Waiting On You

Her hands turned into fists, and she took a furious step forward, fully intending to kick him in his Cameron Diaz face, but Lucas stepped between them.

Jake’s voice took on more confidence and the nasty edge returned. “Are your clothes torn? Did I even kiss you!” He stood up. “This asshole, though...he has a violent streak.”

“Yeah,” Lucas said. “I do. I’m from the South Side of Chicago, and don’t you forget it.” He stepped forward, forcing Jake to step back. “If I see you within fifty feet of her, you’ll see just how violent a Southie can get. Me and a hammer. You and a new orifice. You understand?”

Granted, being protected wasn’t really Colleen’s thing, as she’d never needed it before, but damn. Jake’s eyes grew comically round with terror.

“I asked you a question, you little shit.”

“I understand,” Jake said, his voice shaking.

“Is there a problem here?” It was the limo driver, followed by Chris.

“This asshole grabbed me by the throat!” Jake said, his tone immediately sullen.

“Sounds like you deserved it,” the driver said. “At least, according to him.” He gestured to Chris, who gave her an ashamed nod. “Now get in the limo, rich boy. Party’s over.” The driver looked at Colleen. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She hesitated, then nodded.

“If you ever touch her again, Jake,” Lucas said, his voice soft and matter-of-fact, “you’ll be eating through a straw for weeks.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jake said. “Just because you snuck up on me—”

Lucas made a small movement toward him, and Jake screamed and jerked back.

“Come on,” the driver said.

“Oh, Jake?” Colleen said sweetly.

He gave her a lethal look.

“You wet yourself.”

Jake looked down at his crotch, froze a second, then shuffled off the dock. He yelled at Jase, shoving him as he walked past.

“Stupid little dick,” the driver muttered. He turned to them. “You guys all set?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Lucas said.

“Sorry, Colleen,” Chris muttered, following the driver down the dock.

It was only when they were gone that Colleen looked at Lucas. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Sure.” He took a few steps down the dock to his cousin. “Bryce, you okay?”

“Hey, dude,” Bryce said. “What was that yelling all about?”

“What did I say about drinking tonight, huh? Someone almost got hurt, and you’re shit-faced.”

“Sorry, man. I had a little too much, I think.”

“Get up, buddy.” He helped his cousin to his feet.

“Remember when I saved you?” Bryce said.

“Yep.”

Bryce took a weaving step toward her. “Oh, hey, Coll. How you doing?”

“Hey, idiot,” she said gently. She put her arm around him, steering him down to the shore.

Delayed terror kicked in then, and she started shaking. “You cold?” Bryce asked.

“Little bit,” she said.

Tanya was sleeping on the sand, and without bothering to try to rouse her, Lucas simply picked her up.

“I’m tired,” she whined. No one bothered to answer.

A mountain bike was parked behind the Mustang. Lucas dumped Tanya in the backseat, then popped the trunk and loaded the bike in. “You rode here on your bike?” Colleen asked, though the answer was obvious.

“Yeah.” He glanced at her. “Where’s your car?”

“I was playing chauffeur. Tanya can’t drive, and Bryce was already pretty sloppy.”

He nodded once, then opened the car door for her.

No boy had ever held a car door for her before.

She gave him directions to Tanya’s house, then walked Tanya to the door. Mrs. Cross was waiting up, her mouth falling open when she saw her daughter’s less-than-sober state, then thanked Colleen for seeing her home and began laying into Tanya for her stupidity. Colleen waved and went back to the car.

Bryce was sound asleep in the backseat, his snoring soft and rhythmic.

“Does he drink this much all the time?” she asked.

“Once in a while.”

Colleen nodded. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked, because Lucas seemed tense. Then again, this had been a tense night, hadn’t it? Holy Mary. There’d be fallout—Jake was not the forgive-and-forget type. She might have to make sure everyone heard about his pants-wetting. Then again, that could make matters worse. Don’t poke a wounded snake and all that.

“You’re gonna have to watch your back,” she said, stealing a look at her driver’s profile.

“Yeah.”

She cleared her throat, uncharacteristically nervous. “You were really brave. Three against one.”

He glanced at her. “Three against two,” he corrected.

“Yeah, well, Bryce wasn’t much help.”

“I was talking about you.”

