant. “Susan, please call Security and have my niece escorted from the building.”

“She’s five years old,” Susan said.

“Have them send a team.”

Chloe grinned, flashing the gaping hole in her teeth. Too soon for dentures, probably. “Mommy says you’re constibladed.”

“I’d have to agree,” Susan said, then clicked off.

He leveled a stare at his niece. “The word is constipated. If you’re going to talk about me, you need to up your game. Why are you here? Didn’t I pay you not to bother me?”

“I spent your money.”

“So?”

“So give me more.” The kid had the soul of a Beverly Hills trophy wife. She skipped over to him and climbed onto his lap.

“Don’t think this show of affection will win you any points,” he grumbled.

“What are you looking at?” Chloe said, settling back against him.

“Mr. Forbes is building a new skyscraper,” he said.

“I want to live in the penthouse.”

“You’re broke. And you have no earning potential, I might point out. You can’t even drive. Not very well, anyway.” This earned a giggle, and Lucas smiled into his niece’s hair.

“Is that a princess you have there?” came a voice.

“Hi, Frank!” Chloe scrambled off Lucas’s lap and charged into Frank Forbes’s legs. “Uncle Lucas showed me your new skyscraper, and I want to live in the penthouse!”

Frank picked up Chloe and laughed. “Well, you can stay overnight before we sell it, how’s that? You and your sisters?”

“Hooray!”

“Little girl, whatever your name is, go see Susan and tell her to let you answer the phones,” Lucas said. “You can be her boss until your mom comes to get you.” Steph, Lucas’s older sister, worked in Accounting seven floors down, and often sent her youngest up to bother him. Chloe was in the after-care program that Forbes offered its employees. Cara, Tiffany and Mercedes—Chloe’s sisters—had all been in the same program, though they were now extremely mature at ages fourteen for the twins, and sixteen for Mercedes.

Chloe stampeded for the reception area, the promise of power the best bribe possible.

“When can we hire her?” Frank asked, sitting down in the leather chair in front of Lucas’s desk.

Lucas smiled and waited. Frank only came by to talk about one thing these days—why Lucas should stay with Forbes Properties and not leave, as he planned to, once the Cambria skyscraper was finished. But Lucas was done here, as grateful as he was. Frank Forbes, his boss and former father-in-law (and yes, a relation to that Forbes) had been good to him.

“I wish you’d stay, son,” he said, almost on cue. “There’s no need for you to leave.”

“Thank you. But I think it’s time. More than time.”

Frank sighed. “Maybe. It won’t be the same without you, though.”

The truth was, it was still hard for Lucas to believe he worked here—him, a kid from the South Side, taking an elevator to the fifty-third floor every day. He’d first worked for Forbes Properties the summer of his freshman year of college, doing grunt-work construction, mostly cleaning up after the union carpenters and electricians, schlepping supplies, then working his way up being able to drive nails and cut wood.

Four years later, he’d been given a promotion, a health care package and a title.

That’s what happened when you knocked up the boss’s daughter.

And despite the fact that Frank had forgiven him for that transgression, had treated him far better than he deserved, had truly made him part of the family—and not just him, but Steph and her kids, too—Lucas couldn’t stay anymore. His debt to the Forbes family was paid as much as it would ever be.

“Have you seen my daughter lately?” Frank asked now.

“We had dinner the other night.”

There was a pause. “She looks good, don’t you think?”

“She does.”

Lucas’s intercom buzzed. “A call for you on line three,” came Chloe’s voice.

“Did you get a name?” Lucas asked.

“No,” she answered. “Get it yourself.”

Frank smiled. “I’ll see you later, son.”

“Thanks, Frank.” He waited until Frank left; the guy would stop to talk to Chloe, no doubt, who collected souls like a tiny Satan.

“Lucas Campbell,” he said into the phone.

“Lucas? It’s Joe.”

“Hey, Uncle Joe,” he said. “How you doing?”

There was a pause. “I’m not so good, pal.”

Something flared in Lucas’s chest. “Are you okay?”

“Well...the tumor’s getting bigger, and I think I’d like to...you know. Wind down.”

The words seemed to echo. Lucas looked out his window, automatically noting the Sears building, the Aon Center. “What can I do, Joe?” he asked, then cleared his throat.

“Can you come home for the duration? Bryce...he’ll take this hard. And there are some things I’ll need help with.”

“Of course.”

For the past eighteen months, Joe had been on dialysis; once a week at first, then twice, and now every other day. The kidney disease made him tired, but dialysis would keep him going almost indefinitely.

Unfortunately, a routine scan had discovered something more ominous—stage IV lung cancer, which would take him long before kidney failure, and Joe wanted to die on his own terms, as much as he could.

Joe was his only uncle, the older brother of Lucas’s late father. Joe’s wife, Didi, wasn’t the nurturing type. Bryce, their son, was an overgrown kid, sorely lacking in pragmatism. Not like Lucas, though they were almost exactly the same age.

“Is Bryce still at the vineyard?” he asked. His cousin had gotten a job at one of the many small vineyards in the Finger Lakes area, where Joe and Didi lived.

“No, he left there. It wasn’t for him,” Joe said.

Ah. Lucas tried to remember if Bryce had ever had a paying job for more than three months and came up empty.

“I’d like to see him settled before...before long,” Joe added. “You know. Employed. Happy. Stable.”

Adult, Lucas thought. He’d spoken to Bryce a couple of weeks ago, but it was mostly about the White Sox.

Lucas hadn’t been back to Manningsport in years. It wasn’t as if it had ever been home—just a place he’d lived for four months.

“I’ll make some arrangements, then,” Lucas said. “Call you tonight, Joe.”

Very gently, he hung up the phone.

So he’d be going back to Manningsport. Once more, he’d do his best to look out for Bryce. Once more, endure his aunt Didi, who’d only found him worthy of attention when he’d married Ellen Forbes, and still hadn’t forgiven him for divorcing her.

And once more, he’d see Colleen O’Rourke.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_285e2ac0-b68a-5a8e-8939-a171e8e69174)

“HEY, SUGARPLUM!” Colleen said as her little sister wriggled into the first booth at O’Rourke’s. “Nachos grande, coming up!”

Savannah’s face lit up, then avalanched. “Oh, no thanks,” she said, tugging at her formfitting purple shirt. “Maybe some water and a salad? Dressing on the side?”

Colleen paused. “You don’t like Connor’s nachos all of a sudden?”

It was a Friday evening tradition that Savannah came to the bar for supper while Dad and Gail went out on a date. Colleen, Connor and their sister would eat together, because even if Connor couldn’t stand the sight of their father and didn’t speak to Gail, he wasn’t an ass. Both twins loved Savannah quite a bit. Tons, in fact.

But it was fair to say that the universe had been paying attention to Gail-the-Tail-Chianese-Rhymes-with-Easy-Hyphen-O’Rourke when she was pregnant with Savannah.

Nine years ago, Colleen had been visiting her father and the Tail, despite her father’s infidelity and Gail’s fertility, and had overheard Gail saying this: If Colleen is pretty, imagine what our daughter will be like. Think it’s too early to call a modeling agency? Warm chuckles between the parents-to-be ensued, and Colleen had to stay in the cellar, where she’d been sent to hunt for a bottle of wine, until the bile surge subsided.

She imagined the baby would be beautiful. No such thing as ugly babies, after all. But she knew what Gail was saying. Colleen was pretty, something her father used to point out with great frequency...but Baby Girl 2.0 was going to be even better.

However, the karmic gods want to hear you praying for healthy children, not children with superior bone structure.

Savannah was not beautiful.

Colleen adored Savannah from the second she’d seen her at the hospital, with her little tubular head and snub nose. She changed diapers and took the baby for walks and rocked her and kissed her and sang to her, and Connor did the same, though with a lesser degree of fervor, being that he was a guy and all. But Colleen was in love.

Gail...not so much. Not enough, it seemed.

Savannah was wonderful and happy and funny, but she wasn’t beautiful. Not like Gail, who was a mere four years older than Colleen, and not like Colleen. Savannah was stocky and pale, whiter even than most Irish, which was saying a lot; while Colleen had creamy skin and rosy cheeks, Savannah was practically translucent. Her face was dotted with giant freckles, rather than a sprinkling of cinnamon, and her pale eyes were set close together. Instead of Gail’s Irish setter–auburn hair, Savannah’s was a pinkish strawberry-blond.

She walked heavily, despite Gail trying to teach her to tiptoe through the house, a strong, strapping girl with a low center of gravity that made her a great catcher on O’Rourke’s softball team, which Colleen managed in the town league. But she wasn’t what Gail had expected.

Gail wasn’t a bad mother. She made sure Savannah ate her veggies and got enough sleep, went to all her school activities and drove her to trumpet lessons, though Gail had petitioned hard for the flute or violin or something “more feminine.” It was clear Savannah confused her. She, after all, was a size two. Her hair was long and glossy and straight. Green eyes, of course. Perky boobs (Savannah had not been a breast-is-best baby) and a great ass. She bought micro-shorts and cropped tops for Savannah, who preferred Yankees T-shirts and sweats.

“A salad, huh?” Colleen said now.

“Mom says I should lose some weight.”

Colleen blinked. Savannah was solid. Sure, she had a little pudge. She was nine. Any second now, she’d shoot up five inches and things would balance out a bit more.

“Listen, sweets,” Colleen began. “Eating healthy is smart. Your mom is right about that.”

“I had a grilled pork chop for lunch. And broccoli,” her sister said. “And water. No carbs.”

For crying out loud. “Very nutritious. But everything in moderation, right? Nachos once a week isn’t going to ruin you. And life without nachos, you know? Why bother?”

Her sister’s smile lit up the room.

Ten minutes later, Connor set down the nachos and slid in next to Savannah, and all was as it should be. Savannah chattered happily about gym class and baseball (they were Yankees fans, of course). Connor let her come into the kitchen and drizzle sauce on the cheesecake desserts that were flying out of the kitchen, and Colleen let her take orders. All the regulars loved Savannah.

When Gail arrived to pick her up, she gave the girl a hug, then inspected the salsa stain on her shirt, shooting Colleen a dirty look.

“Nachos,” Colleen said. “It’s our girls’ night tradition.”

“Mmm,” Gail said. “Well. Good night.” Savannah waved, grinning.

So, yes. There was a personal parallel between her sister and Colleen’s other mission tonight: Paulie Petrosinsky and Bryce Campbell, Step One.

Like Savannah, Paulie lacked certain attributes deemed important by some. But it didn’t mean Savannah and Paulie were any less deserving of true love with the man of their dreams (though, yes, Savannah would have to wait quite a few years for that, thank you very much). Tonight’s mission: get Paulie on Bryce’s radar.

Speaking of Paulie, in she came, wrapped in what appeared to be a dirty sheet that went past her knees. Colleen had said “soft” and “feminine” and “bright” when Paulie asked what to wear. Not “gray.” She hadn’t said the word gray once. The word sheet had also not been mentioned.

“How do I look?” Paulie asked. “The salesman said these worked on every figure so I bought six of them.”

Colleen grabbed Paulie’s arm and hustled her into the office in the back. “Get out, Connor. Wardrobe emergency.”

“Then I should stay, don’t you think?” he asked, not even looking up from the computer, where he was doing God knows what.

“Is something the matter?” Paulie asked. “Crap. You know what? This isn’t gonna work. I think I’ll go home.”

“No, you’re not, no you’re not,” Colleen said. “Courage, my friend. Just let me fix your hair a little, okay? We’re going for a soft, gamine look, and you used just a little too much product.” Ow. Paulie’s hair was stiff with gel. Colleen broke through and tousled it a bit for a slight improvement. “Let’s ditch this, uh...this sweater, is it?” Colleen plucked at the gray fabric that swathed Paulie’s muscular figure.

“No! It’s a multi-look sweater,” Paulie said, clutching it closed. “I have six of them.”

“So you said.”

Paulie’s face was bright red, so Colleen reached across Connor to grab a folder and began fanning her, smiling encouragingly. “That’s fine. The sweater can stay. It’s...it’s an interesting piece.” Confidence, she well knew, was the key to true beauty.

“You can wear it seventeen different ways,” Paulie said. “Like this, my favorite, just sort of flowing—” And it did flow, almost all the way to the floor, since Paulie was about five-one. “And then you can take the ends and wrap it around your neck—”

“Why would you do that?” Colleen said. “To hang yourself?”

“And then you can make it even into a dress, see, like this. Or a scarf. Even a skirt.”

“‘It’s a sock, it’s a sheet, it’s a bicycle seat,’” Connor said in a singsong voice. “Remember that, Coll? The Lorax? What was that thing they made from the Truffula trees?”

“A Thneed,” Colleen said. “Here. Let me drape it...um...great. There!” Okay, it was a weird sweater, but if Paulie thought she looked good in it....

“It hides a lot of flaws,” Paulie said.

“You don’t have flaws. You’re very strong and healthy-looking.”

“I heard you can bench-press two twenty-five,” Connor said, earning a kick from Colleen.

“True,” Paulie said proudly.

“And that’s great,” Colleen said. “But tonight, let’s focus on femininity. No, don’t panic. We’re just planting the seeds, that’s all. Just planting seeds.”

“Or Thneeds,” Connor said.

“Shut it, Connor. Why are you still here, anyway? Go cook something.”

He obeyed (finally).

“No need to be nervous, Paulie,” she said more gently. “You’ve known Bryce for aeons—”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered, her face going blotchy.

“—and he already likes you.”

“He likes everyone.”

True. Bryce didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Or an ugly bone, either. Which was why women launched themselves at him like hypersonic missiles.

“Now tonight,” Colleen said, “you just want to get his attention, okay? As a woman, not as his buddy. Don’t talk about sports, don’t mention how much you can bench-press. Just say something like, ‘Oh, hey, Bryce! You look really handsome tonight.’”

From Paulie came the sounds of a dry heave.

