Lucas - A Preston Brothers Novel (Book 1): A More Than Series Spin-off

by Jay McLean

  Laney returns to the booth with a bucket of popcorn and hands it to me. “You’ve got that look,” she says.

  I take the popcorn, sniff it. “What look?”

  “No butter, no salt,” she says, “and that hungry I’m-going-to-eat-your-face look.”

  “Your face isn’t what I’d be eating should it come down to that,” I tell her.

  “Lucas!” she gasps.

  I sell two tickets to the couple who own the comic book/sex toy shop. The husband winks. The wife says, “We have body paint in all flavors.”

  They leave, and Laney’s still staring at me with wide eyes and an even wider mouth and I look away. The things I plan to do with that mouth.

  She sits in a chair in the corner of the booth, and I stand behind the register, our regular routine. She says, “That meet in Charlotte this weekend—you really think Cooper’s going to be there?”

  I throw a handful of popcorn at her.

  “Luke!” she squeals, already getting the brush and dustpan. Not working here is fun.

  “Why do you care if he’s going? Do you want to see him?”

  “It depends.”

  I turn to her. “On what exactly?”

  She scoops up the popcorn, empties the dustpan in the trash. “On whether or not you can lend me $800…”

  I switch the ticket booth sign to closed and shut the curtains. “You owe Cooper money or something?”

  “No,” she says, sitting back down, her hands empty. “I want to pay his share of the car, and I don’t have enough. I tried to get a credit card, but it won’t be here in time. I’ll pay you back as soon as I get it.”

  “The car was a gift, Lane.”

  “And if it came from my dad alone, I’d appreciate it, but you don’t know Coop. There’s an ulterior motive for everything. I just don’t know what it is yet,” she says.

  “Okay.” I nod. “I’ll front you the cash, but don’t pay me back with a fucking credit card. The interest rates on those things are ridiculously high. Just pay me back whenever. If you need more, it’s no problem.” I hate talking about Cooper, and I hate the sudden awkwardness it brings, especially in such a tight space. I look at the time. 9:15. I should leave, drive, clear my head, come back when it’s time. “I’ll be back at ten,” I tell her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I forgot a thing… for my dad.”

  “Okay.”

  I leave, come back at 10:02, and the first thing she says is, “What got into you?”

  I sigh, hands on the wheel. “I just don’t like talking about Cooper, okay? And you can’t be pissed that I get mad when you bring him up.”

  She doesn’t respond, and we spend the drive to her house in silence. I get out, walk her to the basement door. “I’m sorry,” she says, unlocking the door and turning to me. “I just thought…” She trails off, looks away.

  “Thought what?”

  Her eyes meet mine. “I thought I could talk to you about this, that you, out of everyone, would understand how important it is for me to cut ties with him once and for all so I can move on… especially considering you’re the one I plan on moving on with.”

  I’m such a fucking dick. I step forward, one hand on her waist, the other in her hair, pulling her to me. Then I lean against the doorframe, one foot in her room. “You want me to stay?” I ask.

  She says, “Yes,” and my heart skips a beat. But then she adds, “But you shouldn’t.” She kisses my cheek, guides me back outside. “Twenty-two days,” she tells me.

  Twenty-two days turns to twenty-one turns to twenty, which is also the day of the track meet in Charlotte. I have to leave by 5 am to get there by 6 for registration. At 4:45, while I’m packing my gear, my regular alarm goes off at the same time there’s a knock on my door. Laney’s on the other side, her hair a mess, her eyes half closed, and I don’t even bother hiding my surprise. She’d already given me her share of the cash she wanted me to hand over to Cooper, as well as specific instructions: “Tell him it’s for the car. That’s all you have to say. Nothing more. Nothing less. I mean it, Luke. Nothing more!”

  I open the door wider. “4:45 looks good on you, Sanders.”

  “Fuck you and coffee,” she mumbles.

  “Counter.”

  She pushes me out of the way and shuffles to the kitchen, and I go back to packing. “What are you doing here?”