The words brought a nearly painful heat to her cheeks. “I am pretty good in a fight,” she said, forcing some bravado into her voice.

But she hadn’t been good. She would’ve lost that one without Lucas, and the thought made her legs start shaking again. “Take this left, and we’re the third house on the right,” she said.

He pulled into her driveway, then turned off the engine and got out. She got out as well, all too aware of his presence behind her.

The house was quiet, but Mom had left the light on over the sink, her code for everyone’s in bed. Colleen turned to Lucas. His eyes were steady on her, dark and mysterious in the moonlight.

“Thank you again,” she said briskly.

He looked at her for a long minute. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“Perfect,” she said, forcing a smile.

His dark pirate eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie.”

Well, hell. Men—especially boys—didn’t usually call her on her bullshit. “All right, then. I’m still shaking, and I probably won’t sleep tonight, but I’m not hurt, and I’m really, really glad you came looking for Bryce.” She wiped her eyes, which appeared to be tearing up. “I could say I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come along, but I’m afraid I know exactly what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come along. So thank you, Lucas Campbell, for coming along.” She smiled, and it felt normal again. “And for being all badass and scary when you did. It was very hot.”

He laughed.

She hadn’t expected that.

It was a smoky, ashen sound, just a low scrape in his chest, and it filled her with lightness, somehow. But at the same time, she felt a little terrified, too, because she knew, somehow, that Lucas Campbell was different. He was dangerous to her, in ways that had nothing to do with violence and everything to do with the soft, hot feelings that pulsed and burned in her chest.

“Good night,” he said. But he didn’t move.

“Good night,” she whispered.

And then he kissed her, so gently at first, as if he’d never kissed a girl before, and please, looking like that, like Heathcliff, like a pirate or a gypsy or a member of the Sharks or the Jets...please, he’d kissed plenty of girls before.

The kiss was soft and sure at the same time, and she felt his welcome heat against her cool skin, felt his hand go to the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her hair. His mouth moved against hers, testing and waiting to see if she’d respond, and she did, hoping she was doing it right, because it sure felt right. It was all instinct—all those tips and comments and methods she’d given lectures on to her classmates these past five or six years, hell, she had no idea what she was supposed to be doing. All she knew was that Lucas Campbell was kissing her, and it felt so, so good.

It took her a second to realize he’d stopped, and that his forehead was resting against hers. Her hands were on his wrists, clinging to him.

“You’re with me now,” he said softly. Then he pulled back to look at her. “Okay?”

She was too smart for all this. She had an old soul. She couldn’t picture having a boyfriend.

But his eyes were steady, and his lashes were thick and dark. “Okay,” she whispered. So much for her legendary comebacks.

“I wasn’t sure you liked me,” he said after a minute.

“It’s the whole white-knight thing.”

There was that laugh again, and just the sound of it had her stomach tightening in a warm spiral.

“I’ll see you around, hotshot,” he said, stepping away from her, and the cold and emptiness he left was a little shocking.

He seemed to read her mind, because he was back, and this time his kiss was more insistent. She grabbed his hair and answered, her mouth opening under his, and God, this was better than food, better than breathing, and a lot more important than either, the hard press of him against her, the silkiness of his hair, the taste of his mouth—

“Go inside,” he ordered finally.

“You’re not the boss of me,” she said, hoping her legs still worked. He grinned, and hell, she nearly came.

They’d be sleeping together. Soon. It was as inevitable as morning.

A long time later, she lay in bed, her fingers tracing her lips.

This night might’ve turned out horribly, horribly wrong.

Instead, she was in love.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE DAY AFTER HE SAW BRYCE AT O’ROURKE’S LUCAS PULLED UP to Joe and Didi’s house in his rental car, turned off the engine and sat for a moment.

In the fourteen years since he’d left for college, Lucas had been back to Manningsport only a handful of times, and only once since he’d gotten married.

Here was the thing about Didi Nesbith Campbell, Lucas’s aunt by marriage. She had a vision of how life was supposed to be, goddamn it, and when life didn’t obey, she got mad. Was still mad, in fact.

She’d married Joe just after he’d sold the rights to a video game for a million bucks when he was twenty-four years old. Rat-Whacker got picked up by Nintendo, and Joe seemed on track to billionaire status, joining the whiz kids of that era who made their first million before they were twenty-five.

