by Sydney Logan
“You have no reason to be jealous,” Lucas whispered against my ear, “and you have no reason to worry. Life is good, isn’t it?”
“Life is so good, but that’s when it usually falls apart on me.”
“So, what’s your plan? Look for drama where there isn’t any, just so you’ll be prepared in case something horrible happens?” I shrugged, and he sighed softly. “That’s no way to live, sweetheart.”
“I know, but old habits die hard.”
He ghosted his lips along my jaw, and I shivered.
“It’s time for new habits, Sarah. It’s time to be content. We’ll handle whatever . . . whenever it comes, but for now, can’t we just be happy?”
“I want to trust being happy.”
“Me, too.” His eyes were shining and warm as they gazed into mine. Very tenderly, he brushed his hand across my cheek. “Maybe we can help each other with that.”
Pressing my forehead against his, I sighed softly.
“Maybe we can.”
Chapter 16
“Have you ever been so glad to see three o’clock on a Friday?” Aubrey asked as we headed down the hallway. The teachers were actually racing the kids to get to the door. “This week has been absolutely insane.”
She was right. School had been crazy. There’s always a little excitement when vacation is on the horizon, but this week had been particularly wild. Thankfully, I’d kept control of my English class just long enough to finish Macbeth. To motivate my creative writing class, I’d bribed them with the promise of food, and I’d spent last night baking dozens of cupcakes.
It was a small price to pay for a little peace.
“You’re bringing Daniel to my house for trick-or-treating, right?”
Halloween was still a week away, but I’d already stocked up on tons of candy. I’d never really been into Halloween as a kid, but I couldn’t wait to get dressed up and welcome my trick-or-treaters. Lucas promised to help. Monica didn’t know it yet, but she’d be helping, too.
“Of course. Did I tell you he decided on Buzz Lightyear?”
“I’m not surprised,” I said, laughing over the roar of buses thundering out of the parking lot and kids rushing toward their cars. My steps slowed as my gaze settled upon Matt’s parking space. He and Howie were kneeling and looking carefully at Matt’s truck tires.
Great.
“It’s nice to see he still has one friend,” Aubrey said softly.
“Yes, it is.”
Now that he was no longer the most popular guy in school, Matt had become somewhat of a loner. Howie had proven to be a true friend, but I couldn’t help but wonder how long it’d be until he, too, caved to the pressure. Matt was taking it all in stride, and in many ways, seemed relieved not to have to pretend to be something he wasn’t anymore. Now, he could walk the halls without a gang surrounding him, and he could sit anywhere he wanted in class. Sure, there were rumors floating around about his new boyfriend, but this was high school, and there would always be gossip no matter who you were. Matt seemed to get that, and while I understood words could be hurtful, I also knew words were sometimes the least of your worries.
There had been some bullying—a freshman had keyed some vulgar language onto Matt’s locker and a group of juniors had cornered him in the gym locker room—but no one had been physically hurt. I’d still been livid when I’d heard the reports, but Matt had made me promise to stay out of it. He assured me he’d let me know if things became too rough, but I didn’t trust him to keep that promise.
“I wonder what’s wrong.”
I sighed wearily. “I don’t know. Go on home to your baby. I’ll check on them and give you a call later.”
I walked over to Matt’s truck, and both boys’ heads snapped up when they saw me approach. A quick glance at the ground was all the explanation I needed.
The left front tire had been slashed.
“At least it’s just the one,” Matt said quietly. . “My dad is on his way.”
“Yeah, but even one truck tire is expensive,” Howie muttered.
I looked at Matt. “Have you reported this to Principal Mullins?”
Both boys laughed bitterly.
“Mullins won’t do anything,” Howie muttered.
“Then I’ll report it.”
Matt shook his head. “No, Miss Bray. Let me handle it, okay? I don’t want you involved.”
“I’m already involved.”
His eyes were solemn and sad. “I know, and I don’t want you to be. I can handle this, Miss Bray.”
The crunching of gravel signaled the arrival of his parents. His dad jumped out of the vehicle to assess the damage while Matt’s mom remained rooted in the passenger seat.
Her eyes found mine, and we shared a sad smile.
Voices roar through the lunch room as students navigate their way to the cafeteria tables. The cliques are easily spotted: the jocks, the geeks, the beauty queens, the slackers . . .
It’s amazing how kids are kids—no matter where they live.
This cafeteria is smaller, and today, it’s filled with green.
My eyes follow him as he makes his way through the crowd with his tray gripped tightly in his hands. Despite the fact that he’s handsome and dressed in his Panthers green, he somehow fades into the background. The girls who once worshipped at his feet, and the guys who were once his teammates, pointedly avoid his eyes.
I can see it on his face when he finally finds an empty corner.
He’s so tired.
It’s not a weariness that comes from sleepless nights. This is a bone-tired exhaustion no eighteen-year-old kid should ever feel.
He’s giving in.
Giving up.
In my peripheral vision, I see his former teammate stalk his way into the cafeteria. He pulls the silver gun out of his jacket pocket. Amid the chaos, no one notices.
I notice.