  “Coffee.”

  I look up at her. “You ran out of coffee?”

  “Coffee first. Talk later.”

  “Right.”

  I finish packing, drop my bag by the door.

  4:53. I need to get going, and she needs to tell me what’s going on.

  “Lane?” I slip on my shoes by the door. “What are you doing here?” I ask again. I should probably explain why nothing is making sense. Laney does not do well this early in the morning. That’s an understatement. She doesn’t even know how to function. Last time I had a meet she had to get up this early for, I picked her up, and she had on two different pairs of shoes, her arm through the neck hole of her top and her jeans were inside out. After I helped her dress properly (the top half anyway—I left her to work out the whole jeans problem later) we got in the car, and she slept the entire drive, her head against the window and drool streaking down her chin. I found a parking spot, grabbed Wet Ones from the glove box I kept for Lachlan. I cleaned her up, helped her walk to the stands and wrapped her up in a blanket I brought specifically for that purpose. It took forever for me to register for the event, and when I got back to her, she was asleep. It wasn’t until the first starter pistol that she shot up and realized where she was. She sent me a text right away.

  Omg!

  Did I miss it?

  I fell asleep!

  Did you win?

  I was sitting right next to her. She jumped when she realized. Then she looked down at her lap, at her inside-out jeans. She covered her face. I told her she could fix it under the blanket. She told me it wasn’t just that—she’d also forgotten to put on underwear. Then I really fucking regretted not helping her with that earlier.

  Now, she grabs a thermos from the top cabinet. She pours her coffee, then she walks past me, through the door, down the stairs and stands by my truck.

  “You’re coming with me?” I call out, still in my apartment.

  She sips the coffee. Shivers. “Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

  Laney downs the entire thermos (the equivalent of four cups of coffee) in less than five minutes, so it’s no real surprise that halfway through the drive, she’s dancing in my truck with Justin Timberlake blasting. “I love Justin Timberlake!” she shouts, winding down her window, causing her cheeks to redden, her hair to whip around. She looks over at me, displays her perfect teeth behind her perfect smile created by her perfect lips, and I want to punch Justin Timberlake in his perfect face.

  I lower the volume, move on to her other love that isn’t me. “You want to hit up that craft store while we’re there?”

  She stops dancing immediately, her eyes wide and on mine. “Don’t tease, Luke.”

  “I’m not,” I say. “My heats and final should be done by midday so we’ll have time. Maybe grab food, too?”

  She pouts. “I have to be at work by four, so we’ll see.”

  We get to the track, and I line up to register while Lane sits in the stands, a blanket around her shoulders, yarn and knitting needles ready. Garray cuts in line to get to me. He hushes the people behind me by saying, “Chill, bruhs, I’m just here for the tits.” Then a few minute later, he laughs in their faces when he gives out his name, gets his number. “If you break your PB,” he tells me, following me around like a sick puppy, “party at my house. My parents are… I don’t know where, but they’re sure as fuck not home.”

  “Cool,” I tell him, but I’m distracted by Lane, her hands frozen, her gaze locked on the red Porsche pulling into the lot.

  “Is she here for you?” he asks.

  I point to the Pors
che. “Or him. I’m not sure.”

  “You can’t worry about that shit today. You’re here on a mission. Focus.” And he’s right, of course, and focusing on Cooper is going to ruin that.

  There are three heats in the Under 21s’ hundred-meter sprint; each heat is an elimination round. I plan on flying through all of them, winning the final. I’ve done my research on the other competitors, and it’s a given. But I’m not here to win or to compete against them. I’m here to compete against myself. Beating my PB will bring me one step closer to beating Cooper Kennedy’s record. That’s what I want. What I need. And I only have three more official races until the season’s over, which is why I’m here. In a nonofficial school event that clocks official times.

  I sit next to Lane, wait until it’s time to start warming up. “You think you could ask Garray to sit with me when you can’t?” she asks, looking toward the end of the registration line where Cooper stands, watching her, me, us.