And, like most of them, Joe was a flash in the pan.

That first million turned out to be the last million, but by then, they had a big house in the suburbs and a baby boy. Much to her supreme dissatisfaction, Didi had to get a job. She found her niche at an insurance company, denying claims of horribly injured people. Even as she rose through the ranks, she never got over the bitterness of having married the guy who failed to become the next Bill Gates.

The other great inconvenience of Didi’s life was inheriting Lucas. She already had her only begotten son; she certainly didn’t want the silent child of her slacker husband’s criminal brother.

Well. Time to see Joe. Lucas took off his sunglasses and headed toward the house.

It was beautiful up here, that was certain. The leaves were fresh and green, glowing with good health, unlike Chicago, which was currently baking in a heat wave. But here, where the landscape was dotted with deep glacier lakes and waterfalls by the dozens, where green farmland spread out on the hills and the forests were thick and deep, it was cooler and more lush than the flat Midwest and its punishing summers. The air was heavy with the smell of lilacs, so painstakingly trimmed along the border of Didi’s perfectly landscaped (and somewhat soulless) yard.

Lucas would be in Manningsport for a month, maybe two. He wouldn’t be staying at Didi’s, that was certain, no matter that the house had five bedrooms and a basement apartment. No, he’d rather amputate his own foot and eat it than do that. For the moment, he was staying at the Black Swan B and B.

He knocked on the front door. Nephew or not, Didi wouldn’t like him coming in unannounced.

Sure enough, she opened the door. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Hello, Didi,” he said. “How are you?”

“I’m quite well,” she said, her lips tight. “You may as well come in.”

“Is Bryce here?”

“No, he’s at the gym.”

Bryce still lived at home, though he’d bounced around a little bit after dropping out of college. He’d tried to live in Chicago for a short time, and Lucas had even gotten him a job with Forbes Properties, which lasted five days before Bryce quit. Bryce had also tried Manhattan, San Francisco and Atlanta, but all roads led him back to Manningsport, specifically, to the basement apartment that Didi had made for her baby boy, giving him the illusion of adulthood while remaining clamped under her thumb.

“How’s Ellen?” Didi asked.

“Good,” he answered. She waited for more. He didn’t offer it.

The one thing Lucas had ever done that won approval from Didi was to marry Ellen Forbes. “Any relation to Malcolm?” Didi had immediately asked when he’d told them. No curiosity about why he was marrying someone he’d never mentioned, or what had happened with his longtime girlfriend, or why he wasn’t going to law school. Just “Any relation?” Her eyes alight with a sudden, keen interest.

The answer, of course, was, yes.

And suddenly, Lucas was a beloved nephew. Didi wanted to help plan the wedding, just loved Ellen to death within seconds of meeting her, thought of Lucas like a son, wanted so much to have holidays together, one big happy family, the Forbeses and the Campbells, wasn’t it wonderful?

Granted, Ellen and her parents saw right through her, but Didi was too busy trying to pretend she was completely at home with their vast wealth, the penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan, the maid who served dinner, the sailboat and cars and drivers and wine.

Once, Lucas had come upon her in Frank’s study, where she was slipping a little glass statue in her purse. “Please don’t steal from my in-laws,” he’d said mildly, and she’d flashed him a glare of such hatred, he’d actually smiled. She might want to kiss up to his in-laws, but it was almost reassuring to see that she still couldn’t stand the sight of him.

When informed about his divorce, Didi’s first question had been, “What about the holidays?” After all, if Lucas wasn’t a son-in-law anymore, odds were low that his aunt and uncle would get an invitation to the famous Forbes New Year’s Eve party, the amazing Thanksgiving dinner for thirty of their closest friends.

Frank and Grace Forbes—and Ellen—had stayed close with his sister, Steph, and her girls since the divorce, because they were really wonderful, not about to cut off five people—six, counting him—they loved. His divorce was more than amicable, not to mention Ellen’s idea.

“How’s Joe today?” Lucas asked Didi.

“See for yourself,” she said, turning away. “Take off your shoes first.”

He obeyed, then started upstairs.

“He’s in your—the room off the kitchen,” she said. “It was easier that way.”

Of course. Joe was weak, that was true. Also, Didi was a bitch.

