by Haley Jenner
Jake nods thoughtfully. Bennett moves then, stepping up beside Toby. “Darci’ll throw fifty on Luca, I’ll put the same on Archer. Hedge our bets, eh, Lady Paradox.”
My sister looks positively traumatized by the suggestion, her mouth opening and closing in shock.
“Good thinking, Lady Killer. I can’t lose to Willow though… China, who you throwing down for?”
“Luca,” she says without missing a beat, fist lifting in victory when he pins Archer to the hard floor.
It’s short-lived though, Archer’s body bucking up to dislodge Luca’s large body, offering him the same outcome, only he adds a fist to the eye.
“Frankie’s truly fucked,” Toby adds thoughtfully. “Luca is her guy, but Archer was only trying to defend her honor.”
“You’re crazy,” I grumble, forcing an eye roll.
He laughs. “Baby, we’ve all been you. We all know you and the Viking have been fucking every day of the week, twice on Sundays for weeks. Months even.”
I stare at him dumbfounded before chancing a glance at the rest of our friends. They all nod on conciliatory shrugs.
My façade drops. “Luca,” I throw out. “Best not hurt his ego by siding with an old mate.”
“Archer,” Annabelle exhales, joining in, her hand rubbing the swell of her stomach.
“Same,” Aubrey agrees. “He’s been itching to connect his fist with Luca’s face for too long to let himself lose.”
Sighing, Jake scratches his neck. “Luca,” he whispers regretfully. “Feels he needs to prove something. He doesn’t, but, losing would cost his pride too much.”
He’s right. I know Luc, letting Archer get the better of him would cause his ego too much damage. There’s a time, like me, he still feels like an outsider in this group. A family intruder. It’s not intentional, but it’s there, and as much as I love the guy, Archer feeds that disconnect with his hostility toward the guy.
“You’re right,” Toby concurs apologetically. “Luca won’t back down.”
Focused on the fight, no one notices Janie's arrival, a sizable bucket of ice cold water in hand. Without missing a step, the bucket lifts, the arctic shower thrown over the scuffling boys still thrashing on the ground. It has the desired effect, startling them for the briefest second. But it’s enough for a guy I don’t recognize to move in, a large hand gripping under Luca's arm, pushing his head forward, in some kind of wrestling hold. Luc struggles momentarily as the big guy drags him backward, but gives up soon enough, arms stretching out in surrender.
Archer takes the reprieve to move forward again. But before he can connect his fist, Janie slides in front of him, no fear in her tiny body, the harshness in her voice ringing out across the bar. "One more step, baby boy, and I will pepper spray that pretty face of yours so fast, you'll be squinting for a week."
His eyes dart to his mom, back to Luca, indecision cloaking him before a quick nod moves his head, heeding his mother’s warning.
"Thanks, Trey," she addresses the guy still holding Luca in place.
He loosens his hold on Luc, stepping back with a small smirk. "No worries, Janie." Face a mask of utter disinterest, he’s gone before another word is spoken.
"Moooooom," Toby cries, pulling everyone’s attention. "We were taking bets. Annabelle had good money on Luca.”
Janie spins on her heel, hands on her hips, finding no amusement in his poorly timed joke. "Toby Matthews, you deserve a slap up the backside of your head for not intervening. You too." She points a finger between Jake and Bennett.
"Pfft, you're crazy if you think I was inserting myself between that show of chest pounding," Jake scoffs. "My face is too delicate."
Rolling her eyes, she turns away from us, feet planted firmly between the two bristling males.
"Firstly," she points to Luca. "Shame on you. Your staff all saw your pissing contest. Professionalism, Luca. Now every Joe, Dick, and fuckin' Toby thinks fighting is acceptable in the bar."
"I think it's Harry," Toby interjects unhelpfully. "Joe, Dick, and Harry."
She ignores him.