“Now, now,” Colleen said. “It’s gonna be fine. Bryce is handsome. We all know that. So you just remind him that you’re here and female and fabulous. I want you to just brush against his arm, like this, just a little swoop of the breast, okay? A breast-swoop.” She demonstrated, pressing the girls lightly against Paulie’s shoulder.

“You smell great,” Paulie said.

“That would be a perfect thing to tell him.”

“No, I meant you. You smell really nice.”

Colleen paused. “Thanks. Now take a deep breath.” She looked down at Paulie’s kind, flushed face. “This is just the shark-bump test. Just to bring you onto his radar.”

“Got it. Shark. Radar.” She was hyperventilating.

“Breathe in for four, hold for four, exhale for four, that’s a girl. I know Bryce’s usual type, and guess what? They’re not right for him, are they, or else he’d be married right now. Just imagine that he’s been waiting for you all his life.”

“No need to sell it that hard, Coll.”

“It’s called confidence.” She squeezed Paulie’s hard shoulders. “I’ll be right behind the bar.”

“What if I screw up? What if he laughs at me? What if I puke and—”

“Calm down. Remember, you’re smart, you’re an executive at a successful company, you have what, an MBA? Everyone likes you, Paulie. Bryce just needs a little...strategy, and he’ll see you for the amazing person you are. And if you really love him, he’s worth the effort, right?”

“Yeah. He is.” Paulie stood up a little straighter.

“So let’s go. I hate to be cliché, but I want you drinking a martini or a mojito. No more Genesee.”

“Feminine, fabulous, martini, mojito.”

“Perfect. And next time, wear a girly color. Not gray.”

“It’s fog.”

“It’s gray, Paulie. You came to me, remember? I’m the expert. So no Thneed next time.”

Paulie cracked her neck. “What if—just putting this out there—what if I panic?”

“Um...I’ll give you a sign.”

“Really? That would be so great, Colleen!”

“I’ll do this. See?” She tossed her hair back in the time-honored fertility gesture women used to get men to notice how shiny they were. “Hair flip equals abort, abort. You pretend your phone is ringing and you just step away. Okay?”

“Roger that.”

Colleen took the shorter woman by the shoulders. “You’re special, and he’d be lucky to have you.”

Paulie smiled, even if her breathing was labored. She really did have a sweet smile. “Okay. Thanks, Coll. If you say so.”

“I do. Now get out there and make me proud. Don’t forget your lines.”

“Hi, Bryce, you smell so hot.”

“No, no, we don’t want him to think he smells like meat on a grill. It’s, ‘Hi, Bryce! Don’t you look handsome tonight.’”

“Hi, Bryce, don’t you look so beautiful tonight.”

“Handsome.” Colleen smiled firmly.

“And handsome, too.”

“You look handsome tonight, Bryce.”

“So do you.”

“Close enough. Go get ’em,” Colleen said. “I’ll be eavesdropping.”

She held the door for Paulie and went behind the bar, pulled a Guinness for Gerard, automatically smiled at his compliment because he was a schmoozer of the first class, and watched her protégé.

There weren’t too many people here; it was a Tuesday in late May, and the summer season hadn’t really begun yet, so she had a great view.

She really hoped this went well. She owed Paulie a little happiness.

When they were in sixth grade, something happened to Paulie. Her hair turned greasy, her face broke out and she thickened without growing in height. Not a big deal. After all, Faith had epilepsy, Jessica Dunn wore hand-me-downs, Asswipe Jones’s dandruff could’ve been covered by The Weather Channel. Paulie’s awkwardness wasn’t that big a deal.

But then came The Smell. A not-very-good smell that wafted from Paulie. The other kids noticed it but didn’t say anything. Not at first. But then whispers started, and Paulie seemed completely unaware, smiling, blushing, always being so damn nice.

One day, several of Colleen’s crowd decided to talk to their English teacher about it. Mrs. Hess was young, pretty and nice and had a Southern accent, which they all found terribly exotic. Sure enough, the teacher listened sympathetically.

“I hear what y’all are sayin’,” she said. “And here’s what I think should be done. It’d be a genuine favor if one of y’all took Miss Paulie aside and just told her the truth. Otherwise, how’s she gonna know, bless her heart?”

Colleen was immediately elected as the bearer of bad news. If anyone could say it, it was Colleen. Personally, Coll thought Faith would be even better at it, but no, the other girls said Colleen was good at that sort of thing. And so, the next day, Mrs. Hess asked Paulie to stay in at recess, and then said, “Colleen here has something she’d like to discuss with you, Paulie,” she said with a smile, then slipped from the room.

“What’s up?” Paulie asked. There was a hopeful look in her eyes, and Colleen felt her heart spasm a little. She’d been sick with nervousness all day long as it was, and the greasy cafeteria pizza at lunch hadn’t helped.

Colleen was popular; not mean-girl popular, just really well liked. She had the glamour of being a twin, not to mention her prettiness and ease with boys. Paulie had none of those things (except that everyone thought she was nice). But already, before she said a word, Colleen knew this wasn’t going to go well.

“So,” she said, sitting next to Paulie, who was clad in rust-colored corduroys and bedazzled sweatshirt. Damn. Faith would’ve been perfect for this job...Faith the sweet, the kind, the slightly tragic, would’ve had just the right touch. “Okay, well, here’s the thing, Paulie.”

“Yeah?”

Colleen’s stomach didn’t feel so good. She could almost taste the bitter smell. Didn’t Paulie’s mother talk to her about stuff? She cleared her throat. “Some of us were talking,” she said, biting her thumbnail. “And...uh, it was about things that, um, happen to some people when you’re a teenager and stuff.”

Paulie frowned. “Oh.”

Colleen’s stomach lurched. “It’s nothing bad, Paulie. You’re really nice and smart and stuff. But, um...well...there’s a certain...smell? There’s a funky smell around you.” She winced. “I’m sorry.”

Paulie looked at Colleen a horrible, long minute, then bowed her head. “I don’t smell,” she whispered.

Colleen swallowed. There was that taste again. Why had the other girls elected her? Why hadn’t Mrs. Hess said something instead, or had Paulie see the nurse, who could talk about hormones and whatever? “I’m sorry,” she said again. “But you do. It’s hard to sit next to you sometimes.”

“Who was talking about this?” she whispered, and a single tear slid down her face and landed on the molded plastic desktop.

“Just...a few of us. I—we thought you should know.”

“I don’t smell!” Paulie yelled, then pushed back from the desk and ran out of the room.

And Colleen threw up. Not because of the smell...because of shame. Shame and greasy pizza. But the rumor flashed—Paulie smelled so bad that she made Colleen puke.

Paulie didn’t come back to school for the rest of the week, and Colleen had never felt so small. She told only Connor about the conversation, and when he said, “Oh, Coll,” she knew for sure she’d done something terrible.

Later that month, they learned that Paulie had bigger problems. Her mother had run off with another man, and Paulie would be living with her dad from now on. When she returned to school, she had a new haircut. Her clothes were better, and the smell was still there, but it was fainter. Eventually, it went away altogether.

A thousand times, Colleen wanted to apologize; a thousand times, she convinced herself that it was kinder not to bring it up. In tenth grade, they were assigned to the same group for a social studies project, and Paulie couldn’t have been nicer.

So if Colleen wanted to help Paulie with her love life, who could blame her?

Paulie stood in the vicinity of Bryce’s usual spot at the bar. Gerard said hi to her, but Paulie didn’t answer, just stared at Colleen as if she was facing a firing squad.

“How about a mojito, Paulie?” she said cheerfully, tossing some mint into a glass.

“Sure,” Paulie mumbled, rubbing her hands on her sweater.

And then in came Bryce Campbell, all easy male grace, tall and lanky, dressed in a white polo shirt and jeans. He waved and made his way to his usual place at the horseshoe-style bar. A strangled noise came from Paulie.

Colleen handed her the drink. “Hey, Bryce, don’t you look handsome tonight,” she whispered.

“Coll, you could whisper to me?” Gerard said. “I can think of a whole bunch of things I’d like you to say.”

“Shush, child, I’m talking to my friend,” she answered. She gave Paulie a firm smile. “Now’s good.”

“I’m not ready,” Paulie whispered.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I can’t. Can you do it for me?”

“Like we’re in third grade, and you want me to tell him you like him?”

“Yes. Please.”

“No. Come on now. Handsome, shark, boobs, smile. And then you’re done. Now go.”

With a faint groan, Paulie inched toward Bryce, who was at the end of the bar, talking to Jessica Dunn. Hmm. Jess was way too pretty, all blonde and super-modelesque, Bryce’s usual type.

Paulie stopped just behind him and shot Colleen a terrified glance and appeared to freeze. Luckily, Hannah was behind the bar, too, so Colleen boob-skimmed her.

“Get your boobs off me. Sexual harassment and all that,” Hannah said.

“Shh.” She smiled firmly at Paulie, who took a deep breath, swung her shoulders and bodychecked him right off his stool, Jessica Dunn stepping neatly aside as Bryce sprawled on the floor. Colleen’s view was all too clear. “Goddamn it!” Paulie said. She reached down to help him up, tripped on the dangling end of the Thneed, stepped on Bryce’s hand and spilled her mojito right onto his head. “Shit! Shit!”

So much for soft and feminine. Colleen tossed her hair for the “abort” sign. Paulie didn’t notice, Gerard was wheezing with laughter, one of those guys who loved nothing more than the physical pain of others (he was a paramedic, after all). Now Paulie was hauling Bryce to his feet, but she was too strong, and she yanked him not only up, but slammed him into the bar, causing the hanging glasses to rattle and sway.

Colleen tossed her hair again. Coughed. Coughed again more loudly. Tossed. Coughed. Tossed. Cough ’n’ tossed.

“Wow, Paulie, easy does it, okay?” Bryce said, rubbing his arm at the shoulder. Paulie’s face was broiling-red. She took both ends of the Thneed and twisted them in anguish.

Another hair toss, this one so hard Colleen thought she might’ve dislocated her neck, and still Paulie didn’t see her. Colleen threw up her hands

“What are you doing?” said a low voice behind her.

Colleen’s heart froze, as though she’d swallowed a large ice cube, and it was stuck right over her heart.

She turned around.

Yep. Lucas Campbell.

None other. Standing approximately two feet from her, looking at her with those knowing, dark eyes.

Her skin suddenly felt tight. Mouth: dry. Brain: dead.

“What are you doing, Colleen?” Lucas asked again.

“Nothing,” she said as if it hadn’t been ten years since she’d last seen him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m here to see my cousin.”

“So go see your cousin.”

“What are you doing to my cousin?”

“I’m not doing anything to your cousin.” So mature. And did they have nothing else to say to each other? Ten years apart? A river of tears (hers) and blood (his...well, she wished it was his blood).

Lucas just looked at her, his pirate eyes unreadable.

Shit.

Of all the gin joints in all the world, she started thinking, then squelched a blossom of slightly hysterical laughter.

Lucas Damien Campbell was here. Here in her bar. You think he could’ve called? Would that have been so much to ask, huh? Hmm? Would it? Hey, Colleen, I’m coming to visit my cousin, so be prepared, okay?

Colleen took a ragged breath, then coughed to cover. Unfortunately, the cough became genuine, and tears came to her eyes as she hacked and choked.

“You okay?” he asked in that ridiculously sexy, river-of-dark-chocolate voice.

“Yes,” she wheezed, wiping her eyes. “Just great.”

“Good.”

He dragged his eyes off of hers and looked over at the little knot of people at the end of the bar; Jess was laughing, Bryce smiling and Paulie looked like she was praying for a swift death.

“Are you trying to fix Bryce up with Paulina Petrosinsky?” he asked. Damn. She’d forgotten how...observant he was.

“No,” she said, proud of getting that one word out.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes. You are.” He raised an eyebrow, and her knees wobbled. Sphincter! He was here. Here and beautiful, and damn it, older. A decade older than the last time she’d seen him, and yet it seemed like yesterday when he’d walked with her down to the lake and broke her heart. Irreparably, the bastard.

Her breath wanted to rush out of her lungs, but she held it in carefully, not wanting to induce another sexy choking fit.

She’d forgotten how he looked, like a pirate, like Heathcliff of the moors, dark and slightly dangerous...except for his eyes, which could be so sad. And so happy, too.

His black hair was slightly shorter than it had been years ago, but still gypsy beautiful, curling and black. He’d lost his boyish skinniness, had broadened in the shoulders. He hadn’t shaved today, and he seemed taller now than he had back then.

Back when he loved her.

He seemed to read her mind, because something flickered through his eyes.

In the year after Lucas left her, Bryce would come into the bar and mention him occasionally. Went to see my cousin last weekend, or Hey, Lucas is taking me and Dad to a White Sox game! Finally, in a rare show of vulnerability, Colleen had asked him not to talk about Lucas anymore. And in an even rarer show of understanding, Bryce seemed to get it.

She knew he was married. No kids—surely Smiling Joe Campbell would’ve mentioned that. She knew he worked for his father-in-law. That was about it.

She had told him never to call her again, never to write, and he took her at her word.

And now, her heart was jackhammering in her chest, and though she hoped like hell her heart wasn’t written all over her face, she was...terrified.

Lucas took a breath. “Colleen, I’m only back in town because Joe asked me to come. I imagine you know he’s pretty sick.”

Her heart gave an unwilling tug. “I do,” she said, then, fearing that sounded a little too matrimonial, she added, “Know he’s sick. I do know he’s sick, I mean. He’s sick, I know it, the dialysis, not easy, I guess, and I’m sorry.” Her Tourette’s of Terror, Connor called it when she babbled. Not that she was terrified often, but hell, she certainly was now.

“Thank you.” He glanced again at Bryce—right, right, there was something going on with Bryce tonight, whatever—then looked at Colleen again. “It’s good to see you.”

“Can’t say the same,” she answered.