Lucas went through the vast chef’s kitchen to the small hallway that led to the laundry room and his old room. Knocked gently on the door, which was open a crack.

The room was crowded: the hospital bed, a night table covered with the detritus of sickness—pill bottles, a half-filled glass of water, tissues, a magazine and Joe’s silver pocket watch, which had been handed from father to son since the Civil War. A desk with a large-screened computer was wedged against one wall. The room didn’t have windows, and Lucas remembered how dark it was in here. Like a grave, he’d often thought, and now more than ever.

His uncle was sleeping. Lucas hadn’t seen him for a few months. The kidney disease made Joe appear tan, and he was thinner than he’d ever been, though a little puffy from fluid retention.

But now, even asleep, he looked old. And tired.

A lot like Lucas’s father the last time he’d seen him. The family resemblance was strong.

Joe was dying. The reality hit Lucas like a tanker, and his eyes stung all of a sudden. Despite Didi’s ceaseless resentment, Joe had always been a good uncle.

Joe stirred, then opened his eyes. “Hey,” he said, struggling to sit up. “How are you, buddy?”

Lucas gave his uncle a lean-in hug. Cleared his throat. “Good to see you, Joe.”

“You, too! You look great. When did you get in?”

“Last night.”

“You see Bryce yet?”

“Sure did. Found him at O’Rourke’s.” And not just him, either.

“Yeah, he goes there a lot.” Joe smiled. “So.”

“So.”

“Don’t tire him out, Lucas,” Didi said, appearing in the doorway, hands on her bony hips.

“He won’t,” Joe said.

“When’s Bryce coming back? He wanted to do something with you this afternoon.” Her eyes flickered toward Lucas. This was typical for her; any time Joe and Lucas might have a bonding moment, she was there to interrupt and remind Joe that he had a son, a wonderful son, a real son.

And the thing was, it generally worked. Joe was a nice guy, but he was no match for Didi. There were other terms for it, meaner terms, but it was clear that Joe generally did what Didi told him to do.

“Give me a few minutes with my uncle,” Lucas said, and without waiting for an answer, got up and closed the door in her face.

The door flew open again immediately. “Just because you breeze into town whenever you like, I’m still the one who has to take care of him. My whole life is doctor’s appointments and hospital visits these days. I don’t have a minute to breathe—”

“Then breathe now,” he said, and closed the door again.

Apparently Didi couldn’t find a way to argue that. After a second, her heels tapped away down the hall, though Lucas would bet she’d tiptoe back and eavesdrop.

“What can I do for you, Uncle Joe?” he asked, taking his seat again.

Joe sighed. “Here’s the thing, Lucas. Bryce...well, he’s just not really grown up yet, you know what I mean?”

He nodded, his hand on his uncle’s. Joe’s arm looked odd, courtesy of the fistula he needed for dialysis.

“I’d like to leave this world knowing he had a plan, at least. I don’t want him—” Joe glanced at the closed door and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I don’t want her to have her hooks in him forever. You know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“So maybe you could hang around for...well, till the day comes. I know he’s gonna take this hard.” Joe’s eyes filled with tears.

Yes. Last night, Bryce had acknowledged that his dad was sick, but he also talked about how much better Joe was looking these days. Dialysis was amazing! And besides, a kidney would come along any minute.

The fact that Joe wasn’t on the organ registry—and indeed, wasn’t eligible for a transplant, thanks to the tumor in his lung—was not something Bryce would admit.

“I’ll stay however long you need,” Lucas said. He owed it to Joe, after all.

“You can get off work that long?”

“Yep. I’m leaving the company, remember?”

“Right, right.” Joe paused. “Where will you stay when you’re here?”

“I’m at the Black Swan right now,” he said. “Just called the Realtor about a short-term rental.”

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Joe offered, but they both knew that he wasn’t. Didi would hate having him here, and if Didi wasn’t happy, no one was allowed to be happy.

“That’s okay.”

“So you think you could help Bryce? Maybe help him find work? He hasn’t ever had a job he really loved, aside from the dog shelter stuff.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Just having you here is going to be great. He’s always worshipped you. Always wanted to do what you did, whatever that might’ve been.”

Lucas nodded. That was certainly true; from baseball cards to a paper route, if Lucas had it, Bryce wanted it. And Didi made sure he got it.

