Waiting on You

by Kristan Higgins

  Lucas asked. He waited until he could have a word alone with his uncle. "Sure, of course, I'll see when we can make it," Joe said, but nothing materialized. He asked again, and then again. Late at night at the end of his second month, he overheard Joe and Didi talking through the air-conditioning vent that made for excellent eavesdropping. "I think I'll take Lucas to see my brother tomorrow," Joe said affably, and Lucas actually jolted upright, his heart leaping in his chest.

  Silence, then, "Excuse me?"

  "It'd be good for him. He's having a tough time."

  "Are you an idiot, Joe? You want to take a child to a prison? Can you imagine how that will impact your son? Lucas is a bad enough influence on him as it is. And I think I've bent over backward here, taking him in the way we've had to. This is not how I envisioned life, you know. Now you want to take him to see your criminal, drug-dealing brother?"

  As usual, Didi got her way.

  So the letters and emails had to suffice.

  Then, after seven months, word came that Dan was being transferred. Overcrowding in Illinois prisons; Dad was going to a facility in Arizona next week. Joe broke the news at dinner, and Didi's pinched face froze even harder.

  "Do you think you can take me to see him this weekend?" Lucas asked, his fork was clenched in his hand.

  "You bet, sport," his uncle said.

  "We'll see," Didi answered. "This is not really dinner conversation, though, is it?" She inclined her head toward Bryce, who was texting someone and smiling.

  "Please, Aunt Didi." He hated calling her aunt. She didn't deserve the title, but maybe, please God, it would soften her up.

  "I said, we'll see, Lucas."

  That meant no.

  Dad was being moved on Monday. It was already Wednesday.

  That night, after the family had gone upstairs and no voices drifted down through the vents, Lucas packed his cheap backpack, made a couple of peanut butter sandwiches, taking care to wipe down the counter and put the knife in the dishwasher. Left the house, closing the door silently behind him.

  His plan was pretty basic: he'd get to his sister's place and get her to borrow her friend's car. The prison was about three hours out of Chicago. If she couldn't take him, Tommy O'Shea's parents might. They'd liked him well enough back in the day. Once, Lucas had intervened in a fight on Tommy's behalf and got a black eye for his trouble. Maybe it'd be enough to get a ride. Or he'd hitchhike.

  He made it out of the development and walked about a mile to the train tracks. It'd be perfect if he could hop a freighter like the hobos of yore, but the trains on this track were commuter trains and flew by at this time of night. But the tracks did lead into Chicago, so Lucas walked along them, his heart both heavy and light.

  It'd be good to see Dad again. But it would be terrible to see him, too, because this would be the last time for a long time. A really long time.

  Arizona...that was two days of driving, and Lucas didn't even have a learner's permit.

  He was about two miles out of town when he looked over his shoulder.

  Shit.

  Bryce was following him. His cousin raised his hand and trotted to close the distance between them.

  "What are you doing?" Lucas said.

  "Hey! I should ask you that, right? Where are you going? You running away?"

  Lucas took a breath. "I'm going to say goodbye to my dad. Don't follow me, okay? I'll be back in a day or so."

  "No, it's cool! I'll come with you, in fact."

  "Bryce, if you come with me, your mom will have the state police out looking for you. Go home, buddy."

  "Why? It'll be fun! The two of us, together!"

  "No. You can't come."

  "Well, I'm not going back." Bryce grinned, but there was a hardness there, the stubborn tone of a kid who was used to getting his way. "He's my uncle. I wanna say goodbye, too."

  "Then go back home and ask your mother to take you."

  "Yeah, right. She'd never let me go to a prison."

  "Exactly. What do you think she's gonna do when you don't come down for breakfast?"

  Bryce shrugged. In the distance, a train whistle sounded, as lonely and sad as the call of a wolf at this late hour.

  Lucas turned his back and kept walking. Bryce fell in step beside him. "This'll be great. We'll go see Uncle Dan then maybe hitchhike back or something. Maybe we can stop at your old place and hang out."