“Out, out brief candle,” Patrick says. His voice is cold as ice as he recites Macbeth. “Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard of no more.”
I try to run, but I’m frozen in place.
I try to scream, but there’s no sound.
The first shot rings out, and suddenly, everyone’s on the cold tile.
Tears, prayers, screams.
Another shot, and for some reason, I’m the only one who can’t move. Who can’t scream. Who can’t do anything but watch as the young man’s body slumps over his tray.
Finally, I find my voice, and I’m able to scream his name.
“Sarah! Sarah, wake up!”
With a jolt, my eyes flashed open.
I can’t breathe.
Why can’t I breathe?
“Deep breaths, baby,” Lucas whispered soothingly as he held me close. Confused and frightened, I forced my breathing to try to match his while my heart thundered in my chest. Tears were still rolling down my face, and I hurriedly wiped them away.
“It was just a dream, sweetheart.”
Just a dream.
It was just a dream.
Lucas held me close, rocking me gently as I struggled to control my breathing. More than once, he offered to get my medication, but I’d been doing so well without them. I was stronger now, and I wanted to try to get through his episode without having to take a pill.
“What time is it?” The last thing I could remember was snuggling with Lucas on my couch and watching a movie on cable.
“Just past midnight.”
“I fell asleep on you,” I muttered, burying my face in the crook of his neck.
“You can always fall asleep on me.” Sighing softly, he loosely trailed his fingers through my hair. I was beginning to relax, but his body was still tense. After too many quiet moments, I lifted my eyes toward his.
“What’s wrong?”
Lucas closed his eyes, and when they opened again, they looked tortured and sad.
“Who is Josh?”
I gasped loud
ly. I hadn’t heard his name in so long, and hearing it in this house and coming from Lucas’s lips . . . it felt as if someone had kicked me in the stomach.
“How do you know about Josh?”
“You screamed his name when you were asleep.” He swallowed nervously. “Was that his name?”
I was so confused. “Whose name?”
“Your ex.”
Realization dawned, and I shook my head.
“No, no . . . my ex’s name is Ryan.”
“Oh.”
Lucas frowned, looking as lost as I felt. I wanted to tell him it had just been a bad dream and hadn’t meant anything, but I couldn’t. For one thing, that would be a lie, and I refused to lie to him. Secondly, it probably wouldn’t be the last nightmare I ever had, especially now that my past was colliding with my present in vivid detail and haunting my dreams.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
“Sarah, it was this blood-curdling scream,” he whispered weakly. “It was the most painful sound I’ve ever heard. I kept shaking you . . .” Suddenly, his expression turned hard. “Did someone hurt you? Because if they did—”
“No one hurt me,” I promised him. It wasn’t a lie. Physically, I’d never been harmed. “Please, just try to forget . . .”
“I can’t forget it, Sarah!”
I was speechless. Lucas had never raised his voice to me. Not once.
Frustrated, he let me go and climbed off the couch. Sitting up, I watched in stunned silence as he slipped on his shoes. Without either a word or a backward glance, he walked out of the living room.
The kitchen door slammed, and that’s when I panicked.
Terrified that I’d finally pushed him away, I raced through the kitchen and out onto the front porch. The wood was cold against my bare feet, but I didn’t care.
All I could see was the moon.
And him.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly walked toward the swing where he was sitting with his head bowed.
Sweet Lucas, who had been so patient with me since the moment we met. This incredible man, who’d never pushed for more than I was ready to give and who’d never asked for an explanation when I fell apart in his arms.
Had he finally had enough?
Kneeling onto the cold porch, I gently took his hands in mine. He lifted his head, and thanks to the moonlight, I could see his tormented eyes. Tenderly, I brushed his bangs away from his forehead and smiled sadly.
“I know I have no right to ask,” I whispered, “but if you were to leave me, I don’t know that I’d survive it.”
Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against mine.
“You’re going to freeze to death, Sarah.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
He slowly rose to his feet and tugged me by the hand until I was standing by his side. Without a word, he lifted me into his arms and cradled me against his chest before walking back into the house. His eyes never left mine as he kicked the door closed behind us, and I clung to his neck while he carried me upstairs.
“Which room is yours?” Lucas asked when we reached the top.
I pointed toward my open door, and he stepped inside, gently sitting me on the edge of the bed.
“Where are your socks?”
“Top drawer.”
He was only gone a moment, and when he returned, he kneeled on the floor and placed a fuzzy sock on each of my chilly feet. The gesture was so sweet, and my eyes brimmed with tears. Lucas noticed them, of course, and when a tear trickled down my cheek, his fingertips were there to gently wipe them away.
“You were so mad at me.”
“I wasn’t mad at you,” Lucas said as his fingers laced through mine. “I just love you, Sarah. I love you so much, but I am so lost. I can’t help you fight your demons if I don’t know what they are.”
Sighing deeply, he wrapped his arms around my waist and laid his head against my lap. Completely overwhelmed, fresh tears spilled down my cheeks as I ran my fingers through his hair.
I’d never met anyone like him. From the very beginning, he hadn’t been afraid to show his feelings for me. He’d always been sweet and attentive and loving—far more loving than I deserved—considering how much of myself I’d been holding back. He’d shared his deepest sorrow with me, and I’d given him nothing in return, but a few panic attacks.