His mouth tugged on one side, causing a respondent tug in her special places. Five more minutes, and she’d be back in love.

“Bryce doesn’t need more complications in his life right now.”

“And by complications, you mean what, exactly?”

“The Chicken King’s virgin daughter.”

“Oh, cool! That sounds like a Harlequin romance. I would definitely read that.” The Chicken King’s virgin daughter was nowhere to be seen at the moment. “And how do you know Paulie’s a virgin, huh? Maybe she’s the town slut.”

Yeah. This wasn’t going well.

“I doubt she’s the town slut.”

She bristled. “What are you implying, Lucas?”

He gave her a strange look. “Nothing. Just that Paulie doesn’t seem like the type.”

“Well, what if she is a slut, huh? Maybe Bryce likes sluts.” Time to shut up now, Connor’s voice—her conscience—advised sagely.

“I’m sure he does.”

“So what’s your problem, then?”

“I’m trying to have a rational conversation here.”

“Yeah, and I haven’t seen you in ten years, and you just waltz into my bar and start insulting me and bossing me around. I do know about your uncle and how sick he is, because guess what? I visit him. I like him. I bring him magazines and cookies, and he likes my dog.”

“You have a dog?”

“Yes, I do, so just...you just, um, put that in your pipe and suck on it.” Smooth, O’Rourke. She tried to look haughty and dignified. “Maybe I happen to think that Bryce needs someone to help him through this difficult time.”

“Maybe he has other things to deal with.”

“And maybe I’m right and you’re wrong.”

He tilted his head to one side. “I’m getting the sense that you’re still mad.”

“I’m not.”

“Leave my cousin alone, all right?”

“Make me.”

He rolled his beautiful (damn them) eyes and walked over to Bryce, hugging him.

Humph. He hadn’t hugged her.

“Let’s stop being stupid, shall we?” she muttered to herself.

Lucas said something, then smiled. Shit, that was a good smile. Hardly ever saw it, that was the trick. She, on the other hand, smiled like a pubescent monkey or jackal or hyena or some other animal that smiled a lot. “What do you think?” she asked Victor Iskin, a regular at the bar who had a well-documented love of animals. “Do hyenas smile more than monkeys?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Do I look like a hyena right now?”

“Can’t say that you do, dear.”

“Colleen! Leave the customers alone!” Connor called from the kitchen.

Lucas and Bryce were leaving, thank the sweet Christ child.

Her hands were shaking. She heard an odd sound; it was her, sucking air.

“Who was that?”

Colleen gave herself a mental shake. “Hey. Paulie. How’d it go?”

“I knocked him down, stepped on his hand, spilled a drink on his head, yanked his arm, hurled him into the bar and then hid.”

“That’s good,” Colleen murmured.

Paulie frowned, then looked at Colleen more closely. “Who was that? The guy you were talking to. He looked familiar.”

“That’s...that’s Bryce’s cousin.”

“Oh, man, I remember him! Lucas, right?” Paulie ran a hand through her hair. “You were together, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” She closed her eyes.

“Well, shit. Are you still in love with him?”

“No!”

“Are your special places tingling?”

“Excuse me? No. No, that’s...of course not. I mean...he broke my heart. First love and all that crap. A long time ago.”

“Yeah, well, I’d give anything to have Bryce look at me the way Lucas was looking at you.”

“We were fighting.”

“I’d give anything to have Bryce fight with me that way.” Paulie raised her eyebrows.

A change of subject was definitely needed. “Okay, so tonight’s Bryce encounter didn’t go as planned,” she said. “The good news is, you got his attention, right? That’s the first step.”

“The first step in his filing a restraining order against me, maybe.”

“Oh, come on. Bryce probably doesn’t know what a restraining order is.”

“He’s not dumb, Colleen.”

Colleen winced. “No, you’re right. Sorry. Anyway, you were memorable, so it’s not all bad.”

As she and Paulie talked, there was another voice in her head. Common sense, call it. Don’t fall for those eyes again. Don’t notice his hands, or his mouth. Those are just tricks. We’re not doing this again.

Already, it felt like she was in a whole lotta trouble.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_4a6b561d-6dab-5adb-a79c-30abe8d57879)

THE FIRST TIME she ever saw Lucas Damien Campbell, Colleen fell in love.

Not that she was a believer in that kind of thing.

Even at the tender age of eleven, when her mother had sobbed through yet another sappy romantic comedy, Colleen pointed out the fact that the characters had known each other for only six days, so it was a little hard to buy into the whole everlasting soul mate philosophy. In seventh grade, Tim Jansen sent her a letter full of hyperbolic compliments (“your eyes are shinier than a mirror,” which Colleen thought was creepy and hoped wasn’t true) and anguished love (“I feel like my heart will explode when you smile at me”). She patted his hand and said he probably should take up a sport to channel some of that energy.

High school was no different, though the boys abruptly grew taller...despite the abundance of hormones, despite her abiding love for Robert Downey, Jr., Colleen remained above the fray. No, she’d rather hang out with her brother, laugh at his friends, and watch Faith and Jeremy, the perfect couple, with fondness and a satisfying bit of melancholy. By the time she was a senior, virtually every boy in Manningsport had asked her out and received a kindly “no.” Love—especially the sloppy, frenching-in-the-halls type—was not meant for Colleen Margaret Mary O’Rourke.

“What do you mean, you’re not going to prom?” her mother asked one night around the family dinner table. Con was going with Sherry Wong, a mathlete like himself. “Hasn’t anyone asked you?”

“Nine guys have asked her, Ma,” Connor offered, taking another shovelful of mashed potatoes.

“It’s not for me,” Colleen said easily. “Drama, rayon dresses, crepe paper, the inevitable tears. I’ll pass.”

“That’s my girl,” Dad said with an approving nod. Connor sighed, and Colleen could feel his mood drop several degrees. It was no secret that Colleen was their father’s favorite.

People like them, Dad said once in a while, were too smart for that. Just what that was, Colleen wasn’t sure, but she was flattered to be included. Her father’s approval was everything. Connor was smart, too—smarter, at least according to his grades, but “we think alike,” Dad would say.

Pete O’Rourke was still handsome enough to get stares from women of all ages—black Irish, the same clear gray eyes Colleen had, unlike Connor’s blue. He was the youngest of his family, widely viewed to be the star of the family by his older sisters, who fussed over him at family gatherings, getting him plates of food as if he were an invalid, cooing over his latest real estate coup. In town, men shook his hand, laughed loudly at his jokes, came to him for advice—Dad owned six of the fifteen commercial buildings in town.

Mom was still sappily infatuated with him, which Colleen found both cute and annoying. When his car pulled into the driveway, she’d rush to ditch her slippers, shove her feet into heels and put on lipstick. If he commented on her appearance, “Jeanette, is that a new hairstyle?” She’d flush with pleasure. “Oh, thank you!” she’d say, not quite noticing that it wasn’t exactly a compliment. And Dad would give Colleen a little wink of collusion, which made her feel simultaneously guilty and clever.

Mom never finished college, knocked up in the great tradition of the O’Rourke family. She worked part-time for an interior designer and actually could’ve joined the firm; her boss quite liked her, but she always said no. “Your father is such a good provider,” she’d say.

Slightly overweight, she’d go on fad diets before the holidays or the annual Manningsport Black & White Ball, get her hair done, buy a new dress...but still, Mom always looked a little older, a little frumpier, a little less certain than Dad. Pete O’Rourke was, there was no mistaking it, one of those guys who got better with age, Manningsport’s version of Pierce Brosnan: the graying hair, the extreme good looks.

To Colleen, the best compliment she could get was that she was her father’s girl. Except when Mom said it, for some reason; there’d be a slight and rare tinge of bitterness in her voice. Then again, Mom loved Connor best. It was only fair.

So yeah, a high school romance, prom, and all that...leave that for the other girls: Theresa and Faith, who’d marry their high school honeys, no doubt. Let other girls worry over boys (or girls, in the case of Deirdre and Tiffy). Colleen would give advice to the girls, deflect advances from the boys, cheerful and observant and not at all lonely...not with a twin and a best friend and adoring father. It was exactly how she wanted things.

And then she met Lucas Campbell.

It was big news, of course. Manningsport had a tiny year-round population; just about any change was cause for excitement.

“Kids,” said Mrs. Wheaton, their beleaguered English teacher, adjusting her corduroy (ouch) jumper, “we have two new students joining our class shortly.” She consulted her paperwork. “Bryce and Lucas Campbell. Uh...cousins, it says here. Please be nice.”

“Is Bryce a boy’s name?” Tanya Cross asked. She wasn’t tremendously bright.

“Yes,” Mrs. Wheaton asked. “Now, getting back to Hamlet. Does anyone have an opinion on Ophelia?”

No one bothered answering. A ripple went through the class. Two new members of the senior class? Jeremy Lyon had transferred in last summer, and look how totally awesome he was! Could lightning strike twice? The girls began either whispering to or ignoring each other. Posture: improved. Hair: tossed. Legs: crossed. Lips: licked.

The guys in the class exchanged glances, aware that two new roosters in the henhouse would shift the dynamic. Well, not all the boys. Asswipe Jones was sleeping (hungover, probably), and Levi Cooper stared at Jessica with that hot look of his. Jeremy was running a hand through his own dark hair.

As for Colleen, she didn’t need to sit up or lick or cross. She already had it going on. (False modesty—not one of her flaws.) Still, she too glanced at the door. Just because she didn’t want to date anyone didn’t mean she didn’t want to be acknowledged as, yes, the prettiest girl in high school, the funniest and the most sought-after.

The door opened, and in came the newbies.

There was a stunned silence, then a collective murmur.

“Oh, my God,” Tanya breathed.

Yep, the first guy was a looker. Blue, blue eyes, sweet smile, dark brown hair that was styled but not too embarrassing. Dimple in his left cheek. Were Colleen the dating type, she’d probably be all over that. His eyes stopped on her, his smile widened, which was gratifying. Colleen allowed a faint smile back. The not-quite-catty thought came to her—she could have him if she wanted. Which she didn’t, but still.

Then she noticed the second guy. Her smile faltered.

Holy St. Patrick. Her face didn’t change (she hoped), but her body was...was doing things. Stomach tightened, mouth dried, knees (and other parts) tingled. She acknowledged the feelings from afar because her brain couldn’t quite function at the moment.

He looked a lot like the other boy, but he was darker. Not quite as good-looking...well, no. Not quite as perfect, but a lot more compelling. Black hair instead of brown, olive skin and deep, dark eyes.

He looked like a Spanish pirate. Like a Romany gypsy. Like Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, and like Heathcliff, there was something about his expression that said he knew things, saw things, that he wasn’t as sweet or as easy or as simple as the boy who stood next to him.

“Now, which one of you is Bryce?” Mrs. Wheaton asked.

“I am,” said the blue-eyed guy. “This is my cousin Lucas. He lives with us.” And even though Bryce made the introduction, it was Lucas who shook hands with Mrs. W. first, causing his cousin to follow suit, and Colleen could sense the dynamic: Lucas, the cousin who lived with “us,” was in charge.

“Nice to meet you,” the gypsy boy said, and Colleen just about slid out of her chair in lust. Because that voice, good God, did eighteen-year-old boys really get to sound like that? It was deep and mellow and just a little rough and caused a reverberation in Colleen’s special places, and what the hell would happen if he actually spoke to her?

“Welcome, boys,” Mrs. Wheaton said. “Find a seat, if you’d be so kind.” There was a tremendous screech as the female half of the class pushed their chairs back to make room for the newcomers.

Lucas went past Colleen, and it was horrifying, embarrassing, thrilling to have her heart pound so hard. He smelled like soap and sunshine and wore faded jeans and black Converse, and that was all she saw because she didn’t dare look at him. Don’t talk to me, don’t talk to me, her brain chanted. He didn’t, just went past to the back of the room, the longest four seconds of her life. Her cheeks burned—honestly, a boy making her cheeks burn? This never happened!—and she stared at the words in her book. I do not know, my lord, what I should think.

Preach it, Ophelia.

Where was he? Was he looking at her? Who was he sitting next to? A girl? Probably a girl. Jessica? She always sat in the back. She’d probably already given him her number. They were probably already planning a hookup, because everyone knew Jess just used Levi for sex. Would the Spanish pirate boy go for someone like that? Colleen would lose all respect, not that she had any just yet, but you know, she could already feel herself getting mad, boys were so stupid, and—

“How’s it going?” Bryce asked. He’d sat down next to her, and she hadn’t quite noticed.

“Great,” she said. “I’m Colleen. Welcome to Manningsport.”

“Nice meeting you,” he said with an easy grin.

Where was Lucas? What was he thinking? Would he like her, too? Because it was obvious that what’s-his-name, Bryce, already did, though he was now talking to Tanya, who was being super-duper helpful and sharing her copy of Hamlet with him, pressing her boob against his arm. Colleen hoped he liked the smell of Eternity perfume, because Tanya practically bathed in it.

She wanted very much to turn around and see the gypsy boy. Also, she should probably stop referring to him as pirate or gypsy. Even mentally.

She didn’t turn. She was too smart for that, as Dad pointed out.

She didn’t feel so smart now.

For the next thirty-one minutes, she tried to concentrate on Hamlet. Never before had she been quite so interested in the words coming out of Mrs. Wheaton’s mouth. Not that she could actually understand them, mind you, but Colleen assiduously took notes, keeping her handwriting tidy, mentally repeating phrases like “preoccupation with death,” “theme of decomposition.” And in the meantime, her entire body pulsed with hot, almost painful throbs and a vague sense of danger, the same as last summer, when they’d gone swimming on Cape Cod the day after a shark attack. Just because you couldn’t see it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Waiting.

“Come on, idiot,” her brother said, nudging her head with his backpack. “Physics lab. Snap out of it.”

Ah. Class had ended, then. Lucas and Bryce were talking to Mrs. Wheaton. Colleen stood up and gave her brother a look. “I was taking notes. Thank me later when I save you from flunking the test.”

