by Staci Hart
“It will definitely work,” I assured her, pulling her into my arms. “I promise.”
And I stole a kiss before bounding out the door to make it happen.
It was nearly dark by the time I was heading back to the shop. I’d been on a runaround from hell in the delivery truck, looking for sunflowers that weren’t worm-eaten or withering. Thank God we’d closed orders for the day, only selling our stock and taking orders for tomorrow, knowing it would take us all night to get the windows ready and the shop prepared for the shoot.
It was madness, the whole thing. But we would do it. I had no doubt of that.
Tess and I had been in communication all day with updates via text. Jett and Kash had helped her break down the installment and hang the frames I’d built for another installation. The four of them had cut a couple hundred lengths of fiber and tied all the pampas she had, and I was on my way back with the rest while they got the shop ready. And once I was back, we just needed a handful of hours and a whole lot of hands to tie what was left, hang the poles, and stuff the frames I’d build for the wheat.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, expecting a dinner order from Tess.
What I found was a text from Wendy.
It was long, too long to read at a glance. I skimmed it at a light, and fear gripped me, cold and merciless. Words jumped out at me: can’t, hurts, alone, how, please.
I need to see you. I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t.
I glanced at the time. I was close to her parents’ place … I could swing by, though I wondered how quickly I could get back out. I didn’t want to go—the dread I felt at engaging was deep and fierce—but if I didn’t, I wasn’t sure what she’d do. Mix substances and hurt herself. Come to the shop and find me.
I thought through a dozen scenarios, and this was the only one that gave me control. I had to answer the call. I had to go.
I fired off a text to Tess. Gonna be a minute. You guys good?
My phone buzzed a second later. We’re good. Got plenty to do. Everything okay?
I drew a deep, disturbed breath and lied. Yeah, everything’s good. I’ll text when I’m on my way.
All right. See you soon. <3
I tossed my phone in the passenger seat, my jaw ticking and brows drawn.
I’d lied. Because how could I tell her over a text where I was going? How could I have told her at all with everything on her plate tonight?
No. I’d tell her tomorrow when all this was behind us. We could come up with a plan for dealing with Wendy, one we were both comfortable with. Because I couldn’t abandon Wendy.
But I would not lose Tess.
By the time I pulled up in front of Wendy’s building, a dark cloud had settled over Manhattan with the fall of the sun. The metallic scent of rain hung in the air, charged and ready to unleash. And I hurried up the stairs, not knowing what I’d find.
The meat of my hand thumped the door in three thundering bursts. And I waited.
The door flew open, and Wendy stood in the doorway.
Relief broke over her face, mottled and tearstained and shining. “You came,” she breathed, the words hoarse and cracked.
And she threw herself into my arms.
I caught her, my face tight and mind sharp. “What happened?” I asked.
Her hands fisted my shirt, her forehead pressed to my chest. “Nothing. Everything.”
Exhausted. Depleted. Stretched out and paper thin was the woman in my arms.
I stepped her inside, closed the door as the rain began to fall in fat splats, pinging the window like hail. A glance into her mother’s room informed me she was passed out—half off the bed, clothes twisted around her, her chest rising and falling in that slow rhythm of sleep made slower by booze or pills. Or both.
It was six-thirty.
Wendy crumpled in my arms.
“Whoa there,” I muttered, scooping her up to carry her to her bedroom.
The apartment seemed smaller than I remembered, older. Stained and fading. But her room was the same—tiny and bright, the only cheer in this dismal place.
I set her on her sagging bed and knelt at her feet.
“You came.” She still beamed as heavy tears rolled down the curve of her cheekbone.
I wondered if she had taken something, wondered how long it had been since she ate.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I needed you, and you came. You always do.” She chuckled, looking down at her hands. But her smile broke into a sob. “Everything’s falling apart, Luke. You’re the only one who can put it back together.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked gently, knowing this place, this space, this nonsensical circle we’d ride until she came around to it.