  “Garray’s running cross-country, so he’ll be on the track a while,” I tell her. “You want me to give him the money now, get it out of the way?”

  “No,” she says quickly. “He’ll want to talk, and I don’t want to—not yet. Not until you’re done. This is your day.” She turns to me, smiles. “How are you feeling? Confident? Scared? You’re going to kill it. I can feel it.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, looking over at Cooper again. “You think he’s going to give you a hard time?”

  She cups my face, forces me to get lost in those eyes. “I don’t want you worrying about him, okay? I want you to worry about you and about that PB and about where you’re going to take me in twenty days.”

  I smile, I can’t help it. I hold her wrists; Keep touching me, Lane, and say, “I have it all planned out.” And it’s true. I do.

  “Can I do anything?”

  I push my luck. “You could always give me an advance on that first-date kiss.”

  She rolls her eyes—instinct, but then bites down on her lip—contemplation. Then slowly, oh so slowly, she leans forward, presses her lips to mine.

  Two seconds.

  Zero heartbeats.

  “Did it help?” she asks.

  “You have no idea.”

  Dad shows up with Lachy and the twins right before the first heat starts. They sit with Lane, and Lane points me out, and Dad smiles and waves. Lachlan gives me a thumbs up, and I return it while the twins check out the program. I win the race. I win another short, light kiss from Lane.

  Logan and Leo arrive just before the second heat. I didn’t know they were coming but I’m happy they did, and I win that race, too. They cheer from the stands—my brothers, my dad, my kind-of-now-but-definitely-soon-to-be girlfriend—all making me proud to be a Preston. I earn another kiss from Lane. When we actually do start dating, I’m going to ask for backpay on all my previous winnings. One kiss (or blowjob, whatever) for each win throughout my entire high school life.

  I win the third heat, beat my PB. I don’t need to see the clock to know I’ve done it; my body’s already told me. So instead of looking at the screen, I look over at my family. Lane’s the first to stand, her hand to her mouth. She says something to my dad, and he hollers, jumps, scares everyone around him and swear, this feeling, this high, is greater than sex, pre-Laney, of course.

  “Close, but not close enough,” Cooper says, cocky smirk and cocky face and cocky hair and cocky words, and I look up at Lane, see her hugging Lachlan and pointing to the screen showing my times, and I look at Cooper and realization smacks me in the face. This is it for him. His life is defined by what he does on this track. And me? My life is sitting in the stands, watching me, cheering me on.

  I face Cooper, return his smirk.

  One second.

  Two.

  “It was never about you, dude. Not with me.” I motion to Lane sitting in the stands with my family. “And definitely not with her.”

  He shoves my chest, and I fall back a step, laugh at him. “That record’s mine.” It’s a promise. A declaration. An oath.

  I win the final, but I don’t break Cooper’s record. Not today. But I have three more races, and will, determination and anger are on my side. And like Cameron told me, emotion always wins.

  I collect my trophies, give them to Lachlan like I always do, and then spend the next hour in the craft store following Laney around like Garray did with me earlier—like a sick puppy and holy shit, there are a lot of analogies to do with dogs.

  When we’re done, Laney and I meet up with my family at the same diner we went to the first time we came here together. Lane orders the same two desserts, and I order almost everything on the menu because I’m fucking starving and the hour walking around aimlessly at the store nearly killed me, not that I’d tell her that.

  Halfway through the meal, Laney grabs my arm, her eyes wide. “We forgot to give Cooper the money!”

  “What money?” Dad asks.

  I explain about the car situation, leave out the part about lending her some cash.

  “Just give me the cash and I’ll write a check,” he says. “I’ll send it to Lucy and she can give it to him. Unless…” He looks at Lane. “Did you want to hand it to him in person?”

  Lane’s quick to shake her head. “Not at all.”

  I take out my phone. Message Lucy.

  Luke: Favor?

  Lucy: Name it.

  Luke: Dad’s going to send you a check. Can you find Cooper on campus and give it to him?