“I don’t need notes,” Connor said, going on ahead.

She carefully didn’t look at Lucas...well, not directly. Wouldn’t want to give the impression that she couldn’t look at Lucas, so she did the drive-by glance...gaze just skimming the face, looking away the instant before his eyes could meet hers, a faint smile on her face, so very pleasant. “Bye, Mrs. Wheaton,” she said. “Bye, boys.” Because Colleen O’Rourke wasn’t bothered by the male species. She was too smart for that.

For the next three weeks, Colleen managed not to speak to Lucas Campbell. Bryce, she found, was as friendly as Smiley, the Holland family’s Golden retriever, and about as smart. Bryce was quite beautiful and fun to look at, and she found herself flirting with him harmlessly, same as she did with all the other boys. He could volley it back pretty well, though most of her jokes went over his head. Still, he had long eyelashes and beautiful blue eyes and always seemed happy.

His cousin...well, Colleen didn’t know what he was like. She gave him the occasional drive-by, not wanting to ignore him outright because of what that might reveal.

Tanya Cross who was as determined as she was irritating, asked Bryce to the prom. Bryce then sealed Tanya’s bitchery by asking Colleen if she’d go with him, and could she give an answer because “that Tanya chick wants to go with me.”

“Sorry, pal,” she said, patting him on the arm like a fond auntie. “It’s not really my thing. You go with Tanya. She’s sweet.” Which Tanya wasn’t, but it wouldn’t be nice to say so...plus, it would irritate Tanya all the more to know that Colleen had been totally classy.

Had Lucas asked her to go, her answer might’ve been a lot different.

He didn’t.

Lucas wasn’t going and had turned down four girls before it had been ascertained that no, he wasn’t waiting for someone else to ask him; he just wasn’t going. This, of course, was widely and voraciously analyzed every time two or more girls gathered in a classroom, hall, cafeteria, gym, bakery, school bus or mall and via phone, text, email, sign language and smoke signals.

Oh, the delicious and frustrating mystery of it! No one knew why Lucas lived with Bryce. Their fathers were brothers, and Bryce said only that “it worked out best.” Bryce’s mother worked for an insurance company that had a branch in Corning, a half hour away; hence the senior-year move from Illinois.

Bryce’s dad was the one who showed up at Bryce’s soccer games, sitting with his nephew, talking easily. The fondness between them was reassuring to Colleen. Lucas Campbell was no Heathcliff (thank heavens, because she knew how irresistible those types were).

Still, Lucas had a tinge of tragedy about him: his own mother dead; details of the father unknown, though speculated upon greatly—mafioso, movie star, eccentric billionaire, prison, gay, defrocked priest. Coll pretended not to listen but ate up every word.

The week before prom was consumed with talk of dresses, hairstyles, shoes and how to stop a guy from going too far. Despite her own utter lack of experience, Colleen was asked for advice and doled it out, sounding quite expert to her own ears—tell him beforehand how far you’re comfortable going, or just say, “that’s far enough,” no, don’t french on the dance floor, it’s so tacky, and whatever you do, don’t have unprotected sex.

On prom night, she took pictures of Connor, helped Sherry pin on his corsage because Sherry had it bad for Con and couldn’t quite manage it as her hands were shaking. Colleen wished them a merry prom and waved with her parents as the limo pulled away, filled with the other four couples as well as Con and Sherry. “Kids today. They grow so fast,” she sighed happily. “What are we doing tonight, parents?”

“I thought we’d watch movies,” Mom said hopefully. “I made Rice Krispies treats.”

“Oh, hooray,” Colleen said. “Dad? You in?”

“I have to go to check on some properties,” he said a bit tersely.

“Okay. I’ll come and help,” Colleen offered, a twinge of guilt at instantly changing plans. “We can watch movies a little later, Mom.”

“Sure!” Mom said with forced good cheer. “I’ll tag along, too.” She frowned, her sweet face soft.

“No. I’ll go alone. You girls stay here,” he said in that voice he used when he was irritated.

“Roger that,” Colleen said, keeping her voice light. Experience had shown that when Dad was in a bad mood, there was no point in arguing.

“Don’t be silly. We’ll go with you, and we can all get some dinner afterward, and it’ll be really fun?” Mom suggested, her voice ending in a question mark. Colleen wished she wouldn’t be like that.

“I said, I’ll go alone. Okay? I have some business to take care of.”

“Sure!” Mom said, and Colleen had to stifle an eye roll. She loved her mom, of course, but...well. “Of course, Pete! We’ll keep the home fires warm.”

Dad forced a smile, then kissed Colleen’s cheek. “I’m sure the other girls are glad you’re not going tonight, honey. All their dates would be after you.”

“Hmm,” Colleen said. It was a slightly insulting insinuation—she’d never steal someone else’s guy, and she liked to think that most other girls quite adored her—but she knew Dad meant it as a compliment.

And so she and Mom ate the sticky treats and admired Matthew McConaughey’s abs, Mom sitting with the house phone and her cell on the arm of her chair, just in case Dad changed his mind.

He didn’t, but around eleven, the phone rang. It was Faith, urging her to come to the after party at her boyfriend’s lovely house.

“Okay if I go up to the Lyons’, Ma?” she asked her dozing mother.

“Oh, sure,” Mom said. “Did your father call?”

“Nope. Why don’t you go to bed? Con and I will be home later.”

“Want to take the car?” Mom asked.

“Nah. I’ll walk.” Jeremy only lived a half mile away from the O’Rourke house, and she could get a ride home.

“Okay. Make sure you’re smart, sweetheart.” Her code for “don’t drink, don’t do drugs, don’t have unprotected sex, don’t get kidnapped, don’t eat tuna fish” (she had a strange fear of tuna, for some reason).

“I was born smart.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “See you later.”

The Lyon parents were exceptional hosts; nothing was more fun than one of their parties because they were the cool parents—the kind who knew how to be welcoming and funny and also how to disappear and let the kids do their thing.

The entire senior class was there, it seemed, and gourmet pizzas were being served, in addition to three kinds of green salad, ciabatta sandwiches and designer pop, and yards and yards of organic snack food and desserts. “Hi, Mrs. Lyon,” Colleen said. “Thanks for having us!”

“Colleen, why on earth didn’t you go to your prom?” she asked.

“I have an old soul,” Colleen answered, getting a fond chuckle as a reply.

Most of her classmates were in the huge finished basement. ’N Sync played from the hidden speakers, and a fire crackled in the stone fireplace. Colleen saw Connor, who was nodding as Sherry talked. He shot her a look that she read perfectly, courtesy of their psychic twin connection—I’m dying here, curse of the nice guy, please save me. She blinked at him. You should’ve listened to me, shmuck-o. Suffer on. He responded with a subtle middle finger. But hey! She’d warned him. Sherry had had a crush on Connor since preschool, something Connor had refuted until a few weeks ago.

Faith and Jeremy were snuggled on the couch, the golden couple, prom king and queen, of course, as if anyone else had a chance. Some guys were playing pool while their dates gossiped or sulked in a gaggle nearby. Funny thing about prom; no one ever had as much fun as they were supposed to. Except Faith and Jeremy, of course.

Bryce Campbell, looking pretty beautiful in his tux, gave her a sloppy wave. Colleen instantly pegged him as being a bit drunk. Must’ve snuck in some booze, because the Lyon elders would’ve called his parents if they’d noticed he’d been drinking. Tanya added a sharp look and put her arm around Bryce’s waist. Please. Colleen was so not the type to swoop in and ruin someone’s night. She drifted over to them. “You look gorgeous, Tanya!” she said, getting a fake smile from the girl. “And you, pal, very handsome.” She leaned in. “No more drinking here, got it?” she whispered. “And no driving.”

“Got it, Coll,” he said with a smile.

She got a bottle of Virgil’s root beer, made the rounds, admired the gowns of the girls, winked at the boys and generally schmoozed, comfortable as the grand dame of the senior class. Part of things, but above them. A modern-day Emma, her favorite Jane Austen heroine. She ascertained that her brother was still trapped as Sherry moved in to try to kiss him, and once again smilingly rejected his silent plea for help. Revenge for the time he locked her in the cedar closet for six hours when they were ten.

At about midnight, it was decided by half the group that a visit to the lake was in order; for one, it was a gorgeous May night, the sky gleaming with stars, the air soft and gentle and just cool enough for cuddling; and two, those who wanted to have sex or drink could drift off to wherever without getting busted by Mr. and Mrs. Lyon. The good kids stayed put, and Colleen figured she would, too.

Until she saw Bryce Campbell fumbling for his keys.

“Hey, buddy,” she said, earning yet another glare from Tanya. “You’re not driving, are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, don’t even worry about me,” he slurred. So much for her warning. Was there a creature on earth more stupid than an eighteen-year-old boy? “I’m totally fine, Colleen. You’re pretty, you know that?”

“You’re not driving. Let Tanya... Oh, right.” Tanya had flunked her driver’s test three times already.

Colleen could tell the Lyons, of course. But then they’d call Bryce’s parents, and who wanted to be the kid who turned in a friend?

“How about if I drive, then?” she offered.

“No thanks, Colleen,” Tanya said. She really was quite dim.

“Your date’s not sober, sweets. Besides, it’ll be fun. You guys can sit in the back and cuddle, and I’ll be your chauffeur.”

“All right,” Bryce said. “That does sound fun.” He smiled affably. Goofball.

Jeremy and Faith walked everyone to the door, already acting like a married couple, and Mr. and Mrs. Lyon waved good-night and told everyone to drive safely.

Colleen got into Bryce’s car (a red Mustang convertible, really, did his parents want him to die in a fiery crash?), and Tanya and Bryce got in back. Bryce took a brown paper bag from under the seat, unscrewed the cap of the bottle inside and took a pull, then offered some to Tanya, who accepted.

“Underage drinking, children,” she said mildly. “Illegal.”

“Lighten up,” Tanya said.

Kids today. No respect. Good thing they had her to watch over them and get them home. And sure, it was fun to drive the Mustang.

The gathering at the lake was on a private beach; the owner was a summer person who surely wouldn’t mind if the Manningsport youth used her property. Colleen parked the Stang on the street and followed the path down to the lake, the sound of peepers shrill and sweet.

The party was already in progress; Asswipe Jones lit a fire on the small beach, and a radio was playing. Two or three couples were out on the dock, smooching. There was laughter and a shriek as Angela Mitchum’s date, a kid from Corning, picked her up and threatened to throw her in the water.

Bryce and Tanya weren’t the only ones drinking. Colleen made the rounds and ensured that those who were had a ride with a sober driver; most of the kids had come via limo; Colleen had seen one parked on the street, the driver smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone.

After a while, most of the couples left. It had gotten colder, and the night was winding down. There were still a few couples left—the drinkers, naturally.

Sigh. The curse of the designated driver. She’d volunteered, after all. She checked her phone, hoping to call Con to alleviate her boredom. No cell service down here, though.

Stifling a yawn, she sat down on the sand, which was a little chilly. The stars stretched and blazed above, and a comet streaked across the eastern sky, and then her eyes were closed.

She awoke to the sound of angry voices.

“Fuck you, pretty boy,” someone was saying. Great. It was Jake Green, one of the too-privileged lacrosse players. He’d been the first of the nine who’d asked Colleen to the prom and was now talking to Bryce out on the dock.

Colleen got up. Tanya was sitting with her head in her hands, crying. “What happened?” Colleen said, putting an arm around her. “Honey? You okay?”

“My shoe broke,” Tanya sobbed. “See?” She held it up for inspection. “The heel just snapped. And they’re so pretty!”

Colleen sighed. People who couldn’t hold their liquor really shouldn’t drink. “What’s going on out there?” She pointed to the dock.

“I dunno,” Tanya mumbled, tears falling on the wounded shoe. “I’m tired.”

“I’ll get Bryce and we can go.”

“Good.” With that, she lay down on the sand, her wounded shoe cradled against her chest, and closed her eyes.

The voices were louder now. The moon had risen higher, fat and full, shining across the lake in a wide path of white light, allowing Colleen to see who was out there with Bryce. In addition to Jake were his minions (because all irritating rich boys had to have minions)—Jase Ross and Chris Eckbert—Crabbe and Goyle to Jake’s Draco Malfoy. Their three dates appeared to have left.

“I don’t know why you’re mad. I meant it as a compliment,” Bryce said.

“Hey, guys,” Colleen said. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, you’re here?” Jake sneered. “I thought you were too good for the prom.”

“No, no, not too good, Jake. I’m only here as a designated driver. Speaking of that, Bryce, can we go? I’m tired, and Tanya is, too.”

“Fuck you, O’Rourke,” Jake said. “Mind your own business.”

“He’s mad at me,” Bryce whispered (loudly). “I told him I thought he looked like Cameron Diaz.”

Colleen bit down on a smile. Jake was indeed blond and blue-eyed.

“You’re gonna be sorry you said that, idiot,” Jake said.

“Oh, come on,” Colleen said. “He’s drunk, Jake. And you do look like Cameron Diaz, right, Crabbe? Right, Goyle?” She smiled at Jase and Chris, who, uncertain of how to respond, glanced at Jake.

“Bryce, let’s get going,” she said, starting toward him. He answered with a crooked smile.

“Hold on,” Jake said, and then put his hand on Bryce’s chest and shoved, almost gently.

“Dude,” Bryce murmured. His legs buckled, and Colleen realized that at some point, Bryce had gone from sloppy to shit-faced. This was confirmed when he lay back on the dock. “I don’t feel so good,” he muttered.

“I don’t feel so good,” Jake echoed in a high-pitched voice. “I bet you don’t, pussy.” His minions laughed, and Jake gave a tentative kick to Bryce’s ribs.

“Knock it off!” Colleen said.

“Hey,” Bryce said faintly, sounding more surprised than hurt.

