Weak Without Him

by Lyra Parish

  Fourteen

  Luke patted me awake after I had fallen asleep on him. I would have four hours to rest until the flight connected in New York. We walked through the tunnel, and boarded the plane. The window seat had my name written all over it. Before we took off, all the rules and regulations blared over the loudspeaker. Buckle your seatbelts, blah blah blah, then the plane lifted and soared above the ground. Being above everyday life as it continued down below was an odd feeling. Almost as if I were detached from the real world, viewing it from a bird’s eye, in a sense.

  Luke leaned over my body and glanced out. Rusty mountains and desert surrounded us. I moved my body back in the seat and closed my eyes.

  "I will never get tired of looking out the window of a plane."

  "Me either," I said and looked at Luke.

  He leaned back in his seat, pulled out a sketchpad, charcoal, and drew. Positioning his pencil at an angle, he drew dots and small lines that were followed by shading. Then an eye, eyelashes, and eyebrows were formed. With his thumb, he smudged lines, then continued drawing lips and hair. Although my eyelids were heavy, I watched him work. The way he would close his eyes and reopen them, then close them again and reopen them, made me admire him even more for being able to draw from memory. Luke was completely involved in his work, despite the crying baby in the background or the chatter a few seats over, focused entirely on the drawing. He bit his lip and finished the picture with an eraser. Once complete, he looked down at it, then over at me with a grin.

  "How's this?" he asked.

  The picture was of me sleeping.

  "What you're trying to say is you could draw me exactly how Jack drew Rose?"

  He laughed. "I could."

  "That eraser thing, it's neat."

  "It's actually called a blender. Helps smear the charcoal and emphasize the shading."

  "How long have you been doing this, drawing and painting?"

  "Since I was seven. My mother insisted we find our creative side at an early age, so she enrolled us in art and music classes. I always loved to draw. Painting came before music. Violin. I love it."

  "Really? You play the violin?" I couldn't stop thinking about the night that he was going to make me his, and the violinist that played during dinner. Every piece of that night had meant something to him. It was perfectly planned, and I was too stupid to see it.

  "You said we. Finnley took classes as well?"

  "Oh yeah. He can draw too. He's extremely talented. Better than me, I think. A natural. He can cook, and play the piano. He has many secret talents."

  If Luke only knew…

  The thought of Finn having that much creativity… just, blew my mind. I couldn't imagine it. But other than that, Finnley was a closed book; a cliffhanger that I would never have the full story of and it frustrated me. But then again, learning about him was half the fun of it all, right?

  After repositioning his body, Luke closed the sketchpad. "Did you tell him you were coming with me?"

  "Haven't talked to anyone but you since yesterday afternoon."

  "He's going to be pissed, you know."

  "I know."

  The thought of it made me uneasy. When I sucked in a deep breath, Luke grabbed my hand and squeezed.

  "When I have a chat with him, I'm going to tell him you confessed your undying love for me and we ran away together to get married in Paris."

  I laughed. "Can't wait to hear his reaction. Promise to have him on speaker when you tell him."

  Luke let out a yawn. So did I. He stopped the airline attendant and asked for a blanket, and I yawned again. Why were they so contagious? She brought a thin blanket over to us, and he plopped it over our legs. The warmth relaxed me and together we drifted to sleep as we soared through the clouds.

  We woke as the plane landed. I knew I had sleepy eyes, and so did he. When we were allowed, we grabbed our carry-on bags and made our way off of the plane. If Vegas had been cold, New York was freezing.

  Blankets of white surrounded us, and the snow steadily fell. We grabbed our bags and checked them in for our connecting flight.

  A little restaurant beckoned us forward.

  "Hungry?"

  "Starving," I said.

  We walked inside, ordered a few waffles, and more coffee. I needed a gallon of it.

  "Are you going to call Finn before we board?" he asked over a hot mug.

  "No."

  Once we were finished, we made our way to the waiting area where the attendants boarded the plane. In six hours, I would officially be in another country, viewing a different set of bright lights and fast paced atmosphere.

