Page 56 of Tulips and Lost Time

I don’t stop once I hit the other side of the kitchen. No, I have a sudden fucking urge to make like Forrest Gump and keep going, so I stalk into the mudroom at the back of the house, then out the door until I’m on the porch that overlooks a not particularly well-kept yard. The grass is thin and patchy. The garden beds… accidental. The skate ramp is still the most prominent feature, yet I don’t remember the last time we, as a group, came out here to spend time on it.

I ignore the very bottom of the bowl, where Kari and I laid that one time, kissing, and me, swearing I shouldn’t. If I stop and really concentrate, I can still feel her elbows bruising my chest. I can taste her breath on my tongue. And when I flex my hands, I feel her hip in my palm. Her flesh under my fingertips.

“Fuck!” I crush the phone in my hand and thrust the other into my hair, pulling until it stings and scratching until I feel something other than the vicious ache pulsing in the depths of my gut. Then I stride to the side of the house and along the narrow pathway until I reach the gate that separates the back yard from the front.

Flipping the latch and shoving the gate open, I make a beeline for my bike, anger pulsing in my veins like mud after a long storm.

“Luc?” Alex steps out onto the porch and folds his arms as I throw my leg over the bike. “Something happening at the station that I should know about?”

“Nah. I’m just heading in for a bit, but you’re good to have your dinner.” I jam my phone into my pocket and the bike’s key into the ignition barrel, and starting the engine, I rev loud enough to piss off every neighbor between here and the other side of town.

I don’t bother with a helmet, though I know I should.

I don’t wear a coat appropriate for the road, or lined jeans.

If I crash my bike on the freeway, I’m pretty well fucked. But that’s cool, because a little road rash and losing half my face might be a welcome distraction from Kari Macchio spending the night with Mr. Ten Inch Cock, the quarterback dreamboat.

Kane laughs, his shoulders bouncing and his jaw quivering. So fucking entertained by my horror. So thrilled with the idea of my wife going to town with the local stallion.

“Ten inches!” he chokes out. “Like, ten when it’s soft, or ten when it’s hard?”

“None! Fuck you.” I bring my free hand up and rub my eye. Because mentally, maybe I’m in hell and not nearly tired enough to drift off. But physically, I don’t remember the last time I slept a full night. “Worst Thanksgiving of my entire life,” I groan. “Ten! They called him Ten!”

“My wife called him Ten,” Kane snickers. “I assure you, we’ll discuss it when I get home. Now please tell me you didn’t ride that bike home and hide in the bathtub and cry about your woes. For the love of fuckery,” he giggles. “Tell me you went to her and cut his ‘ten’ off?”

“I went to her.” I drop my head back and simply… breathe. “I’d reached my limit. Ten was where I drew the line. No more buffet for her.”

“Halle-fuckin’-lujah. You went there, tossed her over your shoulder, smacked her ass, and impregnated her, right? Like a man.”

I bring my gaze down again, scoffing deep in the back of my throat. “I went there. But I didn’t get to smack her ass or impregnate her. Not yet, anyway.”

“Pussy.”

My lips curl. My ability to smile about this bullshit, finally, slowly, leaking through. “This is still a long while ago, Bish. The twins were conceived nine months ago. Your math ain’t mathing.”

“And your enthusiasm for practicing the twin thing is lacking.” This motherfucker looks me straight in the eye and grins. “Practice is the best part.”

“That’s my sister you’re talking about, asshole! Watch yourself.”

“Or what? You gonna be mean and send me away? How will I live?” He brings a hand up and dangles it by his brow. “Luca Lenaghan will say unkind things to me and break my heart.”

“You could go, you know?” I firm my lips and wait for him to lower his tatted hand. “It’s three in the damn morning. You could go back to your house and leave me alone.”

“Fuck I will.” He pushes up from the table and makes a line for the coffeepot. “I’m invested in this story now. I had no clue Jess’ family was a whole subplot in The Bold and the Beautiful. Go on,” he teases. “Tell me what happened when you went to surprise your Care Bear and her ten-inch cock.”

“You’re such an asshole.” I shake my head and pray to hell and back newborn babies don’t understand the bullshit they hear in the first weeks of their life. “I have no clue what my sister sees in you.”

“Ten inches,” he smirks. Opening his hands, he cackles when my nostrils flare. “When it’s soft.”

16

LUC

NOT ALL SURPRISES ARE GOOD

Iride my bike to the city and take solace in the fact that I didn’t drink at the dinner table with everyone else. No one in our family drinks to excess. Not since Scotch killed his mom’s roses back in high school and earned himself a new nickname. But just one beer, even half, would be dangerous as I cruise faster than the speed limit all the way to the city.

The November air is like razor blades on my nose. The icy breeze, like knives against my ears.

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