She brightened, framing my face with her hands. “Let’s run away.”
As weak as she seemed, I was surprised at how quickly she’d bounded off the bed to fling open her closet and pull out a suitcase.
I watched, dumbfounded.
“Where do you want to go?” she asked, opening a drawer and scooping an armful of its contents into the suitcase. “We can go anywhere. Seattle maybe. Denver? There’s such good hiking there. Think of all the hikes, Luke.”
I stood, intercepting her as she brought another load to her suitcase. I clasped her upper arms. “Wendy,” I said calmly, “we’re not going anywhere.”
Her face bent in anger. She unceremoniously dropped the haul of clothes on our feet. “Why not? Luke, you love me. I know you do, that’s why you came. And I love you. It’s always been you. I know I fucked up. I know I’m crazy, and I hurt you over and over without meaning to. Without understanding why. Why do I do this?” And her anger was gone, replaced by misery.
“I don’t know,” I said softly.
“But you always know how to make it better. So let me fix this. Let me make it right. Come with me, Luke. Let’s start over.” Her hands slid up my chest, and she leaned in like she wanted me to kiss her.
I grabbed her hands. “No.”
Confusion flickered across her face. “But you love me.”
Sadness, guilt. Not for what I’d lost, but for what I was about to do to her. “There’s no fixing what’s broken between us … that’s not why I’m here. It’s because I’m worried about you, not because I love you.”
Another tear, heavy enough to fall without touching her face. “But you have to,” she whispered.
“I’m in love with someone else.”
A gasp shot her back, then into me again, her hands pounding my chest, face wrenched. “No! You can’t. You don’t.”
I grabbed her wrists and locked them in my fists. “I do,” I said sternly, lowering my face to look into her eyes. “I’ve moved on, Wendy. And there’s no going back.”
“No,” she moaned, sinking to the ground, “no, no, no.”
There was nothing to do but catch her, hold her to me, let her cry. “I’m sorry,” I said, my heart so tight, I thought it would fold in on itself.
Her fingers tightened, twisting my shirt, her forehead pressed to the dip in my chest, her tears soaking the fabric, warm and then cool as she caught her breath.
My hand shifted on her back, my hope emerging that this was it. That it’d been that simple.
And then she spoke two words that shattered my hope like exactly what it was—an illusion.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered into my shirt, into the space just above my heart.
The world shrank to that room, to the trembling woman in my arms, to the screeching of my mind, the thundering of my heart.
“What?” I breathed.
“I’m pregnant.” The admission was miserable, broken and frayed. “I’m pregnant with your baby.”
My constricted heart blew open like shrapnel, shredding everything in its path.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
And silently, I listened as she decimated my world once more.
19
FOOL
TESS
&n
bsp; Laughter rang through the shop in the early morning light, the tired sound of relief and victory from the Bennet brood.
The whole family was in the shop eating donuts from Blanche’s, sipping coffee and trying to keep our eyes open. Luke smiled at me from across the room, filling my heart with fluttering whispers.
He’d come back to the shop quiet and withdrawn, heading straight into storage to start on the frames for the wheat fields. Down I went to check on him once, finding him sullen. A hug softened him, a kiss earned me a smile, small though it was. It’d been a long day, he noted, said he’d tell me about it after the editor. But when he said it, his eyes were touched with pain, regret. Fear.
I tried not to let that fear get on me—we had too much to do. And I trusted him. There was no reason not to. He’d tell me everything when this was behind us, and that was enough for me.
So I threw myself back into work.
It had taken us nearly all night to get it done, the lot of us breaking to shower and change.
Luke had brought boxes of donuts and a cardboard crate of coffee from Blanche’s like the savior he was. And we were just nibbling, waiting on the editor to arrive with her photographer.
Luke made his way over to where I sat on the register counter, smiling that smile of his. But his eyes were tired, exhausted beyond the lack of sleep. Whatever was troubling him had mellowed enough from last night that he was almost acting himself.