She took a step toward them, stopping as Jake turned and looked at her, a speculative expression drifting over his face.

The cold lance of fear that slid through her stomach was almost alarming.

Jake was in front of her. Jase and Chris were behind her.

Oh, shit.

That was the thing about life in a small town. Once, they’d all been friends, more or less—all forty-nine kids in the senior class, back in the day of Halloween parties and field trips to the local cemetery. But somewhere in high school, things changed. Cliques formed, circles closed, and before you knew it, you could lose track of a person.

And Colleen had definitely lost track of Jake. She’d rebuffed him a few times, starting in seventh grade, not liking his rich-boy superiority, his casual dismissal of the girls who liked him. Chris and Jase, too, had never been her favorites. Chris wasn’t that bad, just kind of a jerk. But Jase had a mean streak, too.

Suddenly, they seemed...dangerous.

Without looking away from her, Jake gave Bryce another oddly gentle kick, as if trying to see if he enjoyed it. Bryce appeared to have passed out.

“You think he’d drown if we rolled him in the lake?” Jake asked.

The minions snickered

This night was heading south. Fast.

“Okay, that’s enough, boys,” she said briskly. “Help me get him to the car.” Yes. Give them the chance to be on her side, to change the dynamic.

Chris and Jase didn’t move, waiting for instructions from their leader.

“You think you’re better than everyone, don’t you, Colleen?” Jake said softly, looking her up and down.

And all of a sudden, Colleen was—there was no more denying it—genuinely scared. Her knees buzzed, and her heart kicked in her chest.

“Jake, come on,” she said, and she hated the fact that her voice shook. “Let’s call it a night.”

“I don’t think so. This prom sucked, and I want some fun.” Another kick to Bryce, resulting in a soft grunt and nothing else.

“Don’t hurt him,” she said, her voice breaking.

“What will you do for us if we don’t?” Jake asked.

Colleen swallowed.

There was no cell service down here.

Tanya was sleeping on the shore.

And no one else was around.

If only Connor had come, because she always felt stronger and smarter when her twin was around. Connor would die before letting anyone hurt her. If only Jeremy was here, because he was tall and strong and honorable. Or Levi Cooper, who was badass and had a protective streak. Or Big Frankie, or any number of nicer, more decent boys.

But they hadn’t. She was on her own.

“I’m glad you came down here, O’Rourke,” Jake said. “Guys, aren’t you glad? Coll, so nice of you to come! Yeah, I think we can all use a little fun, sure. And everyone knows how much fun you are.” His eyes drifted down her body, then up again, stopping on her breasts.

Jesus God in Heaven.

You read about stuff like this. Saw those awful reports on CNN. Stuff like this happened all the time, and it was beyond belief. But Jake wouldn’t—and Jase and Chris, they wouldn’t—

She could run...except Jase and Chris were blocking the way. Even if she managed to get past them, which was unlikely, she’d have to leave Bryce to their mercy. She could jump in the lake and swim, but the water would be cold, maybe cold enough to stop her from thinking clearly. What if she drowned, and even if she didn’t, where would she swim? How far? Could she make it somewhere safe? What if they just waited for her wherever she came to shore?

This wasn’t really happening. She knew these boys. She’d gone to kindergarten with them. They wouldn’t actually—

Jake took off his tuxedo jacket.

Oh, God.

The word she hadn’t wanted to think now reared up in searing color.

Raped. She could end up raped. The image throbbed in her brain like a tumor, blotting out everything else. Three against one.

She turned around to face the minions. Jase weighed upward of two hundred and fifty pounds; he’d been a tackle on the football team. The regional division championship football team. Chris was smaller, but still had a good forty or fifty pounds on her. “Chris, remember that field trip to the glass museum? When we sat together?” For a second, he looked uncertain.

Oh, please, please help me, Chris, you weren’t always a bad kid—

“Come on, Colleen, let’s have a little fun,” Jake said from behind her, and then he had her by the arms, jerking them behind her, and bile surged up in her throat, yes, yes, let her puke, maybe it would stop them.

“Bet you wish you’d been nicer to me now,” Jake whispered, and he licked her cheek, and icy terror convulsed in Colleen’s chest. “Let’s get this party started, boys.”

But then all of a sudden, Chris was down on his knees, looking stunned, and oh, thank you, thank you, God, someone had come to help her, was it Connor, had he somehow sensed she was in—

It wasn’t Connor.

It was Lucas Campbell.

Chris tried to get to his feet, but Lucas simply put one foot against his shoulder and pushed him into the water. There was a splash, then some sputtering and yelping.

“This is not your business, man,” Jake said.

“Let go of her,” Lucas said, and his voice was almost friendly.

Then Jase lunged at him, but Lucas made two very small moves, one punch to the throat and one to Jase’s meaty face, and Jase, too, dropped to his knees, blood spurting from his nose. “Jesus!” he wheezed, his voice thick and wet. With that, he ran heavily down the dock, causing it to bob beneath his fleeing bulk.

Jake’s grip loosened, and before Colleen could formulate the thought, she elbowed him as hard as she could. He reacted by grabbing her hair, yanking so hard she saw a flash, and there was a blur of movement. Then Colleen was free, and Lucas was holding Jake by the throat.

Jake’s eyes bulged as he clawed at Lucas’s arm, his feet scrabbling for purchase on the rough wood of the dock. Lucas, on the other hand, looked calm as a June day.

“You okay, Colleen?” he asked without looking at her.

It was the first time she’d ever heard him say her name, and if there was a whisper of doubt that she’d been affected by him before, it was gone now.

“I’m fine,” she said, and her voice sounded strange.

Chris had made it to shore, she saw. He half staggered, half ran up the path.

“Is Bryce hurt?” Lucas asked, his voice low and calm even as Jake continued to struggle.

“He passed out,” she said. “He’s drunk.”

It seemed as if Jake was about to strangle there; he was breathing, but he wasn’t fighting anymore. “You should probably let him go. You don’t want to kill him.”

He glanced at her. “That’s debatable.” But he did let go, and Jake dropped right on his ass, hard, and sucked in air.

“My parents will fucking sue you,” he gasped.

“They can try,” Lucas said.

“You’re going to sue him?” Colleen blurted in outrage. “Think about what my parents will do to you, you little shit.”

“For what?” Jake said, his voice shaking with tears. “For horsing around?”

“You were going to rape me!”

“Are you kidding? You wanted it, Colleen,” Jake said, and even while on his knees, there was a smug look of entitlement on his face. “Why else did you come on to me? To all three of us?”

Her hands turned into fists, and she took a furious step forward, fully intending to kick him in his Cameron Diaz face, but Lucas stepped between them.

Jake’s voice took on more confidence and the nasty edge returned. “Are your clothes torn? Did I even kiss you!” He stood up. “This asshole, though...he has a violent streak.”

“Yeah,” Lucas said. “I do. I’m from the South Side of Chicago, and don’t you forget it.” He stepped forward, forcing Jake to step back. “If I see you within fifty feet of her, you’ll see just how violent a Southie can get. Me and a hammer. You and a new orifice. You understand?”

Granted, being protected wasn’t really Colleen’s thing, as she’d never needed it before, but damn. Jake’s eyes grew comically round with terror.

“I asked you a question, you little shit.”

“I understand,” Jake said, his voice shaking.

“Is there a problem here?” It was the limo driver, followed by Chris.

“This asshole grabbed me by the throat!” Jake said, his tone immediately sullen.

“Sounds like you deserved it,” the driver said. “At least, according to him.” He gestured to Chris, who gave her an ashamed nod. “Now get in the limo, rich boy. Party’s over.” The driver looked at Colleen. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She hesitated, then nodded.

“If you ever touch her again, Jake,” Lucas said, his voice soft and matter-of-fact, “you’ll be eating through a straw for weeks.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jake said. “Just because you snuck up on me—”

Lucas made a small movement toward him, and Jake screamed and jerked back.

“Come on,” the driver said.

“Oh, Jake?” Colleen said sweetly.

He gave her a lethal look.

“You wet yourself.”

Jake looked down at his crotch, froze a second, then shuffled off the dock. He yelled at Jase, shoving him as he walked past.

“Stupid little dick,” the driver muttered. He turned to them. “You guys all set?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Lucas said.

“Sorry, Colleen,” Chris muttered, following the driver down the dock.

It was only when they were gone that Colleen looked at Lucas. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Sure.” He took a few steps down the dock to his cousin. “Bryce, you okay?”

“Hey, dude,” Bryce said. “What was that yelling all about?”

“What did I say about drinking tonight, huh? Someone almost got hurt, and you’re shit-faced.”

“Sorry, man. I had a little too much, I think.”

“Get up, buddy.” He helped his cousin to his feet.

“Remember when I saved you?” Bryce said.

“Yep.”

Bryce took a weaving step toward her. “Oh, hey, Coll. How you doing?”

“Hey, idiot,” she said gently. She put her arm around him, steering him down to the shore.

Delayed terror kicked in then, and she started shaking. “You cold?” Bryce asked.

“Little bit,” she said.

Tanya was sleeping on the sand, and without bothering to try to rouse her, Lucas simply picked her up.

“I’m tired,” she whined. No one bothered to answer.

A mountain bike was parked behind the Mustang. Lucas dumped Tanya in the backseat, then popped the trunk and loaded the bike in. “You rode here on your bike?” Colleen asked, though the answer was obvious.

“Yeah.” He glanced at her. “Where’s your car?”

“I was playing chauffeur. Tanya can’t drive, and Bryce was already pretty sloppy.”

He nodded once, then opened the car door for her.

No boy had ever held a car door for her before.

She gave him directions to Tanya’s house, then walked Tanya to the door. Mrs. Cross was waiting up, her mouth falling open when she saw her daughter’s less-than-sober state, then thanked Colleen for seeing her home and began laying into Tanya for her stupidity. Colleen waved and went back to the car.

Bryce was sound asleep in the backseat, his snoring soft and rhythmic.

“Does he drink this much all the time?” she asked.

“Once in a while.”

Colleen nodded. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked, because Lucas seemed tense. Then again, this had been a tense night, hadn’t it? Holy Mary. There’d be fallout—Jake was not the forgive-and-forget type. She might have to make sure everyone heard about his pants-wetting. Then again, that could make matters worse. Don’t poke a wounded snake and all that.

“You’re gonna have to watch your back,” she said, stealing a look at her driver’s profile.

“Yeah.”

She cleared her throat, uncharacteristically nervous. “You were really brave. Three against one.”

He glanced at her. “Three against two,” he corrected.

“Yeah, well, Bryce wasn’t much help.”

“I was talking about you.”

The words brought a nearly painful heat to her cheeks. “I am pretty good in a fight,” she said, forcing some bravado into her voice.

But she hadn’t been good. She would’ve lost that one without Lucas, and the thought made her legs start shaking again. “Take this left, and we’re the third house on the right,” she said.

He pulled into her driveway, then turned off the engine and got out. She got out as well, all too aware of his presence behind her.

The house was quiet, but Mom had left the light on over the sink, her code for everyone’s in bed. Colleen turned to Lucas. His eyes were steady on her, dark and mysterious in the moonlight.

“Thank you again,” she said briskly.

He looked at her for a long minute. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“Perfect,” she said, forcing a smile.

His dark pirate eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie.”

Well, hell. Men—especially boys—didn’t usually call her on her bullshit. “All right, then. I’m still shaking, and I probably won’t sleep tonight, but I’m not hurt, and I’m really, really glad you came looking for Bryce.” She wiped her eyes, which appeared to be tearing up. “I could say I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come along, but I’m afraid I know exactly what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come along. So thank you, Lucas Campbell, for coming along.” She smiled, and it felt normal again. “And for being all badass and scary when you did. It was very hot.”

He laughed.

She hadn’t expected that.

It was a smoky, ashen sound, just a low scrape in his chest, and it filled her with lightness, somehow. But at the same time, she felt a little terrified, too, because she knew, somehow, that Lucas Campbell was different. He was dangerous to her, in ways that had nothing to do with violence and everything to do with the soft, hot feelings that pulsed and burned in her chest.

“Good night,” he said. But he didn’t move.

“Good night,” she whispered.

And then he kissed her, so gently at first, as if he’d never kissed a girl before, and please, looking like that, like Heathcliff, like a pirate or a gypsy or a member of the Sharks or the Jets...please, he’d kissed plenty of girls before.

The kiss was soft and sure at the same time, and she felt his welcome heat against her cool skin, felt his hand go to the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her hair. His mouth moved against hers, testing and waiting to see if she’d respond, and she did, hoping she was doing it right, because it sure felt right. It was all instinct—all those tips and comments and methods she’d given lectures on to her classmates these past five or six years, hell, she had no idea what she was supposed to be doing. All she knew was that Lucas Campbell was kissing her, and it felt so, so good.

It took her a second to realize he’d stopped, and that his forehead was resting against hers. Her hands were on his wrists, clinging to him.

“You’re with me now,” he said softly. Then he pulled back to look at her. “Okay?”

She was too smart for all this. She had an old soul. She couldn’t picture having a boyfriend.

But his eyes were steady, and his lashes were thick and dark. “Okay,” she whispered. So much for her legendary comebacks.

“I wasn’t sure you liked me,” he said after a minute.

“It’s the whole white-knight thing.”

There was that laugh again, and just the sound of it had her stomach tightening in a warm spiral.

“I’ll see you around, hotshot,” he said, stepping away from her, and the cold and emptiness he left was a little shocking.

He seemed to read her mind, because he was back, and this time his kiss was more insistent. She grabbed his hair and answered, her mouth opening under his, and God, this was better than food, better than breathing, and a lot more important than either, the hard press of him against her, the silkiness of his hair, the taste of his mouth—

“Go inside,” he ordered finally.

“You’re not the boss of me,” she said, hoping her legs still worked. He grinned, and hell, she nearly came.

They’d be sleeping together. Soon. It was as inevitable as morning.