"And you." She whirls on Archer, face lined with fury. "I have so many daggers to throw your way, but let's just start with the simple fact that you're gonna be a dad in a few months," she gestures to Annabelle's swelling stomach. "Grow the fuck up."
He ducks his head in shame, a bruised and bloody hand coming up to massage the nape of his neck.
"I'm assuming this stupid fight was about the same ridiculous argument always prickling between the two of you." Her gaze skates between them, waiting for one of them to deny it. "Let it go. You're family. Whether you want to admit it or not. Let. It. Go. Or you're gonna create a fuckin' divide between the most important people in your life," she gestures to all of us. "Everyone is done with it. You've thrown your punches. Now make up."
She moves away without another word, everyone stunned into silence. Grown ass men being dressed down by the matriarch. If tensions weren’t so high, I’d smile. Janie Dean might’ve just become my hero.
"I thought it was hot," Toby breaks the awkward silence, but the joke falls flat.
Luca looks to us, face bruised, bloody, and frightfully vacant. He feels alone, that much is obvious. Without a single word, he turns, moving away from us, holding the tenderness in his ribs to allow him to do so with dignity.
I follow him without a second's hesitation. "Luc! Wait!"
He doesn’t slow, a fist connecting with the door to let him exit. He paces up the street, only to pause, gaze far-off, foot kicking out at the closest street lamp.
“Fuck,” he spits. “Motherfucking. Clusterfuck. Stupid. Asshole. FUCK!”
“Don’t think he can hear you out here?”
He spins on his heel, breathing erratic. “Was talking to myself. Why does he get to me so fucking bad? Why does he hold one stupid, insignificant moment against me?”
There’s a vulnerability in his words, and I gesture to my car, needing to get him home to clean him up. He struggles inside, waving me off when I attempt to help.
Anger, coursing along with the unguarded tenderness he feels radiates from his position in my car. It’s disturbing seeing him this way. I see him as strength. As an impenetrable wall. I guess the deeper the wall a person builds is reinforced, the more painful it is when it begins to crack.
“It wasn’t insignificant, not to him.”
His head turns, bruised eye socket staring at me in loathing. “You would defend the prick. See the way you look at him, Francesca.” He shifts in his seat, face contorting in pain at the simple moment. “Realize he’s married, right? That he’s more than a little obsessed with his wife.”
I scowl over at him. “Jealous much?”
He coughs out an unimpressed laugh, sucking in a sharp breath at the sting it causes. “Don’t flatter yourself. Just stating the obvious.”
His mood is black, mind clouded with self-pity, and it resonates in his words.
“It’s not Archer,” I confess. “I’m not looking at him. I’m watching the way he loves Annabelle. I want that. I want the type of love, my version of course, but… I want it to click for me with someone the way it does for them. I want to believe that I’ll find a man that looks at me the way he does her. Like she’s his world, his reason for taking each and every breath. That his world would collapse without her. She’s his oxygen. I want to be someone’s oxygen.”
I expect to see judgment in his eyes, disbelief that I could wish for something he’d likely deem as make-believe. The silence between us is profound, buzzing like electricity. Eyes pulling from the road for a second, I glance at him, doing a double-take. Because the only thing I see in his intense blue eyes is understanding. Maybe even a deeper glimpse into this man I’ve unintentionally clung to, because I could swear in the swirling desires of his eyes, he wants the same thing.
Breaking our connection, I focus back on the road, clearing my throat.
“I wasn’t defending him,” I change the subject. “I�
��m just offering you an alternate view. Archer broke Annabelle in a way that he’ll never forgive himself for. He stole years away from them with his issues. Imagine how much he hates himself for that.”
He looks ahead, the road passing us as quickly as my thoughts.
Reach out, they suggest. Touch him.
He could be your oxygen, they tempt.
Maybe his feelings are deeper than he lets you believe, they crack my heart open.
“The shade he throws my way is his own self-hatred,” he considers, the words spoken like a question.
“That’d be my guess. You were there to support her when she discovered another way in which Archer broke her heart. You’re a constant reminder of his failing. Also, you totally ground your cock against her ass, so there’s that too.”