Almost.
From my perch, I was a little taller than him, and when he looked up at me, all I wanted to do was hold his jaw and kiss him. My hands and lips tingled with the desire to, but I stayed still other than the raising of my paper coffee cup.
“We did it.” I beamed.
He tapped his lid to mine. “It’s beautiful, Tess. Just when I think you can’t outdo yourself, you do.”
“Funny, I think that every day about you. We’re just full of surprises, aren’t we?”
His smile faltered, his blue eyes darkening. Something about the motion—the parting of his lips, the draw of his brows, the creases of his face—sent a shock through me. I braced myself for impact.
Before he could speak, the bell over the door rang.
I looked up with a rush of excitement and a bright smile, expecting Natalie. But I found Wendy instead.
She looked like a different woman than the one who had come in here a few weeks ago, fresh and effortless, like she’d stepped out of an ad of a magazine. This Wendy was almost unrecognizable. Her blonde hair was dirty at the roots, dark and tangled up in a bun that looked like it had been slept on. The puff of her lids, the dark circles beneath, made her eyes look sunken and small, but they were bright, feverish, sharp with worry. Somehow, she managed to make a rumpled, oversized white T-shirt and leggings look stylish, but everything about her was frenetic, buzzing, humming, static electricity clinging to her, carrying her.
The shop went silent.
“Luke,” she croaked, tears streaming down her face at the sight of him. Her lips were dry. Pale.
My heartbeat doubled.
“Wendy, you can’t be here right now,” he said as he flew across the room toward her, the words both hard and comforting.
“We need to talk about this,” she begged, her face wrenched. “We have to figure this out.”
He snagged her by the arm and tried to steer her out. “I told you, we will. But the magazine will be here any minute, and I—”
“Figure what out?” Mrs. Bennet asked in a tone that stopped him dead.
Wendy laid a hand on her stomach, watery smile on her face as she said, “I’m pregnant.”
The room was silent again for a protracted moment before every voice in the room exploded.
Every voice but mine.
I folded in on myself, unable to parse what I’d heard. Wendy, hand on her belly and eyes adoring as she gazed up at Luke. My Luke, his eyes locked on mine, the heartbreak and apology on his face unmasked and raw.
Pregnant. She was pregnant. And judging by the look on his face, that baby was his.
Mrs. Bennet had started to cry, her voice high as she fired questions at him like a machine gun. Mr. Bennet had a hold of her arm, lips at her ear. Laney looked like she was about to claw Wendy’s eyes out, but Jett stood in front of her as she yelled around his wide shoulders. Marcus’s face was drawn, and though his lips were moving, he couldn’t be heard over the din. Kash had stepped toward them, but he wasn’t yelling at Wendy. He was yelling what seemed to be a string of obscenities at Luke.
Ivy stood at my side, repeating, “Oh my God,” on a loop, hands on her face and eyes big as ping-pong balls.
And I was somewhere separate, somewhere other.
A baby. Luke was having a baby with Wendy. She wouldn’t go away, wouldn’t disappear. He’d never escape her. She’d be a constant presence in his life.
In mine.
“Excuse me!” we heard over the din, and the room fell silent once more.
Natalie glanced around, her face hard from the doorway. Everyone held their breath.
“Is now a bad time?” she asked pointedly.
God bless Ivy Parker, who snapped into action. “No, of course not! Please, come in. Give us just a minute. We have donuts and coffee!” She hurried to Natalie’s side to divert her.
Natalie cast a dubious look around the establishment as Luke quietly excused himself and steered Wendy out of the building. I didn’t hear anything anyone around me said. Instead, I watched them talk outside the window. Luke’s face drawn and haggard, his hands on her shoulders as he tried to talk her down. Wendy looked down, nodding, her chest occasionally hitching with a sob and hands taking turns swiping at her cheeks.