  Luke stopped before entering the hangar and finished typing on his phone, then stuck it in his pocket and continued with me. I might be jetlagged, tired, and hungry for a real meal, but I didn't give a shit about any of it. The thoughts of being somewhere else would fuel the flight, and that was enough to keep me going.

  FINNLEY

  Fifteen

  If I didn't hear from her soon, I would have the entire city swept from top to bottom to find Jennifer Downs. The Honda was missing, she was missing, and I had no idea where the hell she had gone. I was so desperate to find her that I even called Abbie. Damn it, I fucking hated doing it, but I had to track her. I turned into a giant pussy overnight, and I was worried. Worried that something terrible had happened to her. How could I not be?

  Nothing would lift the feeling of desperation, loneliness, or worry. As I sped down the streets of Vegas, looking for her car, I received a single text from Luke.

  Jennifer is with me. Boarding now.

  I let out a long sigh of relief. Relief that she hadn't been kidnapped, relief that she didn't lose her fucking mind and pull another one of her ridiculous stunts like the last time I almost lost her. Jennifer fucking Downs had run to my little brother, and of course, he had taken her in. He was always a sucker for damsels in distress.

  I smiled at the thought and at how stupid I had been to not contact him first. God, she was so predictable. At least I knew that she was in good hands, and hoped he would keep his hands to himself.

  Another piece of me was pissed the fuck off. Why would she run to Luke if he meant nothing to her? She just called him up and ran into his arms. I wouldn't play these games. I wouldn't be left wondering about us, or her and Luke. If my brother were to choose between my happiness and his, he would choose mine. Luketon Brand loved me and would do anything for his big brother. He also knew how I felt about Jennifer, and without a doubt, if it came down to choosing, he would walk away. But would Jennifer?

  She was the common denominator, and I couldn’t change her regardless of how much I fucking wanted to. There were times when she would fold for me, but other times when she stood so strong that a nuclear explosion couldn't knock her down. Smart ass, stubborn, and hardheaded—all character traits that described her perfectly. I really had met my match.

  After the big conference this weekend, I had planned to surprise Jennifer by taking her to Paris. Fucking Jesse ruined that. I wasn't the dickhead to blame this time. Although it would be better if she hated me, and easier if we just walked away from one another, that wasn't happening. She was mine, I was hers, and no matter what happened, we would work it out. We had to.

  I couldn't help but wonder what Luke would tell her. He was terrible at keeping my personal life personal and had a knack for revealing things I didn't want people to know. Undoubtedly, Jennifer would know everything about my childhood leading up to yesterday. Reason number fifteen why I didn't want his ass involved with The Elite. He would make me look like a giant pussy before it was all said and done, and I couldn't have that. I had a hard-ass image to uphold.

  The constant nag of distress slowly disappeared and replaced itself with slight anxiety. When I wanted and expected Jennifer to react a certain way, she did the opposite. The unexpected drove me crazy.

  Sixteen

  It was dark when we arrived in Paris, but the lights below glowed and connected the
city. The illuminations acted as veins and seemed to pulsate and purr as I imagined all the people below. We made it to the airport, which looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. A circle building with cement arms extended to the edges of the property, totally Star Trek or something. Or it could a combination of exhaustion and hunger creating those thoughts.

  Luke rested his head against the seat until it was time for us to get off the plane. I leaned my head over toward his and he smiled.

  "A driver will be waiting to take us to our flat. Shouldn't be much longer."

  "Alright, Luketon Brand. I just want to sleep in a bed. Seriously don't even care about food right now."

  My back hurt, everything hurt, and I felt numb all over. I expected snow, but got cool air as we walked through the hangar. The lights in the distance twinkled, and I was so relieved to be standing. The ride was worse than driving from Texas to Vegas; talk about turbulence and horrible food. But the Eiffel Tower made it all worth it, and I would suffer that trip a million times more just to see it.