A long time later, she lay in bed, her fingers tracing her lips.

This night might’ve turned out horribly, horribly wrong.

Instead, she was in love.


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_9fc4fec9-14aa-5831-94d3-bc3779b2debb)

THE DAY AFTER HE SAW BRYCE AT O’ROURKE’S LUCAS PULLED UP to Joe and Didi’s house in his rental car, turned off the engine and sat for a moment.

In the fourteen years since he’d left for college, Lucas had been back to Manningsport only a handful of times, and only once since he’d gotten married.

Here was the thing about Didi Nesbith Campbell, Lucas’s aunt by marriage. She had a vision of how life was supposed to be, goddamn it, and when life didn’t obey, she got mad. Was still mad, in fact.

She’d married Joe just after he’d sold the rights to a video game for a million bucks when he was twenty-four years old. Rat-Whacker got picked up by Nintendo, and Joe seemed on track to billionaire status, joining the whiz kids of that era who made their first million before they were twenty-five.

And, like most of them, Joe was a flash in the pan.

That first million turned out to be the last million, but by then, they had a big house in the suburbs and a baby boy. Much to her supreme dissatisfaction, Didi had to get a job. She found her niche at an insurance company, denying claims of horribly injured people. Even as she rose through the ranks, she never got over the bitterness of having married the guy who failed to become the next Bill Gates.

The other great inconvenience of Didi’s life was inheriting Lucas. She already had her only begotten son; she certainly didn’t want the silent child of her slacker husband’s criminal brother.

Well. Time to see Joe. Lucas took off his sunglasses and headed toward the house.

It was beautiful up here, that was certain. The leaves were fresh and green, glowing with good health, unlike Chicago, which was currently baking in a heat wave. But here, where the landscape was dotted with deep glacier lakes and waterfalls by the dozens, where green farmland spread out on the hills and the forests were thick and deep, it was cooler and more lush than the flat Midwest and its punishing summers. The air was heavy with the smell of lilacs, so painstakingly trimmed along the border of Didi’s perfectly landscaped (and somewhat soulless) yard.

Lucas would be in Manningsport for a month, maybe two. He wouldn’t be staying at Didi’s, that was certain, no matter that the house had five bedrooms and a basement apartment. No, he’d rather amputate his own foot and eat it than do that. For the moment, he was staying at the Black Swan B and B.

He knocked on the front door. Nephew or not, Didi wouldn’t like him coming in unannounced.

Sure enough, she opened the door. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Hello, Didi,” he said. “How are you?”

“I’m quite well,” she said, her lips tight. “You may as well come in.”

“Is Bryce here?”

“No, he’s at the gym.”

Bryce still lived at home, though he’d bounced around a little bit after dropping out of college. He’d tried to live in Chicago for a short time, and Lucas had even gotten him a job with Forbes Properties, which lasted five days before Bryce quit. Bryce had also tried Manhattan, San Francisco and Atlanta, but all roads led him back to Manningsport, specifically, to the basement apartment that Didi had made for her baby boy, giving him the illusion of adulthood while remaining clamped under her thumb.

“How’s Ellen?” Didi asked.

“Good,” he answered. She waited for more. He didn’t offer it.

The one thing Lucas had ever done that won approval from Didi was to marry Ellen Forbes. “Any relation to Malcolm?” Didi had immediately asked when he’d told them. No curiosity about why he was marrying someone he’d never mentioned, or what had happened with his longtime girlfriend, or why he wasn’t going to law school. Just “Any relation?” Her eyes alight with a sudden, keen interest.

The answer, of course, was, yes.

And suddenly, Lucas was a beloved nephew. Didi wanted to help plan the wedding, just loved Ellen to death within seconds of meeting her, thought of Lucas like a son, wanted so much to have holidays together, one big happy family, the Forbeses and the Campbells, wasn’t it wonderful?

Granted, Ellen and her parents saw right through her, but Didi was too busy trying to pretend she was completely at home with their vast wealth, the penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan, the maid who served dinner, the sailboat and cars and drivers and wine.

Once, Lucas had come upon her in Frank’s study, where she was slipping a little glass statue in her purse. “Please don’t steal from my in-laws,” he’d said mildly, and she’d flashed him a glare of such hatred, he’d actually smiled. She might want to kiss up to his in-laws, but it was almost reassuring to see that she still couldn’t stand the sight of him.

When informed about his divorce, Didi’s first question had been, “What about the holidays?” After all, if Lucas wasn’t a son-in-law anymore, odds were low that his aunt and uncle would get an invitation to the famous Forbes New Year’s Eve party, the amazing Thanksgiving dinner for thirty of their closest friends.

Frank and Grace Forbes—and Ellen—had stayed close with his sister, Steph, and her girls since the divorce, because they were really wonderful, not about to cut off five people—six, counting him—they loved. His divorce was more than amicable, not to mention Ellen’s idea.

“How’s Joe today?” Lucas asked Didi.

“See for yourself,” she said, turning away. “Take off your shoes first.”

He obeyed, then started upstairs.

“He’s in your—the room off the kitchen,” she said. “It was easier that way.”

Of course. Joe was weak, that was true. Also, Didi was a bitch.

Lucas went through the vast chef’s kitchen to the small hallway that led to the laundry room and his old room. Knocked gently on the door, which was open a crack.

The room was crowded: the hospital bed, a night table covered with the detritus of sickness—pill bottles, a half-filled glass of water, tissues, a magazine and Joe’s silver pocket watch, which had been handed from father to son since the Civil War. A desk with a large-screened computer was wedged against one wall. The room didn’t have windows, and Lucas remembered how dark it was in here. Like a grave, he’d often thought, and now more than ever.

His uncle was sleeping. Lucas hadn’t seen him for a few months. The kidney disease made Joe appear tan, and he was thinner than he’d ever been, though a little puffy from fluid retention.

But now, even asleep, he looked old. And tired.

A lot like Lucas’s father the last time he’d seen him. The family resemblance was strong.

Joe was dying. The reality hit Lucas like a tanker, and his eyes stung all of a sudden. Despite Didi’s ceaseless resentment, Joe had always been a good uncle.

Joe stirred, then opened his eyes. “Hey,” he said, struggling to sit up. “How are you, buddy?”

Lucas gave his uncle a lean-in hug. Cleared his throat. “Good to see you, Joe.”

“You, too! You look great. When did you get in?”

“Last night.”

“You see Bryce yet?”

“Sure did. Found him at O’Rourke’s.” And not just him, either.

“Yeah, he goes there a lot.” Joe smiled. “So.”

“So.”

“Don’t tire him out, Lucas,” Didi said, appearing in the doorway, hands on her bony hips.

“He won’t,” Joe said.

“When’s Bryce coming back? He wanted to do something with you this afternoon.” Her eyes flickered toward Lucas. This was typical for her; any time Joe and Lucas might have a bonding moment, she was there to interrupt and remind Joe that he had a son, a wonderful son, a real son.

And the thing was, it generally worked. Joe was a nice guy, but he was no match for Didi. There were other terms for it, meaner terms, but it was clear that Joe generally did what Didi told him to do.

“Give me a few minutes with my uncle,” Lucas said, and without waiting for an answer, got up and closed the door in her face.

The door flew open again immediately. “Just because you breeze into town whenever you like, I’m still the one who has to take care of him. My whole life is doctor’s appointments and hospital visits these days. I don’t have a minute to breathe—”

“Then breathe now,” he said, and closed the door again.

Apparently Didi couldn’t find a way to argue that. After a second, her heels tapped away down the hall, though Lucas would bet she’d tiptoe back and eavesdrop.

“What can I do for you, Uncle Joe?” he asked, taking his seat again.

Joe sighed. “Here’s the thing, Lucas. Bryce...well, he’s just not really grown up yet, you know what I mean?”

He nodded, his hand on his uncle’s. Joe’s arm looked odd, courtesy of the fistula he needed for dialysis.

“I’d like to leave this world knowing he had a plan, at least. I don’t want him—” Joe glanced at the closed door and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I don’t want her to have her hooks in him forever. You know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“So maybe you could hang around for...well, till the day comes. I know he’s gonna take this hard.” Joe’s eyes filled with tears.

Yes. Last night, Bryce had acknowledged that his dad was sick, but he also talked about how much better Joe was looking these days. Dialysis was amazing! And besides, a kidney would come along any minute.

The fact that Joe wasn’t on the organ registry—and indeed, wasn’t eligible for a transplant, thanks to the tumor in his lung—was not something Bryce would admit.

“I’ll stay however long you need,” Lucas said. He owed it to Joe, after all.

“You can get off work that long?”

“Yep. I’m leaving the company, remember?”

“Right, right.” Joe paused. “Where will you stay when you’re here?”

“I’m at the Black Swan right now,” he said. “Just called the Realtor about a short-term rental.”

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Joe offered, but they both knew that he wasn’t. Didi would hate having him here, and if Didi wasn’t happy, no one was allowed to be happy.

“That’s okay.”

“So you think you could help Bryce? Maybe help him find work? He hasn’t ever had a job he really loved, aside from the dog shelter stuff.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Just having you here is going to be great. He’s always worshipped you. Always wanted to do what you did, whatever that might’ve been.”

Lucas nodded. That was certainly true; from baseball cards to a paper route, if Lucas had it, Bryce wanted it. And Didi made sure he got it.

“There’s another thing I need you to help me with,” Joe whispered, and Lucas felt a flash of anger that the man had to whisper in his own home.

“What’s that?” he asked, adjusting Joe’s blanket. It was meat-locker cold in here. Another thing he remembered too well.

Joe glanced at the door, then picked up a notepad and pen. Wrote something down and passed it to Lucas.



I want a divorce before I die.



Lucas looked at his uncle. Back at the notepad. Back to his uncle. “Well, holy shit, unc,” he said, then grinned. “I’ll get right on that.”

“Thanks, Lucas.” Joe smiled, but his eyes closed. “I’m glad you’re here,” Joe said, his voice fading into sleep. Then his eyes opened. “Maybe you can see some old friends while you’re here.” He winked, the ghost of his old self, then fell asleep, just like that.


CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_6767c933-a184-57db-934a-c8db823ad257)

“OH. COLLEEN. IT’S you.” Carol Robinson, one of the local Realtors, gave Colleen a jaundiced stare. “Fine, come in. I’m not showing you around, though. I know you won’t be buying.”

“Lovely to see you, too, Carol.” Piña colada, very old-school, Carol was. “Bursitis flaring up again?”

“No. I just don’t want to waste my time. Hi, Jeanette, how are you?”

Colleen’s mother pulled her shirt away from her chest. “It’s so hot in here, Carol! How do you stand it?”

“You’re having a hot flash. I still get them,” Carol said. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Satan’s barbecue,” Mom said. “Don’t make that face, Colleen. You’ll see.”

“I can’t wait. Carol, do you have a fact sheet on the house?” Carol handed her one with a sigh. “By the way, do you have to walk in the middle of the road every morning? I almost hit you the other day.”

“Oh, that’s right, I saw you speeding by. Jeanette, your daughter and that red car of hers...”

Colleen had brought her mother to an open house, and yeah, fine, she had a bit of a reputation with the real estate people. It wasn’t her fault. Yes, she wanted to buy a house, very much, in fact. She was thirty-one, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t want to live above her brother forever. Their house was adorable; it was just that it was their house, and she wanted a place of her own. A place where, yeah, she’d have those adorable tots and Rufus could frisk and frolic, and her husband and she would have lots and lots of great sex.

And since Lucas Damien Campbell had walked into her bar the other night, she felt considerably more motivated to find that husband and bear those children.

Today, she’d taken her mom with her, because (a) she was a saint, and (b) it was one of Mom’s many Significant Dates, of which there were many, 99 percent of them marking some dire event relating to Dad.

This house was a white farmhouse with a porch, a horseshoe driveway and big, beautiful yard. Not too big, not too small, not too new, not too old. Remodeled kitchen with white cabinets and glass fronts, lots of counter space, should she take up cooking (which she wouldn’t but it could happen, if hell froze over). The living room had lots of windows and a really pretty fireplace.

Colleen and her mother went upstairs as Carol went back to reading her fat spy novel.

Coll felt a tingle of hope. If she was busy moving into a new place, painting and shopping for a new couch and plates, she’d have less time to lie in bed and think about a certain tall, dark un-stranger. “Black-haired boy, work of the devil,” her grandmother used to say, and it was flippin’ true. Lucas had black hair and had broken her heart. Jeremy Lyon had black hair, and he’d broken Faith’s heart by coming out of the closet on their wedding day. Dad had black hair and broke Mom’s heart.

Connor, on the other hand, had brown hair, taking after Mom’s side of the family, with no broken hearts in his past. Levi Cooper, police chief and decorated veteran—dark blond, making Faith very happy these days. Gerard Chartier: bald, a cheerful man-whore and very well liked. Grandma had known what she was talking about.

The master bedroom was at the end of the hall and utterly gorgeous. Slanted ceiling, a long window seat, built-in bookshelves. Even space on the wall for a TV, if she was so inclined. Not that she approved of watching TV in bed; in her mind’s eye, Tom Hardy would be waiting, naked and impatient, for her, his beloved wife. In reality, however, she and Rufus put in far too many hours watching HGTV and Game of Thrones. (Was Jon Snow too young to lust after? Probably and oops, another black-haired boy.)

“This is lovely. What do you hate about it?” Mom asked.

“Nothing,” Colleen said.

“You’ll find something. You always do.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ma.”

Her mother wandered into the bathroom. “Oh, Collie, come in here, sweetheart.”

The master bathroom was vast—tiled floor, walled-in shower area and a huge, triangular tub, big enough for Colleen and Tom Hardy and his muscles.

“Uh-oh,” Mom said. Her face flushed bright red, she began flapping her shirt again. “Oh, dear! Oh, man! I think I might be having another hot flash!”