But what broke me completely was when he pulled her into his arms, holding her head to his chest. His eyes closed, tight with pain, his head bowed as if in prayer. And Wendy curled into him like she belonged there.
I didn’t realize I was crying, not until Laney touched my leg. Her brows were together, her face tight with concern.
I sniffled, brushing the cool trails of tears from my face.
“He doesn’t love her,” Laney said.
“I know.” And I did.
“I’m not even sure I believe her, Tess. But Luke will figure it out. And if it is true, we’ll get through it. He’ll make it right.”
“I know,” I said again. Because he would.
I just didn’t know how I fit into that picture. I imagined him shepherding her through her pregnancy, attending all the doctor’s visits. The bond they shared would deepen. Would it rekindle their affection? Would they fall in love again?
Would he leave me for her?
It was too much. The room too small. The air too thin. Too many people, too many pressures, all in one room.
“Are you going to be okay?”
I nodded, sliding off the counter, my shoes full of lead. “Let’s just get through this.”
Laney nodded, taking my hand, squeezing it gently.
I didn’t feel anything.
Luke entered the shop, and what little breath I had was sucked into him like a vacuum. He moved across the room to me like we were caught in a tractor beam, my awareness shrinking yet again.
“Tess,” he breathed.
He was touching me, I realized absently, the pressure of his hands on my arms distant.
I looked up at him, unseeing.
His eyes searched mine. “Please, say something.” Those hands moved from my arms to my face, tilting it up to his. “We’ll figure this out,” he promised.
“So it’s true then.”
Fear. I could feel it skating on his fingertips.
“I don’t know. There … there hasn’t been time. Please, Tess, let me explain—”
“You’ve been keeping this from me too, Lucas?” Mrs. Bennet’s voice was shrill, her face ruddy.
Natalie glanced over her shoulder at us, but Ivy laughed too loudly, hooking her arm in Natalie’s to direct her outside where her photographer was set
ting up.
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes shone with furious tears. “What else have you not told me?”
“Mom, I—”
“A baby. With her. Of all the irresponsible, thoughtless things you could do. After all she’s done, after you finally were free, and now this? You knew she was trouble. You knew it, and you went back. And here we are. She will never let you go, Lucas. Never. You handed her all she needed to take advantage of you forever. Forever.” Her face bent, her twisted hand pressing to her lips. And she turned away, found her way into Mr. Bennet’s arms.
He guided her away to the back with an apologetic, disappointed look on his face.
Luke had let me go, his hands covering his face and fingers pressing into his eyes. And I just stood there, stunned still and silent.
I watched through the front window. Marcus had gone out front to try to smooth things over. Kash trailed after his mother, probably to plead a case for Luke. Jett and Laney were head to head, speaking in hushed whispers in that way twins sometimes did.
It felt like a dream, my body and mind too tired to process the madness of what was happening. All I wanted was to wake up. Or fast-forward. Or go to bed. Or be anywhere but standing in this shop next to Luke Bennet.
I opened my mouth to excuse myself so I could retreat, to find a place where I could catch my breath, quiet my mind.
But before I could speak, a pop shot through the room, followed by a groan, a snap.
A crash.
Our faces snapped to the sound, every person in the room frozen still as everything happened in slow motion. One of the installations came unfastened, the pole the pampas was tied to falling into the wheat with a crunch and a thump, crushing it.
Crushing everything.
We ran toward it as everyone outside ran in. Luke reached it first, inspecting the end of the pole that had fallen, looking up with his brows gathered. Tears pricked my eyes, seized my heart with a squeeze of my ribs.
The rope it had been fastened with was in his hand. “It’s wet.”
Down the rope his hand moved, to the pole. When he picked it up, my hand flew to my mouth as I took in the carnage.
The dyed fibers had gotten wet, the colors bleeding onto the wheat it had touched.That wheat was crushed, the stalks smashed and bent, with a myriad of color in senseless streaks across the feathery heads.