The smirk on his face reaches all the way up to his eyes, creasing them with laugh lines. “Yeah, there’s that too.”
“Talk to him,” I suggest cautiously. “Janie was right. We’re all family.”
Pulling into the apartment complex, I shut off the car. “So, you’re leaving.”
We both stare at the door of the apartment we share. The door that brought us back together after our chance meeting in a bar, that changed the path of our lives forever.
“Wasn’t keeping it from you, Crazy Girl. Archer is still a good month away from finishing. I just—”
“It’s cool, Luc. We knew this was temporary.” I look to him with a dare in my eyes.
Take me with you.
There’s a breath, a pause so heavy that I think it’s worked. That the universe has answered my prayers. He takes a breath to speak, and my throat constricts with anticipation.
“Yeah, I guess.” A knife to my already fragile heart.
“Let’s get you inside, clean you up.”
Throwing his door open, he pulls himself out, soft groans escaping his lips with the movement. “You’re gonna give me a sponge bath, right?”
“If you weren’t so pathetic right now.” I grin at him hobbling next to me. “I’d push you over.”
“You love me,” he winks.
I roll my eyes, feigning indifference as my heart beats erratically in my chest, denying my lie.
Because he’s right, and my mind screams that truth so loud I can hear nothing else.
I love him.
I fell in love with Luca St. Kelly knowing that I was asking someone to be my oxygen when he seems barely capable of breathing for himself.
Chapter Fifteen
Luca
Annabelle opens the door on a pleased smile. “At least you look as bad as one another.”
My eyes close over in humor, pain twinging at my side as I step through the door.
“ARCH,” she yells.
“Right here, Belle,” he grumbles walking into the lounge room.
“Oh,” she giggles. “I should’ve known. He slept down here last night.” She raises an amused brow. “One, he could hardly walk up the stairs, we thought you’d cracked a rib. Second, the couch is saved for special kinds of assholes.” She scowls over at him.
“Luca, you’re family, I hope you heard that truth in Janie’s words last night. No matter how hard this one throws his man tantrums,” her thumb points over her shoulder at her less than impressed husband. “But word of warning, don’t ever hit my husband again, or I’ll kick your ass.”
She glances between us, hands on her hips. “I’ll get out of your hair. Anyone makes a decision to throw a fist again, and I will call Trey.” She levels her stare at us both. “Handsome man, strong too.” She winks at her husband, moving from the room incredibly fast for someone with a basketball in their midsection.
Archer watches her retreat, a small smirk playing at his cut lip. “I need a smoke,” he gestures to the porch when she’s out of sight.
Head tipped away against the draft of the wind, he inhales deeply, handing me the packet and lighter on a heavy exhale.
I take it, lifting my chin in thanks. We sit in silence for a good minute, enjoying the calm, the lull in conflict that is our default.
“I touched your woman and that pisses you off,” I settle against the railing. “I get that. Frankie and I aren’t even… but when you touch her, I wanna break your face.”
He watches me as I speak, cigarette balancing between his fingers.
“But I’m not gonna apologize for doing something good for her that night. That’s your burden to bear. Not mine. You fucked up. She forgave you, a long fucking time ago. You need to do the same for yourself.”
His head drops, focusing on the dark wood of his porch, bare feet braced shoulder width apart.
“Not into your girl, Dean. Liked the look of her when I saw her, but I like looking at most women.”
Finishing his smoke, he pushes it into the ashtray near his feet.
“Reason goes out the window where Belle’s concerned, she’s—”
“Your oxygen,” I offer him Frankie’s words and he smiles.
“Yeah. Don’t like that any of your body has touched a single inch of hers. But you’re right, all other issues are mine and mine alone.”
He looks at me then, eyes scanning over the bruising and cuts decorating my face. “No excuse for the way I’ve acted. Hoping you won’t hold it against me.”