  A car waited for us just as Luke promised. We whizzed through the traffic, and I sucked in a deep breath. I scooted toward Luke; he wrapped his arm around me and held me close. I closed my eyes—the ones that were burning and tired from traveling—and almost dozed off. Luke just stared out the window.

  "I've missed this place so much." It was like he spoke to me from a faraway place, lost in his memories.

  "Oh, sorry. I must have drifted off again."

  We sluggishly exited the car, and Luke grabbed my bags.

  The building had thick columns and little balconies. Bourbon Street in New Orleans, I swore, had buildings exactly like this. Oh, French, right.

  "Do you like it?"

  I smiled at him.

  "I'll take that as a yes."

  The driver handed Luke a set of keys, and we made our way to the front door. A studio apartment was filled with canvases, drawing paper, and a large open space for working. Not to mention, a couch, oversized chair, and a bed in the corner. There were no rooms; the floor plan was open. Well, except for the bathroom.

  Luke dropped the bags on the floor and exhaled loudly as he searched around the room. He placed his hands behind his head and stretched.

  "Everything I requested is here. I'll have a go at it tomorrow."

  He opened the refrigerator, pulled out a piece of cheese for himself, and offered me a slice. I grabbed it and sunk my teeth into the creamiest piece of cheddar in the entire world. So creamy, I couldn't help but be vocal. He laughed.

  "Hey don't judge me. This is good," I said.

  "Totally not judging."

  "Let's get some sleep, yeah?"

  "Yeah. So exhausted."

  I unzipped my suitcase and went to the bathroom to put on my pajama pants and a shirt that said, "Texas has a bigger thing than yours." It was my favorite, and it was funny, at least I thought so. While I changed, Luke did as well. He wore a plain white shirt and pajama bottoms that hung loosely on his hips. He yawned, ran his fingers through his curly hair then laughed.

  "I already said to not judge."

  "I'm not. I swear to it."

  We stood beside one another as we figured out the sleeping arrangements.

  "I'll sleep on the couch," I said.

  "No. I will."

  "Paper, rock, scissors for it?"

  Luke shook his head.

  "Alright, flip a coin?"

  He shook his head again.

  "I'm not winning this argument, am I?"

  Then he gave me a nod and a smile. I released a begrudging sigh and crawled under the covers. Luke searched the flat for an extra blanket and grabbed the pillow from the other side of the bed. There was only a thin sheet, but he didn't complain and plopped on the couch.

  I lay on my side and had no clue what time it was, but it seemed either late or early. I was thrown off of my schedule and hoped it would fix itself soon because I wanted to enjoy France.

  Before I dozed off, I thought of Luke sleeping on that couch, and heard the springs as he twisted on the couch.

  "Luke."

  No answer.

  "Luketon," I whispered.

  "Yeah?"

  "Come on. Come to bed. It's silly. You need a good night’s rest, and I won't take no for an answer."

  Silence.

  When I rolled over to look at him, he stood beside the bed with his pillow.

  "I know there is no arguing with you. You're as bad as Finn."

  He plopped the pillow down on the bed and slid under the blankets. I rolled over with my back toward him with a huge smile on my face.

  "Goodnight," I said.

  "Night."

  We both drifted off to the sound of each other’s breathing in the room. I needed to sleep until my body told me it was time to wake.

  Completely refreshed, I felt revived when I woke to an empty bed. After looking around, I saw Luke at the little table in front of the balcony sipping coffee with a sketchpad and pencil. He was so involved in his work that I didn't want to interrupt him. Instead, I stumbled to the bathroom with a toothbrush in one hand and clothes in the other. My mouth tasted like I had eaten a cup of nastiness in my sleep. I blamed the cheese.

  I pulled my frizzy mess of hair back into a tight bun that would have made any ballerina jealous. I stalked to the kitchen, poured myself a cup of coffee, wished for creamer, and sat at the table in front of Luke.

  "Morning," he said.

  "Morning."