“Really? You hide it so well.” Mom had always been the type to detail her physical woes. “Bleeding like a stuck pig” had been popular back in the good old period days. “Ovaries the size of grapefruits” was another. “That Chinese food went through me like a knife.” One of the many ways Mom was so much fun.

Mom continued flapping, then climbed in the bathtub. “This porcelain feels like ice. Thank God, too.” She lay there, red-faced and panting, and Colleen waited, used to her mother’s menopausal adventures by now. After a minute, Jeanette lifted her head, her hair damp with sweat, and surveyed the tub. “So how many jets does this thing have?” she said speculatively.

“Icky, Mom.” Quite a few, though. Handy, in case marriage to Tom Hardy didn’t work out.

“Why? Just because it feels like tumbleweeds are blowing through my—”

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” Colleen began. “The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou who can make my mother stop talking, and blessed—”

Her mother gave her a martyred look. “You know, Colleen, just because I’m suffering through menopause, and just because your father left me for That Whore doesn’t mean I don’t have certain urges.”

“Mom! Come on.”

“What? Am I not a human all of a sudden? Not allowed to be lonely? Hey, did you know that John Holland got married a couple weeks ago?”

Another maternal habit: announcing facts known by everyone as if it was big news. Of course she knew. She was the best friend of the man’s daughter, and if there was a more beloved man than Faith’s dad, Colleen didn’t know him. She herself wouldn’t have minded being the second Mrs. Holland. Well, not really. But it had always been fun to flirt with him anyway.

“He’s been widowed for twenty years,” Mom said.

“Ma, I know. I grew up with Faith, remember?”

“Of course I remember. You girls were at our house half the time. The point is, both he and Mrs. Johnson are older than I am.”

“True. Want to see the other bedrooms now?” Colleen asked. So far, the house had given her no reason to reject it. But the tingle was fading. This bathroom was possibly too large. It always seemed to her that when she found the right house, she’d know. Instantly.

Just as she’d known with Lucas the day he walked into her English class.

And look where that had gotten her.

Her phone buzzed with a text. From Bryce, no less. Think Jessica Dunn is a good match 4 me?

Oh, crap. First of all, Jessica Dunn would never go for a guy like Bryce; Jess had a very appealing edginess to her, and Bryce was as complicated as a chocolate chip cookie. Secondly, there was Paulie!

Not really, she typed back. Hang in there. I’m working on someone for you. She’s special.

Pretty? appeared almost immediately.

Sigh. Paulie could not be described as pretty. Striking.

Awesome, came the reply. C u soon!

“I’m gonna lay here for another minute,” Mom said. “But, Colleen, I was thinking. It doesn’t seem like your father is going to come to his senses any time soon. I thought That Whore was a midlife crisis, just a little fling—”

“They’ve been together for ten years, Mom.”

“And even after that child, I thought he’d come back to me.”

“Savannah, Mom. Say what you want about Gail the Tail, but be nice about Savannah. She’s my sister.”

“Your half sister.” Mom sat up, grabbed one of the attractively rolled facecloths and ran some water on it, then held it against her chest. “Anyway, John Holland has adult grandchildren, he’s in his sixties, but he found someone. I’m only fifty-four, and what do I have? Nothing. No grandchildren, not even a daughter-or son-in-law, and nothing on the horizon, either. What’s wrong with you and Connor?”

A familiar refrain. “What’s wrong with you, Mom? Why haven’t you given me a nice stepfather? I wouldn’t say no to Mariano Rivera, for example. Or George Clooney. Actually, I’d marry both of them myself, so take them off the list. Sean Connery, he’d do. Or Ed Harris. Why haven’t you married Sean Connery or Ed Harris, Mom?”

“Your father married That Whore. John Holland married Mrs. Johnson. Cathy Moore turned gay and married Louise. And here I am, sitting in a tub having a hot flash. On the tenth anniversary of your father leaving me, no less.”

“Well, you can get out of the tub, Ma.”

“Wait till you hit menopause. I’ll have no sympathy for you.” Mom sighed. “I’m tired of things being the same. I want a life. I want to get laid.”

Hail Mary, full of grace—

“Barb McIntosh said you told her you could fix up anyone. Does that include me, or don’t I count?”

Colleen’s head whipped around from where she was examining the showerhead.

In all the years since the divorce, Mom had not gone out once. Not once. “Really? You really want to date?”

“Yes. Why shouldn’t I? Your father has That Whore, and if John Holland can find someone, I probably could, too. I’m not disgusting, am I?” Her mother climbed out of the tub and scooped her hair off her neck in a regal move, one that Colleen had copied as a kid.

Danger, she heard Connor’s voice say in her head. He definitely was the logical twin. And yes, fixing up Mom could be the emotional equivalent of waterboarding.

Then again, Mom had waited years for Dad to come back to her. Denial, then bitterness as an Olympic sport. Maybe what she needed to get over Dad was another man. Certainly, Colleen had always thought so.

“And if I meet someone, maybe your father will get jealous and finally get his head out of his ass.”

Crud. Using people to make other people jealous...that never worked very well. “Mom, if you want to date, maybe find someone, I think that’d be great. But Dad’s not coming back.”

“You never know. So? Will you help me? I need to set up an online profile.”

Faith had done the same thing with her father last fall. It hadn’t been a particularly good experience, though all’s well that ends well. Also, Faith herself was sweet and naive.

Colleen was not.

If there was one thing she knew, it was men and how they thought.

“Oh!” Mom exclaimed, grasping Colleen’s arm. “And guess what else I heard? Guess! Guess!”

“The sound of a butterfly’s wings,” Colleen said.

“No. Guess again.”

“What, Mom?”

Mom let go of her arm, fluffed her hair and gave Colleen a triumphant look. “I heard Lucas Campbell is back in town.”

“I know.”

“Surprise! Isn’t it great?”

“He’s back because Joe Campbell isn’t long for the world, so I’d have to say no.”

“It is! It’s great because—”

“Don’t, Mom.”

“Because you never got over him.” Mom fixed her with a triumphant look.

“That’s debatable.” Granted, a debate she’d probably lose, but still. “Also, Mom, he’s married.”

“No. He’s divorced.”

Colleen blinked.

“Aha! I knew you didn’t know that!” Mom crowed.

“Are you two done up there?” Carol called from downstairs. “I have other people here who might actually buy this place, you know.”

“We’ll be right down. She doesn’t love it,” Mom yelled. Colleen barely heard.

Divorced?

No, he hadn’t mentioned that the other night. Questions surged into her head. Why? For how long? Was he heartbroken? Bitter? Had he cheated? Had she? Was he seeing someone?

Get a grip, she told herself. He broke your heart. He fell in love with someone else, and he left you. Just. Like. Dad.

“Colleen?” Mom asked. “You’re not really interested in this house, are you?”

“It’s almost perfect,” she said, clearing her throat. “But there’s not enough shade in the front.”


CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_84bcba55-72d8-5437-8196-102439265a6e)

A WEEK BACK in Manningsport, and Lucas had spoken to an attorney, who told him that a divorce for Uncle Joe was going to be just about impossible. Lucas wasn’t giving up on that just yet. New York divorce law was a tangled, Puritanical web, but maybe there was a loophole somewhere. Then there were Joe’s finances; he wanted whatever assets he had to go to Bryce. What exactly those assets were remained to be seen, because Didi kept a tight fist around the family funds.

In the meantime, Lucas found a short-term, furnished rental in a pretty building on the green, roughly two hundred feet from O’Rourke’s front door. He’d been avoiding the pub, not wanting Colleen’s panties to get into a twist (though thinking about her panties wasn’t the worst way to spend time).

Today, however, he was stopping by the Manningsport Animal Shelter to see Bryce, and hopefully get his cousin to commit to a plan of action for a future that included more than playing video games in his mom’s basement. Bryce loved animals; maybe Lucas could convince him to go to school to become a veterinary assistant or the like.

The shelter was a gray building on the outskirts of town, and Bryce’s Dodge Ram pickup truck was parked outside, along with a cute little Porsche and a mountain bike with a wicker basket on the handlebars. Lucas went inside. There was no one in the waiting room, but he heard voices coming from behind a closed door. Some female murmuring, then Bryce speaking more clearly.

“Let’s use a little lubricant, don’t you think, baby? Don’t be scared. I’ll just ease my finger in like that and squeeze, nice and gentle.”

Lucas froze.

“Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” Bryce went on.

A moaning sound came in response.

What the hell? Was Bryce having sex in an animal shelter?

“Bryce? It’s Lucas.”

There was a scrambling sound from inside, and then the door opened, and there was Colleen, her hair tumbled, cheeks pink.

A white-hot knife of jealousy slid between Lucas’s ribs, and for a second, he couldn’t see straight.

“Hey,” she said calmly, though her eyes widened a bit.

“Colleen.”

She raised an eyebrow at his tone, then looked behind her. “Your cousin’s here, Bryce,” she said.

“Hey, Lucas!” Bryce called. “I’m covered in slime. Be out in a second.”

Colleen came into the waiting room, closing the door behind her. “We meet again. How are you, Spaniard?”

It was her old nickname for him...she had often said he looked like a Spanish pirate.

“I’m fine,” he said tightly. “What exactly were you doing in there?”

She cocked an eyebrow, then grinned. “Sounded like sexy time, didn’t it? But no. Just Bryce expressing the anal glands of a very cute little dog.”

“I—okay, I’m speechless.”

“I know. There’s just no good comeback for that.”

“Is life so quiet here that this is what passes for fun?”

“Don’t sell it short. Want to watch? He’s really good.” She grinned, and Lucas felt a responding smile start in his chest.

“So your dog required some, um, special treatment?” he asked.

“No, that would take the New York Giants and a very, very brave vet. It’s Mrs. Tuggles, one of Paulie’s recent acquisitions. Rufus over there is my baby.” She pointed, and Lucas glanced over to where a gray, cow-sized dog lay on its side as if dead.

“Are you a good boy, Rufus?” Colleen asked.

The dog’s tail thumped twice in confirmation.

“So these anal glands,” Lucas said. “Your way of getting Paulie and Bryce together?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“How romantic.”

“Hey. It’s working. You see, Lucas, a lot of men don’t appreciate what’s right in front of them, so they have to be shown. In twelve-foot neon letters. With arrows pointing to it.” She paused to let that sink in, lest he miss the innuendo (whatever it was). “Also, Mrs. Tuggles was blocked and kept scooching her butt across Paulie’s rug. You get the picture.”

The exam room door opened again, and there was Paulie, holding Mrs. Tuggles, a rotund little dog that looked extremely satisfied at the moment, her wide mouth grinning, tongue lolling. The dog yawned and closed her eyes.

“Looks like she could use a cigarette,” Colleen said. “Bryce, what did you do to her?”

“I aim to please,” Bryce said, drying his hands on the paper towel. “Hey, Lucas! You know Paulie, right? We went to high school with her senior year.”

“Nice to see you again,” Paulie said.

“Good to see you, too, Paulie,” he said with a smile. Her face grew pink...then red...then blotchy. That was some blush.

“Mrs. Tuggles, say hi to Lucas,” Bryce said. He bent down to kiss Mrs. Tuggles’s head, bringing his own head in the vicinity of Paulie’s chest. Her face went into the purple zone, and the dog licked Bryce’s face with exuberant gratitude and slobber. Kind of disgusting.

“You got a minute, Bryce?” he asked when the dog was done frenching his cousin.

“Totally. Girls, it was great seeing you both,” Bryce said. “All three of you, that is.” He scratched the pug on the head.

“Oh, yes...uh, I mean, yeah. You, too,” Paulie said. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “Colleen, thank you for coming with me.” Her voice was loud and expressionless. “I was so concerned about poor Mrs. Tuggles, and it was good to have a friend.” She took a shaky breath. “Bryce, you were so wonderful. Let me buy you a beer some night.” Her face went nuclear.

Lucas would bet a hundred bucks Colleen had given her those lines.

“Sure. That’d be great,” Bryce said, completely oblivious. Paulie’s eyelids fluttered, and she took an unsteady step backward, looking as if she was about to faint.

Colleen gave her a little push forward and picked up a bike helmet from one of the chairs. “See you around, boys. Paulie, I’ll walk you out. Come on, Rufie!”

The women and their animals left, and Bryce stretched his arms over his head. “I think Colleen might have a thing for me,” he said.

There was that flash of jealousy again. “I’m pretty sure that’s not it,” Lucas said.

“You never know. She and I—” He glanced at Lucas as if just now remembering that Colleen had once been with Lucas. “Uh...nothing. We hit it off. As friends, you know? At the bar, just shooting the shit. Friends. You’re right, there’s nothing there.” He cracked his knuckles. “What can I do for you, bro? You want a dog? Or a cat? My mom won’t let me have one, which is probably why I work here, you know?”

“I can’t have a pet, Bryce,” Lucas said. “I’m only in town for a while.”

“Right, right. Or you could move back.”

“Not gonna happen, pal.”

“Right. South Side forever.”

Lucas smiled. “I figured you could show me around, since you said you spend a lot of time here.”

“Sure! Come on back.”

Another door led to the kennels. The usual suspects—pit bull here, Rottweiler there, with a couple of older-looking dogs. Bryce had a kind word for all of them, even the snarling black mutt in the last kennel. Then on to the cat room, where there were far too many felines of varying colors and sizes.

Bryce picked up a kitten. “Who’s beautiful, huh? Who’s so pretty? You are, sweetie!” The kitten batted Bryce on the nose and mewed.

Lucas had never had a pet. He could get one, he guessed; he just wasn’t home a lot. Maybe now that he was leaving Forbes, he’d get a dog who could ride in his truck to job sites and lie at his feet at night. It’d be nice to have some company.

Well. He’d wait to get back to Chicago. There were plenty of animals waiting to be adopted in the city, he was sure.

“You ever think about becoming a vet tech, Bryce?” he asked. “You’re really good with animals.”

“Thanks! But not really, no. You need school for that.”