  For a flash, Lucas could feel how good it would be to punch Bryce. Hard. Hard enough to knock him down. To tell him to get his head out of his ass, to see things from someone else's point of view, just once, and not be such an idiot. To go home and enjoy his status as Perfect and Adored Son and not co-opt this one thing, this goodbye to his father. To acknowledge that the loss of his mother and father hurt, goddamn it. To recognize that this wasn't some sort of cousins-ho! adventure. It was Lucas's chance to say goodbye to his father, who'd worked so hard and been so stupid and wrong and was such a good guy even so.

  "This is fun," Bryce said now. "I mean, I don't think I've ever been out this late at night." He smiled.

  "Yeah," Lucas said.

  The train whistle sounded again, and Lucas put his foot on the rail. A faint vibration hummed through it.

  In a flash, he saw how he could lose Bryce. He could cross the tracks at the last minute; Bryce wouldn't follow him because he'd be scared of getting hurt. When they were little, he never tried the stunts Lucas could pull on his bike, wheelies and jumps and spins. He wouldn't even dive off the dock at the lake where Joe had taken them last month.

  So Lucas could sprint across the tracks, and Bryce wouldn't follow. The train would come, and it was a long one from the sound of it; Lucas hadn't grown up two blocks from the tracks for nothing. Then he'd run ahead as fast and far as he could, hidden by the train, and duck out of sight. Bryce would give up and go home, and Lucas could make it up to him when he got back. He just had to wait until the train got close enough, so Bryce wouldn't dare follow.

  It almost worked.

  When he estimated that he had four seconds until the train passed, he bolted onto the tracks.

  But instead of being on the other side, he jerked to a stop right in the middle. You're supposed to be across by now, a quiet part of his brain calmly informed him.

  One Mississippi.

  His foot was stuck. Wedged tight between two cross ties. He wore Converse high-tops, the kind that went up to the ankle. Laced up tight because Didi had fits if either boy had untied shoes. Which meant he couldn't just pull his foot out, and wouldn't have time to untie it. The laces were double-knotted.

  Two Mississippi.

  He yanked and yanked, and time froze, and thoughts flew through his head, as clear and cold as a January night on the plains.

  At least it'll be fast.

  Bryce is gonna freak.

  Poor Steph, hope the kids will do okay.

  All the while, he lunged with his entire being, but the shoe didn't budge.

  Three Mississippi.

  The light washed over him, blinding him, and the train whistle was screaming--sorry, conductor, not your fault--and he looked at it, all that whiteness and noise and figured this was it, it'd be okay, Mom would be there, and--

  And then something crashed into him, and he landed hard and was rolling on the gravel and dirt and the train was roaring past, shaking the earth.

  Four Mississippi.

  When the train finally passed, the quiet took a minute to return. The sound of hard breathing filled the air.

  "Jesus," Bryce said faintly, looking at him. A smile crept on to his face. "Jesus Christ, we're still alive, thank you, God!"

  Bryce had saved him. Bryce had risked his own life to save him, had hurtled across the tracks, tackled him and knocked him free.

  The kid had come through.

  And even though he was glad not to be a stain on the tracks and the conductor's conscience, Lucas felt his heart slide down a little. "Thanks," he said.

  "Are you kidding? I
wasn't just gonna let you die! That was unbelievable!"

  Lucas's ankle was starting to swell from the force of being ripped out the shoe, which remained unharmed on the track. He tried to stand, but white-hot fire flashed up his leg.

  "It's okay, I'll help you," Bryce said.

  And he did. Three miles back to the house, Bryce kept hold of him, carried his backpack, never grew tired. Got an ice pack and an Ace bandage and some Motrin. He suggested they not tell anyone about this, and Lucas agreed. They told Didi and Joe he'd tripped, and when he still couldn't walk without pain a week later, Joe took him to the E.R., where the doctor told him he'd torn a ligament. Crutches for a month, physical therapy for two.

  He never did get to see his father again.

  Dan Campbell died nineteen months later, stabbed in the laundry room of his prison which, he'd said in his letters to Lucas, was much nicer than the one he'd left.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "SO WE NEED a plan," Colleen said, scrubbing a countertop with Clorox Clean-Up. They were at Faith's new house, a snug little Craftsman bungalow two blocks off the town green. "A safety net. I need a man, Faith."