That ended tonight.
For the first time in forever, I felt brave.
“I love you, too.”
Lucas lifted his head, and his surprised eyes gazed into mine. The fact that he was stunned speechless gave me the courage to continue.
“Joshua Ramsey was a student of mine in Memphis. He was shot and killed in the cafeteria, and it’s my fault he’s dead.”
It wasn’t the entire story, but it was a start.
Lucas stood and walked around the bed. I felt the blanket move behind me, and then I felt the mattress sink.
“Come here,” he whispered, and relief flowed through me.
He isn’t leaving me.
I unsnapped my jeans, letting them fall to the floor. He’d seen me in much less, after all, and I refused to sleep in denim. Leaving my shirt on, I climbed into bed, pulling the blanket close to my chin, and laying my head against the pillow. Our heads were close as we stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed like forever.
“What are you thinking?”
Lifting his hand, Lucas gently caressed my face.
“I’m thinking there’s far more to that story, and it’s not your fault he’s dead.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you, Sarah.”
It was the same thing I’d said to him when he told me about New York.
“I see how much you love your students,” he continued softly. “I see how much you worry about Matt.” His forehead creased. “There’s a connection there, isn’t there? Between Josh and Matt?”
I nodded.
“Was Josh gay?”
“Yes.”
“And he confided in you—just like Matt confided in you.”
“The situations are different, but yes.”
“How are they different?”
Taking a deep breath, I rolled over onto my back and gazed at the ceiling.
“Josh Ramsey was a handsome and bright seventeen-year-old boy. His family came from money, but of course, everyone in that school had money. He wasn’t an athlete. He wasn’t popular. He certainly didn’t have a girlfriend. He had zero friends. He was quiet and polite, and perfectly content to be an average student with average expectations. He wanted to fade into the background, and he was good at it.”
My hands were shaking, prompting Lucas to reach over and lace my fingers through his.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
I took a deep breath.
“Josh was in my AP writing class. He was a mediocre student at best in every other subject, but he loved to write. He confessed in one of his writing assignments that he really wanted to be a journalist and travel the world, and it was the first time he’d ever shown an interest in anything. I’d always jot down notes in the margin of their papers, and I encouraged him to talk to the guidance counselor about college. I knew he’d never get a scholarship with his grades, but I also knew tuition wouldn’t be an issue for his family. I wasn’t sure if he was really ready for college, but I thought maybe the counselor could point him in some direction—a technical school or something. Just something to keep him motivated.”
Lucas nodded.
“As the school year progressed, his writings became more detailed and descriptive. Suddenly, he was sharing stuff about his parents and his siblings, and how he hated high school because he felt like such an outcast.” I fought back my tears as Lucas squeezed my hand. “It was heartbreaking. I was young and idealistic and thought I could change the world. So, I encouraged him to make friends, and for a while, it actually worked. He wasn’t suddenly Mr. Popularity, but I would
see him eating with this one kid at lunch—a really popular kid—and it gave me hope that maybe he could enjoy the rest of his senior year . . .”
My voice began to break, and Lucas pulled me closer to his chest. I rested my ear against his chest and listened to his heartbeat, hoping the steady rhythm would calm me. “In one of his journals, he told me he had feelings for someone, and he was pretty sure they felt the same way. He asked for my advice, and I told him . . .” I swallowed convulsively and tried to keep from crying, “. . . I told him he should be honest. I told him he shouldn’t be afraid to tell someone how he felt about them, because life is too short and . . . and you never know . . .”
Lucas pressed a kiss to my hair.
“Some time passed, and suddenly, I was hearing reports that Josh was being bullied. Someone had keyed his car—someone beat him up in the gym locker room—and it wasn’t just at school. His family suddenly wanted to ship him off to military school, and they were forcing him to see a psychiatrist. They were trying to “de-program” him, he told me in his journal. I had no idea what he was talking about. I didn’t ask. I should have asked.”
Feeling suffocated, I pulled myself out of his arms and climbed out of my bed. In a daze, I walked over to my bay window and crawled inside. Lucas didn’t follow me, and I was grateful. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall.
“I did ask him to stay after class one afternoon,” I said shakily. “We’d talked so much through his writings, but we’d never had a real conversation. That afternoon, he confessed to me he was gay, and the feelings he had were for a guy named Travis Morgan. Travis was a forward on the basketball team and was headed to Duke to play college ball. He was very aggressive on the basketball court and a hothead in general. His father was a surgeon and very distinguished in the community.”
“And Travis wasn’t gay,” Lucas concluded.
I blinked back my tears.
“No, he wasn’t gay. Josh confessed his feelings to Travis, and that’s when the bullying started. The administration didn’t try very hard to protect him. Dr. Morgan was a benefactor, and . . . well, Travis was very careful about keeping his hands clean, but the kid had a lot of friends. It finally got so bad that Josh’s parents pulled him out of school. He wasn’t allowed to keep in touch with me—the administration forbid it, as did his parents—but at least I knew he was safe from Travis’s band of thugs.”