  He laughed. "It's three o'clock in the afternoon. I thought you’d never get up but couldn't find it in my heart to wake you. Seriously, you snore like a princess."

  "I do not snore."

  "Oh, you do. It's cute, though. Not like a chainsaw."

  "Oh, shut it."

  I sipped my coffee and hunger set in.

  "I got you some croissants. I mean, they aren't bacon donuts, but I thought you would appreciate them."

  I reminisced about Texas and that time Luke and I shared. It really was magical in its own way. I learned more about Luketon during that trip than during our time together in Vegas.

  He slid a plate of chocolate dipped croissants my way, and my mouth instantly watered.

  "I have an appointment at five with my client, then I'm free. Anything you'd like to do?"

  "Show me the city the way you wanted me to see it before. That's what I want."

  We sipped our coffee in synchronicity as he spoke over the rim of his cup.

  "I'm not sure you can handle it, Miss Downs."

  "That's not the first time I've been told that."

  And truth be known, it wasn't.

  Seventeen

  The air smelled different, but the way the city spoke to me wasn't the same as the French Quarter. I couldn't quite place it. France streamed a constant hum of old electricity under the streets.

  "Have you ever been to New Orleans?" I asked Luke, as I tucked my hands into my pockets and caught up to him.

  "No. I haven't. But let me guess… it looks just like this?"

  "Uh, yeah. Like, exactly. I can't get over it."

  "That's what everyone says. Maybe we can visit one day? I'd love to eat the Cajun food."

  "God, yes. Gumbo, etouffee, pistolettes." My mouth watered just thinking about it.

  We continued down the street and passed a small bakery. Inside, a man kneaded dough then threw it in the air. A few more blocks and we entered an ancient looking office building. There were large paintings covering the walls, photographs, and sculptures made from steal pipes. It was like the building had dropped from outer art space.

  I stood beside Luke. A petite woman with dark hair greeted us, and he responded to her. I opened my mouth to speak, but stopped when I realized that Luke was speaking French, the language of love. Holy shit.

  The woman urged us to follow her, and Luke bent down and whispered in my ear, "She wants to take us on a tour."

  "You never told me you spoke French," I whispered back.

&nb
sp; "There are lots of things I don't say," he said, and grabbed my hand to lead me up the stairs.

  Paintings of Paris filled the upper floor. Tons of them, of different sizes and shapes, all renditions of the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame Cathedral, and many other amazing attractions that people traveled from all over the world to see. I was really in Paris, and I listened to Luke speak the language of love so elegantly. The French words rolled off his tongue. He could have whispered anything in my ear, and I would have melted into his palm. Not only was I a sucker for accents; I was a lover of language.

  "Jenn, Madam Louise says she loves your shoes," he said.

  "Oh, thank you." I blushed.

  "Merci, merci," Luke said.

  The woman smiled at me, revealing perfectly white teeth, and tipped her head in my direction. Everyone knew what that meant; it was the universal "you're welcome" nod.

  After walking through the museum, Madam Louise led us to a small office in the back where Luke signed his contract, and then we were on our way out the door. I couldn't hold back the smile on my face.

  "I didn't know you spoke French, seriously, what other secrets do you have?"

  "Dad is French and spoke the language, so really, I had no choice," he said.

  "So, Finnley can speak French as well?"

  Luke raised an eyebrow and nodded his head. I swear, the next time I talked to Finn it would be fifty fucking questions with him. Regardless of how pissed off I was, there were too many things that I needed to know. Or maybe I could ask Luke. Would he tell me?

  We walked back to the flat and Luke grabbed a set of keys from the counter. Once outside he clicked the alarm button to find the car.

  "Now that business is taken care of, I will show you the city how I know it," he said and cranked the car. The streets were so narrow that at times I closed my eyes, because I didn't think we would fit.

  I tried not to focus on his driving but rather at the structures, the columns, and people walking. I wish I had a camera. I laughed and could barely contain my excitement.