  "I'm totally on board," Faith said.

  "As you should be, since I'm your best friend and have been your maid of honor twice."

  "And I appreciate it. Leave those counters alone, Coll. God, he really freaked you out, didn't he?"

  "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  Faith rolled her eyes.

  Yeah, okay. Stress-cleaning. Colleen set down the sponge, took off her rubber gloves and turned her attention to unpacking a box full of photos. Here was one from Faith's sister's wedding, when Faith had been about ten. Gorgeous, all of those Hollands. The perfect family, unlike her own mess.

  "About my new man," she said. "I need someone hot and romantic and intelligent with a great sense of humor who can cook and is also a cowboy or a firefighter."

  Faith snorted. "Okay, I'm thinking...uh...cowboys are pretty scarce. And for hot firefighters, we only have Gerard."

  "You know what would be great? A tragic widower type, like Jude Law in The Holiday. Definitely my type. Or Hugh Jackman in Les Mis. Le sigh!"

  "Right, right. Impoverished fugitives who burst into song. Coming up empty, Coll."

  Colleen flopped onto the couch. "That's the entire problem with living in this tiny town. Fine. Will Jack date me? Can you make him?"

  "Of course I can." Faith took the photo and put it on the mantel. "But you do really want to settle down, right?" Faith said. "I don't want you to break my brother's heart."

  "Of course I want to settle down! This whole domestic bliss thing you and Levi have going...I'm burning with jealousy. In a loving, supportive way."

  It was true. Levi was hot and grouchy and wonderful, and whenever Colleen saw the way he looked at Faith--that protective, alpha thing, my woman, people, and yes, I have been banging her silly...well, sure. She wanted that. Plus, she hadn't been banged silly in ages.

  "Faith, what's wrong with me? How come I never found anyone? Anyone real, that is?"

  "Huh. Let me think about that for a second. Plus, I'm starving."

  "Eating for two?"

  "It's not official yet, so don't say anything, and yes, of course you're godmother. Even if Pru and Honor will kill me for it."

  "I hope they do kill you. Then I get your baby."

  "I think Levi would have something to say about that." Her hand went to her belly in that primal, beautiful way.

  "I can handle Levi," Colleen said. "Come on. I brought you a salad. All that nice spinach is good for my godchild. And it's loaded with bacon for you."

  They sat at the kitchen table and ate. Not only had Colleen brought the salad, courtesy of her brother, but also some whole-grain artisanal bread from Lorelei's Sunrise Bakery, sparkling water and Lorelei's famous carrot cupcakes for dessert.

  The breeze came through the open windows that overlooked the small, precious backyard. Soon there'd be a little kid toddling around out there. It was nice to picture.

  "I think the reason you haven't found anyone," Faith said carefully, "is that men are scared of you. They want you, of course, because come on. Look at this." She waved her hand in front of Colleen. "Beautiful. But it's intimidating. You have a smart mouth, you're successful and you know everyone's secrets. It's a lot. And then there's Connor."

  "I know. I should euthanize him."

  Faith shoveled in some more spinach. "Do you really like Jack?"

  "Sure! Of course I do. He's hot."

  "Gross."

  "I know, I know, he's your brother. But he's got that crinkly eye thing going. Like your dad." Colleen took a bite of bread. "I wish your dad had married me instead of Mrs. Johnson. I'd make such a good trophy wife."

  "I'll ignore that. Okay, of course I'll fix you up with Jack. And then you can get married and your babies will be my nieces and nephews. Not that I'm rushing anything."

  *

  "SORRY," JACK SAID two nights later as they sat at Hugo's on their first official date. "I'm not feeling it."

  "Oh, shut up," Colleen said. "You don't know anything. Jessica!" She waved Jess down; though Jess worked at Blue Heron for the Hollands, she still waited tables here a couple nights a week. "Don't you think Jack and I make a great couple?"

  Jess tilted her head. "I'm not really feeling it."

  "Damn it!" Colleen drained her martini and sighed.

  "You guys want dessert?" Jess asked.