“There’s another thing I need you to help me with,” Joe whispered, and Lucas felt a flash of anger that the man had to whisper in his own home.

“What’s that?” he asked, adjusting Joe’s blanket. It was meat-locker cold in here. Another thing he remembered too well.

Joe glanced at the door, then picked up a notepad and pen. Wrote something down and passed it to Lucas.

I want a divorce before I die.

Lucas looked at his uncle. Back at the notepad. Back to his uncle. “Well, holy shit, unc,” he said, then grinned. “I’ll get right on that.”

“Thanks, Lucas.” Joe smiled, but his eyes closed. “I’m glad you’re here,” Joe said, his voice fading into sleep. Then his eyes opened. “Maybe you can see some old friends while you’re here.” He winked, the ghost of his old self, then fell asleep, just like that.

CHAPTER SIX

“OH. COLLEEN. IT’S you.” Carol Robinson, one of the local Realtors, gave Colleen a jaundiced stare. “Fine, come in. I’m not showing you around, though. I know you won’t be buying.”

“Lovely to see you, too, Carol.” Piña colada, very old-school, Carol was. “Bursitis flaring up again?”

“No. I just don’t want to waste my time. Hi, Jeanette, how are you?”

Colleen’s mother pulled her shirt away from her chest. “It’s so hot in here, Carol! How do you stand it?”

“You’re having a hot flash. I still get them,” Carol said. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Satan’s barbecue,” Mom said. “Don’t make that face, Colleen. You’ll see.”

“I can’t wait. Carol, do you have a fact sheet on the house?” Carol handed her one with a sigh. “By the way, do you have to walk in the middle of the road every morning? I almost hit you the other day.”

“Oh, that’s right, I saw you speeding by. Jeanette, your daughter and that red car of hers...”

Colleen had brought her mother to an open house, and yeah, fine, she had a bit of a reputation with the real estate people. It wasn’t her fault. Yes, she wanted to buy a house, very much, in fact. She was thirty-one, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t want to live above her brother forever. Their house was adorable; it was just that it was their house, and she wanted a place of her own. A place where, yeah, she’d have those adorable tots and Rufus could frisk and frolic, and her husband and she would have lots and lots of great sex.

And since Lucas Damien Campbell had walked into her bar the other night, she felt considerably more motivated to find that husband and bear those children.

Today, she’d taken her mom with her, because (a) she was a saint, and (b) it was one of Mom’s many Significant Dates, of which there were many, 99 percent of them marking some dire event relating to Dad.

This house was a white farmhouse with a porch, a horseshoe driveway and big, beautiful yard. Not too big, not too small, not too new, not too old. Remodeled kitchen with white cabinets and glass fronts, lots of counter space, should she take up cooking (which she wouldn’t but it could happen, if hell froze over). The living room had lots of windows and a really pretty fireplace.

Colleen and her mother went upstairs as Carol went back to reading her fat spy novel.

Coll felt a tingle of hope. If she was busy moving into a new place, painting and shopping for a new couch and plates, she’d have less time to lie in bed and think about a certain tall, dark un-stranger. “Black-haired boy, work of the devil,” her grandmother used to say, and it was flippin’ true. Lucas had black hair and had broken her heart. Jeremy Lyon had black hair, and he’d broken Faith’s heart by coming out of the closet on their wedding day. Dad had black hair and broke Mom’s heart.

Connor, on the other hand, had brown hair, taking after Mom’s side of the family, with no broken hearts in his past. Levi Cooper, police chief and decorated veteran—dark blond, making Faith very happy these days. Gerard Chartier: bald, a cheerful man-whore and very well liked. Grandma had known what she was talking about.

The master bedroom was at the end of the hall and utterly gorgeous. Slanted ceiling, a long window seat, built-in bookshelves. Even space on the wall for a TV, if she was so inclined. Not that she approved of watching TV in bed; in her mind’s eye, Tom Hardy would be waiting, naked and impatient, for her, his beloved wife. In reality, however, she and Rufus put in far too many hours watching HGTV and Game of Thrones. (Was Jon Snow too young to lust after? Probably and oops, another black-haired boy.)

“This is lovely. What do you hate about it?” Mom asked.

“Nothing,” Colleen said.