“So? You could do it part-time, I bet.”

“Well, whatever. Even so, the shelter can’t afford to pay anyone. We’re all volunteers, and Dr. Metcalf comes in when we need real stuff done.”

“Could you work for Dr. Metcalf?”

Bryce shrugged. “He has this hot chick who works for him. She volunteers here, too. We hooked up once or twice.” He scratched his head. “Maybe I should give her a call. I’m thinking about having kids.”

Wow. “Yeah, you’d be a great dad,” he said (and hoped). “But you need a job first. And possibly a place of your own, so you don’t have to raise a kid in your mother’s basement.”

“True enough. You wanna get a beer? I think O’Rourke’s is open.”

“It’s eleven-thirty, Bryce.”

“Yeah, so they’re definitely open. Oh, I get it. You don’t want to see Colleen.”

Lucas gave his cousin a look. “I have no problem seeing Colleen.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t.”

“Must bring up memories, though, right? Because you two were pretty hot and heavy.”

“That was a long time ago. Anyway, about you getting a job, Bryce—”

“Shit! I forgot. I’m supposed to have lunch with my mom. I gotta run.” Just then, the front door opened, and a very pretty woman came in. “Hey, Ange! Right on time.”

“Hi, Bryce,” she purred, sparing Lucas a glance (and giving him a gratifying double take). “Your brother?”

“Cousin. Lucas, this is Angie...Angie, uh...”

“Beekman.”

“Right! Ange, I gotta fly, but listen. You wanna grab a drink sometime?”

Lucas couldn’t help feeling a flicker of sympathy for Paulie.

“Sure,” she said with a coy smile. “See you around, boys.”

Lucas scrubbed a hand through his hair as Bryce tore out of the parking lot a few seconds later, going too fast, as usual.

* * *

WHEN LUCAS WAS fifteen, his cousin saved his life.

“Remember when I saved you?” Bryce would say from time to time. And Lucas would have to say of course he remembered, and yes, it sure was lucky Bryce had been there, and absolutely, they were as close as brothers, and yep, they did look alike, since they both looked like their fathers—and Dan and Joe could’ve passed for twins.

It wasn’t that Lucas disliked Bryce. No one did. Bryce Campbell, the adored only child of Lucas’s aunt and uncle, was unendingly cheerful, up for anything and had an intense case of hero worship. He kept a respectful distance from Lucas’s sister, Stephanie, who was six years older and called him only “kid.” But he stuck to Lucas like a tick.

About three times a year, Joe, Didi and Bryce would visit them (they, in return, were never invited to the wealthy suburb to the north of Chicago where Bryce and his family lived). And every time, Bryce would be glued to Lucas’s side, wide-eyed with wonder at anything Lucas had or did—his tiny bedroom on the third floor of the two-family house they lived in, his second-hand bike, the stunts he could do on it. Lucas was a White Sox fan, obviously, being from the South Side; Bryce traded in his Cubs shirt to match Lucas’s, which nearly got him stoned by his peers. Lucas would clear the crowded table after dinner because he was the kind of kid who did chores; Bryce decided that nothing was more fun and exotic than washing dishes by hand. And the thing was, he meant it.

Bryce couldn’t get over the fact that Lucas was not only allowed to have a knife, but was allowed to use it as well, and viewed whittling as damn near miraculous. He peppered Lucas with questions about his late mother, who’d died of ALS when Lucas was six. Did he miss her? What had it been like to have a Puerto Rican mother? Did they ever see her ghost? It never occurred to Bryce that the subject might be a sensitive one.

Lucas liked his cousin. But Bryce could be tiring, like a puppy who just wanted to bring you a stick. At first, it’s really cute. Aw, hey, a stick! Go get it, boy! But by the tenth time, when the puppy’s enthusiasm hasn’t been touched but yours is getting tired, you wish the dog would take a nap. By the twentieth time he brings you the stick, your arm aches. And by the fiftieth, you really wondered what you were thinking when you decided to get a dog.

It was always something of a relief to see Bryce get reluctantly bundled off into the car with his parents. “My God, that woman is evil,” Dad would say of his brother’s wife, tousling Lucas’s hair. Though it was clear Aunt Didi barely tolerated her husband’s family, she never let them visit without her, even if she did brush off a chair before sitting on it. “But your cousin, he’s a pretty great kid, isn’t he?”

And Lucas would agree that yes, Bryce was really nice. Which he was.

Joe Campbell was the brother who’d made good; Dan never made it out of the careworn neighborhood where they’d grown up. Joe got into college, which was near-miraculous from the sound of it, whereas Dan became a mechanic, married the girl next door and moved into an apartment around the corner from where the brothers grew up.

It was clear that Joe viewed their childhood as far more idyllic than Lucas’s dad did. Even when he was little, Lucas understood that, felt his father’s edge when Uncle Joe would wax poetic about riding their bikes in the empty lot or leaving pennies out on the rail for the train to flatten. After all, Joe and his family got to leave at the end of the day.

When Steph was nineteen, she moved in with her boyfriend and had a baby girl. Another thing Bryce couldn’t get over—how cool was it that Lucas was an uncle! How he wished he had a sister, too, so he could be an uncle! “Bryce, angel, a baby’s not always a good thing,” Aunt Didi said.

“This baby is,” Lucas said, giving his aunt a dirty look. Mercedes was cute and smelled nice, most of the time, and Steph was a good mom.

Didi didn’t blink. “Well, we’ll see how things turn out, won’t we?” she murmured. “Not all of us are thrilled that our tax dollars pay for Stephanie’s lifestyle.” And though he wasn’t 100 percent sure what she meant by that, Lucas knew that it was a put-down just the same.

Visits from Joe and Bryce and Didi were rare, he didn’t have to think about it much. Would it be nice to take a vacation in Turks and Caicos, wherever that was? Probably. Would it be fun to have a flat-screen TV in your room? Sure. But Lucas wouldn’t trade places, that was for sure. Home always seemed a little nicer after those visits. Careworn instead of shabby, washed in the light of relief that they had each other, at least.

Until Dad was arrested.

Things Lucas Didn’t Know About His Father:



1 He’d been arrested at age eighteen for grand theft auto (a Camaro left with the keys in it, so really, who could resist? Certainly not an eighteen-year-old American male from the wrong side of the tracks).

2 He’d been arrested at age twenty-one for breaking and entering and vandalism (Mrs. Ortega’s place, where he and his buddy sat in the living room, watched Cinemax, drinking her schnapps).

3 He was $95,700 in debt, thanks to Mom’s medical care during her unsuccessful battle with ALS.

4 He was a drug dealer.


Lucas was fifteen at the time of the bust. The cops showed up, flashed a warrant and searched the house while Lucas made frantic phone calls to the garage. It was too late; the police found several small bags of crystal meth in a shoe box in the back of Dad’s closet.

Seemed like Dad had become a minor dealer in an organization run by one of his old high school friends. It was the only way he’d found to stop the creditors from taking the house after Mom died; he already worked eighty hours a week at the garage. Because of Dan’s “criminal past,” the judge sentenced him to sixteen years.

“I’m sorry, son,” Dan said to Lucas as the bailiff handcuffed him. Lucas hugged his father and tried not to cry. His father, who looked a decade older than he had that morning, didn’t need to see that. Besides, they’d appeal, the public defender said. This wasn’t forever.

Lucas wanted to stay with his sister, but Steph had tearfully turned him down. She and Rich lived in a tiny apartment, and she was pregnant again, this time with twins. Though Lucas swore he’d help, he could sleep on the couch, Mercedes loved him, he could babysit and everything, Steph said he’d be better off with Uncle Joe.

Joe and Bryce showed up as Lucas was packing. “This is so great!” Bryce exclaimed. “You can live with us now! We’ll be like brothers!”

Lucas barely refrained from punching him. It wasn’t great. His father was in jail, and even if he’d be getting out soon—please, God—this was far from great.

Being without a choice in the matter, he went, moving from the South Side, the run-down but tight-knit blue-collar neighborhood he’d lived all his life to a development made up of streets with saccharine names: Shadow Creek Lane, West Wind Way, Shane’s Glen Circle.

Didi showed him his room, the smallest room in the house, jammed full with an unused treadmill (which Didi insisted stay in the room, rather than be moved to the basement), a broken computer from the early nineties and a twin bed under the eaves. Bryce had been hoping they’d bunk in together, but no. There was another unused bedroom, but Didi said it was for company.

It was horribly different.

There was a pool in the back, serviced by Juan the pool boy; he and Lucas would speak in Spanish together, which irritated Didi and filled Bryce with still more admiration. The lawn was mown by a landscaping company. They had a cleaning lady. Didi drove a Mercedes and shopped at high-end retail stores and, according to a receipt Lucas found, spent one hundred and fifty dollars on her hair every five weeks.

Lucas remembered his father asking Joe for money five or six years before. He’d been lingering in the bathroom, needing a break from Bryce’s constant questions, and was washing his hands with much more care than usual.

“I hate to ask,” Dad said. “And I wouldn’t, except...well, the hospital hired a bill collector. I’m working as much as I can, but...”

“No, no, I understand,” Joe said. “Um, I’ll ask Didi.”

A few nights later, Uncle Joe had called, and Dad’s answers got shorter and shorter. “I understand. Of course not. Don’t worry about it. Thanks anyway. No. Sure. Yep.” He hung up the phone, sighed, such a weary, hopeless sound that Lucas must’ve looked stricken, because the next minute, Dad smiled. “Want ice cream for dessert?” he asked, and they both pretended things were okay.

A few months after that phone call, Didi and Joe took Bryce on a Disney cruise around the Mediterranean.

For the first few weeks he was living with them, Lucas kept his clothes in his backpack because he knew he wouldn’t be there long. His father’s sentence had been sixteen years, but come on. That was for rapists and murderers. Not for a mechanic who was trying to pay off his dead wife’s medical expenses and support a family. Surely Dad’s lawyer would get that straightened out.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the first month came around, Joe gently explained that it looked like it might be longer than Lucas hoped. He might as well make himself at home, right?

When it came time for back-to-school shopping, Didi bought Bryce’s clothes from Hollister, and Lucas’s from Kmart. Point taken. Joe bought him a new baseball glove for his birthday, the first never-been-used glove he’d ever had, despite playing for a couple of years already, and five minutes after he opened the package, Didi’s tight lips and hissing whispers managed to convince Joe that Lucas didn’t need a new glove. But Bryce did. Lucas could have Bryce’s old glove.

And so it went. It was Didi’s job that afforded the big house and tricked-out car in the garage (“Isn’t it cool that your niece and our car have the same name?” Bryce said once). Didi was vice president of something, whereas Joe worked from home, and somewhat sporadically.

But despite his uncle’s assurances that they were thrilled to have him, despite Bryce’s adoration, Lucas had never felt so alone. He missed Stephanie, who was kind of a screwup, sure, but who was also funny and who let him have ice cream every night the year after Mom died, when Dad worked nights. He missed his niece, who smiled and drooled on him and babbled at him. Her first word had been Wookus and everything.

Being half–Puerto Rican was not a big deal in his old neighborhood, but here in the suburbs, he was the only nonwhite, as far as he could tell. He missed people knowing who he was—Dan’s son, Steph’s brother, widely regarded as a good kid. He missed his room with the poster of Yoda on one wall, one of Michael Jordan on the other.

Here at Didi’s, the walls were bare. His bedspread was blue, the sheets new and stiff, the bed tightly made, unlike the nest of soft old blankets on his bunk bed back home. Didi asked him to throw out his battered feather pillow, saying she’d bought him a new pillow, and his probably had any manner of microscopic life growing in it. He obeyed.

If it had just been Joe and Bryce, it would’ve been easier. But Didi was constantly irritable when he was around, no matter how hard he tried to be polite. The fact that he needed a haircut or new shoes seemed like a personal insult, and she’d get a look on her face as if she’d just smelled a rotting corpse. When she had to introduce him, she always called him “Joe’s nephew”—never our nephew. Never Bryce’s cousin, even. One night, he overheard Didi describing his parents as “Southie trash,” and he had to go for a long run to burn off the hatred.

Bryce was tiring, too, in a completely different way. Everything Lucas did still fascinated him, from the fact that he flossed his teeth every night (Dad had warned him about that—they couldn’t afford a dentist, so Lucas had been instructed to take damn good care of his teeth) to the fact that he knew how to cook a meal.

He tried to stay out of the way. Kept his head down, showered at night after the rest of them had gone to bed because Didi made comments about the hot water running out. He never asked for seconds and always made sure his room was neat. He worked to catch up in school and wrote to his father and Steph, because a cell phone wasn’t one of the items given to him. But he emailed from the library every day, sitting at the third computer in the second row. He also sent handwritten letters to Dad because Dad had said in one of their weekly phone calls (which Didi resented) that getting mail was really great. And he sure would love it if Lucas could visit.

Lucas asked. He waited until he could have a word alone with his uncle. “Sure, of course, I’ll see when we can make it,” Joe said, but nothing materialized. He asked again, and then again. Late at night at the end of his second month, he overheard Joe and Didi talking through the air-conditioning vent that made for excellent eavesdropping. “I think I’ll take Lucas to see my brother tomorrow,” Joe said affably, and Lucas actually jolted upright, his heart leaping in his chest.

Silence, then, “Excuse me?”

“It’d be good for him. He’s having a tough time.”

“Are you an idiot, Joe? You want to take a child to a prison? Can you imagine how that will impact your son? Lucas is a bad enough influence on him as it is. And I think I’ve bent over backward here, taking him in the way we’ve had to. This is not how I envisioned life, you know. Now you want to take him to see your criminal, drug-dealing brother?”

As usual, Didi got her way.

So the letters and emails had to suffice.

Then, after seven months, word came that Dan was being transferred. Overcrowding in Illinois prisons; Dad was going to a facility in Arizona next week. Joe broke the news at dinner, and Didi’s pinched face froze even harder.




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