  "Sure," Colleen grumbled. "Bring us the lava cake, okay? We'll split it because it's more romantic that way." She tried not to mind as Jack looked at Jessica's ass as she walked away. For one, it was a great ass. For two, yeah...the chemistry thing might be a little hard to overcome. The past hour and a half seemed like six.

  On paper, things were perfect. Jack obediently called her for a date, though he didn't pick her up at her house; she lived a stone's throw off the green, but he kissed her cheek in the restaurant foyer. He smelled nice. She'd been flirting with him for ages, and he always blushed and went silent, indicating high levels of attraction.

  And then...fizzle.

  Happened every damn time.

  She stared at him. It wasn't that there was no chemistry. It was that there was a black hole where chemistry was supposed to be. Jack felt an awful lot like a brother right now. Picturing him naked...yuck.

  "Jack, I don't get it. I've been flirting with you for five years now. Now here's all this--" she gestured to her torso and face "--and you're just sitting there like a mushroom."

  "Maybe you're not quite as..." He let his voice trail off before he damned himself completely.

  "Yeah, no. It's not that."

  He smiled. She couldn't help smiling back.

  "I think it's that you're like a fourth sister," he said.

  "But you blush when I flirt with you."

  "It's a flush of horror."

  "Really?"

  "I'm sorry. It seemed rude to say, 'Please stop, you're making my skin crawl.'"

  "Jack! I didn't make your skin crawl!"

  He grimaced.

  "Oh, sphincter." She put her head on the table. "Well, what am I supposed to do? The man I once loved, who dumped me for someone else, is back in town and I don't have a boyfriend. You'd think you could just marry me out of decency. How many free beers have I given you over the years?"

  "Four," he said.

  "I'd give you more in exchange for your hand in marriage."

  "It's not you, Colleen," he said kindly, even if he was being a jerk and not marrying her. "You know. The divorce. Trust issues and, uh, what else did my sisters say? I wasn't really listening. Anyway. Sorry."

  "Well, this sucks." She paused. "Will you at least be my date for Tom and Honor's wedding? I can't go with Connor. He might have a girlfriend." Perhaps three martinis had been one too many. Then again, conversation hadn't exactly been flowing. Vodka had.

  "I'll have to pass," Jack said. "I plan to be the handsome, single bro
ther of the bride."

  "Well, thanks for nothing," Colleen grumbled.

  And then the door opened, and bugger it all, there was Lucas Damien Campbell, Prince of Darkness. Alone. Black jeans. Black shirt. Black hair, black eyes (not in the hockey player way, but in the Heathcliff way). God, he was beautiful, a thuggish angel, the kind who did God's dirty work. Beautiful with a side of scary.

  You need to stop with the hyperbole, Connor's voice informed her.

  Colleen swallowed with an audible click, her throat dry as...as...something really dry, she couldn't think just now.

  She forced her eyes to the blond-haired, blue-eyed Jack.

  "As of right now, you're my boyfriend, Jack, and I will castrate you if you deny it."

  "And we wonder why you can't find a man," he said.

  "Excuse me?"

  "I love you deeply, Colleen, and can't take my eyes off you." His words were undercut by the act of taking out his phone.

  Lucas saw them, did a slight double take, and came over, all predatory masculine grace (now that was a great phrase, oh, mommy, yes, and even better live and in person).

  "Hi," he said.

  "Lucas, what a pleasant surprise, do you know Jack Holland, my boyfriend?" Alas, Jack was texting. Colleen kicked him under the table.

  "Ow!" he said. "Stop kicking me. I already have three sisters."

  Lucas smiled. The special places squeezed. The men shook hands, and Colleen couldn't help being jealous of Jack, having Lucas's hand squeeze his, that big, swarthy, beautiful hand, strong and sure and--

  "Here's your lava cake," Jess said, setting it down. "Hey," she added, looking at Lucas. "Did we go to school together?"

  "No," Colleen answered. "I mean, yes, but it was only for a little while."

  "Oh, right," Jess said. "You guys were together. Nice to see you. Luke, right?"

  "Lucas," he corrected.

  "Like George Lucas," Colleen said. "Not like Luke Skywalker. Personally, I like Luke better, you know, like 'Use the Force, Luke, the Force is strong within you,' but Lucas isn't bad. I'm not judging."