“I’m serious.”
“I know you are.”
Linda breezes up to them, clipboard in hand, checking the watch on her wrist. “We’ve got ten minutes ‘til mic time. How’s he?” she asks Hal.
“Standing right in front of you,” Luke answers.
Linda makes an unimpressed face. “How likely are you to pass out?”
“No comment.”
“He’ll be fine,” Hal says. “He’s been practicing.”
“Tell her all my dirty secrets, how ‘bout it.”
Linda pats his arm. “You’ll be fine. Finish your drink.” And she whisks away, moving toward the crew fiddling with the mic.
Luke stares up at the makeshift stage a moment, stomach in his throat, Hal’s arm solid around his waist. Banners featuring the book cover and his headshot decorate the space. A stool sits behind the mic, atop it a copy of the book and a water bottle.
Some of his nerves settle when he realizes there’s something he needs to do before he takes the stage. He leans up to kiss Hal on the cheek. “I’ll be back.”
“You need me to come?”
“No, it’s fine.”
He finds Will standings beside a potted fern in a quiet corner. The old man stands with both hands on top of his cane, glaring at everyone who passes.
“Joyous as always,” Luke says as he sidles up to him. He feels a smile forming, possibly his first of the night. It’s hard to feel anxious about anything around Will.
“Hmph,” Will says. “I hate this kinda shit.” His gaze cuts over. “No offense.”
“None taken. I do too.”
Will scans the room. “Lotta people showed up.”
“Yeah. Way more than I thought.”
“Must be some kinda fancy-pants author around here somewhere,” Will says, and shoots him the barest of wry grins.
“Maybe one of these days.” Luke turns to face him, a hand finding his shoulder, dropping the pretense of nonchalance. “Hey, Will–”
“Aw, don’t get sappy on me, kid.”
Luke grins. “I wanted to say thank you.”
Will grumbles something.
“I wouldn’t have this book if it wasn’t for you.”
Will looks at him, grief and memory caught deep in the corners of his eyes. He’ll never give voice to the emotions that haunt him, even all this time later. But Luke sees them; Luke hopes he did them justice in the pages of his first novel.
“I hope I did you proud,” Luke says, quietly.
Will reaches with one leathery, shaking hand, and covers Luke’s on his shoulder. “You probably ought to get up there.” He nods toward the stage.
“Yeah.” Luke gives him one last squeeze. “I should.”
Someone taps on the mic and it squeals before it settles. “Luke?” Linda calls through it. “Luke, where are you? Get up here. Our esteemed author, everyone!”
A raucous echo of applause follows him up to the stage. Linda mouths good luck before she slides away. And then he’s alone, facing the crowd, the lights too bright in his eyes.
His body knows what to do here, even if his brain doesn’t. He sucks in a breath and says, “Good evening.” He’s too close to the mic and feedback crackles; he catches a few winces in the crowd.
“Um…”
His breath settles like concrete in his lungs. He licks his lips and they feel dry, chapped. He imagines the audience can see the pale peeling skin. Shit, he must look like a deer in headlights, all tiny pupils and slack mouth.
“Th-thank you,” he stammers, “for being here tonight. With me. Um…”
Movement in the front row catches his attention. It’s Hal, shifting just enough to get noticed. He throws Luke a tiny, covert wave, eyes crinkling as he smiles. You got this he mouths, clear as day.
Luke’s mom is standing on one side of him, Sandy on the other. And beside her, Matt, and Tara, and Maddie.
Tara rolls her eyes at his awkwardness, but grins.
Matt gives him the sort of proud, fatherly, senator-patented smile that ought to look fake, but it so, so genuine.
His mother looks like she could float with happiness.
And there’s Will, eyes sparkling, the tiniest of smiles twitching at the corners of his mouth. Will went to Korea and fought communists. Lost his best friend. Married his best friend’s girl out of terrible grief and obligation. If he can do that, Luke can do this.
He looks at Hal one last time, hoping all his love shines through his eyes; he can certainly read Hal’s.
He takes a deep breath and says, “Tonight’s not about me. Tonight’s about the book, Walking Wounded, and the hero who inspired it…”
THE END
Lauren Gilley is the author of eighteen novels and several short stories. She lives in Georgia.
Get Connected:
Blog: hoofprintpress.blogspot.com
Facebook: facebook.com/Lauren Gilley – Author
Twitter: @lauren_gilley
Instagram: @hppress
Email: [email protected]
Other Titles From Lauren Gilley
The Dartmoor Series
Fearless
Price of Angels
Half My Blood
The Skeleton King
Secondhand Smoke
Loverboy
The Lean Dogs Legacy Series
Snow In Texas
Tastes Like Candy
The Walker Series
Keep You
Dream of You
Better Than You
Fix You
Rosewood
The Russell Series
Made For Breaking
God Love Her
“Things That Go Bang In The Night”
Keeping Bad Company
“Green Like the Water”
Standalones
Whatever Remains
Shelter
Walking Wounded Page 29