  Lucy: I’ll have Cam do it. I can’t even look at that guy without wanting to throw a brick at his face.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  LUCAS

  It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a party that didn’t include cakes, cars and clowns (Lachlan’s friends’ birthdays), and so I feel a little out of place with the drinking and the shouting and the dry humping in dark corners. Garray said it was going to be small, mellow, chill. It’s the opposite of all those things, and it takes me forever to find him sitting in his hot tub with a bunch of girls from the track team. “The man of the hour!” he shouts, and I have no idea who the people are that cheer for me, but I thank them anyway.

  “I thought you said it was going to be small? Just the team.”

  “It was,” he yells over the music. “I invited the team. They invited everyone else. Who fucking cares, bruh.” He throws his arms out. “Enjoy it!”

  I try to enjoy it. Honestly, I do. But sometime between last summer and now, this scene became no longer my scene, and I’d rather be sitting with Lane in the ticket booth not being paid to serve customers. I grab a beer from the cooler next to the hot tub and spend the next forty-three minutes wandering around, making awkward small talk. Then I find my way back out to Garray, still in the hot tub, making out with a girl I’ve never seen before. Or maybe I have, I don’t know, I stopped paying attention a long time ago. I wait for him to take a break so I can tell him I’m leaving. He doesn’t. I grab another beer, and I’ll wait another ten minutes before I leave, with or without Garray’s knowledge. I turn swiftly, bump my chin on the top of someone’s head. “Oomph,” she huffs.

  “Sorry,” I say, but all I can smell is coconuts and lime, and I look down at a sea of dark hair and “Laney?”

  She looks up, adjusts her glasses. “I was going to do that whole arms-around-you-cover-your-eyes-guess-who thing, and it was supposed to be cute.” She rubs her head, looks up at me with her nose scrunched, and she doesn’t realize that without even trying, she’s the fucking cutest girl here with her tight black jeans, torn at the front, her tight gray top and leather jacket, and I want to fold her up, put her in my pocket and keep her for myself.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

  “I got someone to cover my shift. I wanted to celebrate with you.” She looks around. “I thought this was supposed to be small.”

  I hook my finger in her belt loop and pull until she stumbles forward, her eyes wide. I love her like this—her body pressed into mine and
her breaths shallow. I dip my head, speak into her ear. “It can be small… it can just be you and me and a bottle of whatever you want. This house has five rooms, and those rooms have locks.”

  She steps back, bites her bottom lip, and fuck, I want to do the same. She says, “Anything but vodka.” And I’m taking her hand, taking a bottle of whiskey from the cooler and taking her upstairs and into the first available room. It reeks of beer and sex and it’s not at all romantic, but this isn’t a date, and really, it’s a Dumb Name party so it’s to be expected. Still, I open a window, strip the bed, and sit in the middle. After a moment, Laney follows my lead. I uncap the bottle, hand it to her. “You trying to get me wasted, Preston?”

  Yes. “No.”

  She takes a sip, passes it back. I decline.

  “You not drinking with me?” she asks. Another sip.

  “Someone needs to be sober to hold your hair when you puke.”

  She spits out the drink, liquid leaking out of her mouth, and I laugh, wipe it away with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “You’re a hot mess already.”

  Garray walks into the room—I forgot to lock the door—like he owns the place (whatever), and as soon as he sees Laney, he picks her up in a bear hug, giving zero fucks that he’s dripping wet, and she’s bone dry (for now), and she offers the world that sound. That reality-shifting, heart-stopping sound. She reaches for me, and I pull them apart, and now I’m wet because she’s holding onto me.

  Garray looks between us, finishes on Lane. “Who’s the better kisser? Me or him?”

  “Fuck off,” I snap.

  Now Grace is here with two of her friends, and the room is way too fucking small for this. “What’s up, homewrecker?” she says to Lane. Then throws her drink in Lane’s face.

  I move Laney behind me, get in Grace’s face. “What the fuck?”