“Forgotten.” I stand upright, extending my hand in truce.
His handshake is firm, not bruising like times past, just a communication of respect, of a ceasefire.
“Use your help carrying somethin’ from out back if you have a sec,” he tests.
Nodding, I follow his lead down the front steps. “Don’t know much help I’ll be, needed Frankie to help me on and off the couch this morning, this fucking bruise on my rib…”
“You inflicted a nice amount of damage yourself, maybe when I landed on the table, hips are black and blue…. What are we moving?” I change the subject, following him to his shed.
“Porch swing for Belle. Bought it as a pre-baby gift, was waiting for the right time. Thinking now might get me back into her good graces.”
I bark out a laugh. “Porch swing’ll cut it?”
He looks a thousand miles away as he speaks, transported back to a different time. “Janie used to have one when we were growing up. Belle fucking loved it. Even if we weren’t home, her ass’d be in that swing; reading, doing her homework, just sitting.”
Clearing his throat, he comes back to the here and now, looking over his shoulder at me. “She always looked so happy there, no matter what shitty thing was going wrong in her life. It seemed to be her sanctuary.”
“Porch swing’ll cut it,” I declare quietly and he lifts his chin, eyes widening with expectation.
“Hope so.”
“You could clean this place up a little you know?”
I look to Frankie, fixing the makeshift bed I’ve made on the couch. “What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t know, maybe make your bed once in a while.”
“Couch. It’s a couch. I’m six-foot-four inches crammed along a three-seater.”
She side-eyes me, hands still furiously folding blankets. “I offered you the bed. You declined,” she defends unapologetically.
I shrug. “Makes no sense to make a bed, couch,” I correct. “I sleep in never-made beds.”
She pauses her attack on the blanket currently half folded in her hands. “What the fuck is a never-made bed?”
“Is that a trick question? It’s a never made bed.”
Rolling her eyes, she finishes the fold, placing it neatly to the side of the couch. “Got that part, that’s not a thing.”
“Sure it is.” I move closer.
“What if people come over?”
I look around the cramped apartment, my bottom lip tipping out in thought. “Well, next time we host a dinner party, I’ll be sure to make my bed. Couch.”
“Luc.”
Sighing loudly, I drag a hand across my face. “Crazy Girl, I ain’t makin’ the bed when I’m just
gonna jump straight back in at any given point during the day, to sleep or fuck. What’s the point?”
“Makes this place look tidier.” She lifts my pillow, not so subtly smelling it, a soft smile dancing across her lips.
“Like I give a shit, I’m barely even here.” I sit along the arm.
“I give a shit.” She stops her movements again, hands moving to her hips.
“Yeah, and you ain’t even supposed to be livin’ here.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out. I didn’t mean it the way it came out, fuck. I’m used to living alone, answering to no one.
“Ouch.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant—”
“I get what you meant, I’m a guest in your house. You’re right. Never-made bed remains.”
“Frank,” I apologize, reaching an arm out to snag her hand.
“I gotta get to work.” She steps out of reach, tucking the last of my makeshift bed in a neat pile.
Smiling at her handy work, she glances over the couch with an inflated sense of pride.
Then her brow furrows.
Leaning down, she snags the book I had nestled against the couch cushion. I reach for it at the same time, but she beats me to it, jumping backward when I stand.
“Hand it over,” I demand, heat rushing up my neck.
Glancing at the cover, she doesn’t even attempt to hide the giant grin showcasing all her teeth.
“Well, shit,” she drawls. “Luca St. Kelly, you been holding out on me, you little nerd.”
I lunge forward again, but she shuffles back, putting the coffee table in between us.
“Was this what you were reading the morning of Bennett and Darci’s wedding?”
Her laughter is barely contained, dripping along her words like mortification in my veins. “No.”
“Pages are worn, Luc, how many times you read it?”
I move right, but she jumps left, shaking her head in warning.
“Few.”
I shift left this time, just for her to dance right, happiness lighting her up.
