Page 18 of Tulips and Lost Time

“She hit Kari just once, and by that point, I didn’t really have to do shit. Laine tore that bitch’s shitty hair out, blackened her eye, and punched her in the tit, all before Kari had a chance to realize what the fuck was going on.”

“Good.” She sneers, and yet, gently pats Billy’s rump. “She deserved worse.”

“I pulled Laine off and separated the three girls before I became the idiot at the bottom of a pile on. Then I let Maleficence know I would end her fucking life if she came near Kari again.” I take a bite of my bean, the crunch audible across the expanse of Billy’s bedroom. “Not my proudest moment, considering I’m the nice guy who wanted all the girls to like him.”

“Plus,” Jess snickers, “you grew up to make a vow to help people, not harm them.”

“I didn’t harm her,” I shrug. “Not technically. I wasn’t gonna go down as the guy who beat on girls. But Laine made her point?—”

“And never uttered a single word of it to me.”

“I told the bitch if she came near Kari again, I’d ram my fist so far down her throat she’d choke on her own lips and shit herself in front of the whole school. Then I suggested she beg her parents for a transfer to the school across town. Probably even change her name. And if she ever saw Kari again, if she so much as spied her from a mile away and they were walking on the same side of the street, then Muu Muu was to switch sides and stay the fuck away.”

“You intimidated a little girl.” Jess firms her lips. Though I don’t miss the sly grin she works to hide. “Big, bad, flirty boy Luca Lenaghan bullied a child.”

“I wasn’t a bully.” I push away from the changing table and turn to grab my chicken. Since Jess went to all the trouble to cook it, I suppose. “Sassy was a bully to Mole Rat. And Megalomania was a bully to Kari. I was merely…”

“The messenger,” she finishes. “And Laine was the weapon.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe she never told me.”

“Kari wanted privacy. And we were sworn to secrecy so Marc would never know. Laine had some pent-up aggression she needed to work through, Kari needed a champion, and Miscreant needed to be put in her place.” I take a bite of my chicken leg and groan when the juicy flavors burst on my tongue. “Jesus. This tastes good.”

“You’re starving. You should have eaten hours ago.”

“I’m eating now.” I nod toward Billy. “Can I have my baby back yet?”

“Not yet.” She shrinks back into her chair and crushes my daughter close. “My girls aren’t tiny babies anymore. I miss this.”

“You gonna have more?”

“God no.” She chokes out a fortifying laugh that brings my lips up. “Having a baby is hard. Having two at the same time, worse. Having Kane Bishop’s twins?” She exhales, shaking her head. “I love that man, Luc. I swear I do. And I love my daughters. But hell if I’m getting back on that roller coaster a second time. Especially considering my likelihood of getting another twofer.”

“Yeah, well…” My appetite dissolves, like fog on a warming morning. “They say, as a male, I’m no more likely to make twins than anyone else, even though my sisters are twins, and one of them had twins, too.”

Jess’ cheeks pale. Her throat bobs as she swallows.

“Sometimes these things just happen, huh?”

“Luc…”

“We didn’t get identical, though. The universe thought it would be cute to give me a daughter to care for, and a son for Kari to watch over. Was that supposed to be poetic, or…?”

5

LUC

GROWING UP

“Boys are so annoying!” Kari stomps through the house, her footsteps echoing all the way out to the garage, followed by a deafening slam of the back door against the side of the house. The schwoop of the screen plays in the wind, only to stop again when she grabs it and slams it shut, locking her brother—the boys—where he can’t reach her.

Kari and Marc have a sick obsession with protecting each other. Sure. They want to make each other happy. But sometimes, when lids have been placed on bottles too tight and Kari really wants something to go her way, the siblings have been known to fight.

Especially as Kari moves into her teen years, and in panicked response, Marc becomes more and more controlling.

It’s not his fault, really. It’s a trauma response he’s never really gotten a handle on.

“Guess he told her she can’t come to the lake this weekend.” Sam—now more commonly known as Scotch after an unfortunate drinking incident that ended with stomach regurgitation and dead roses—strums his guitar and lounges back on a ratty bean bag. His hair is longer than mine these days, shaggy enough to dangle in his eyes and curl in the humidity. Like the rest of us, he topped six feet somewhere in ninth grade, and now he has all the girls looking his way with hearts in their eyes.

Though, of course, his love is all for Samantha Ricardo.

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