Page 15 of No More Secrets

No, not Lily. His sister’s hair is brown.

Fuck, he’s more buzzed than he thought.

After Val, he’d taken a pit stop, then returned to Mike and Oscar to finish their game. Several rounds of Corona and shots later, he killed Oscar in darts and left the Lone Palm hours earlier than his usual 2:00 a.m. departure with a Train Robbers ticket for tomorrow night’s game in his pocket. He settled in his truck knowing he shouldn’t drive. Better to sleep off the alcohol in the parking lot. But he closed the door, blinking at the dry, open space beyond the bar, a dark expanse of nothingness, belched, and started the engine.

He really shouldn’t have driven. But he didn’t want to sleep in the parking lot either. So he peeled onto the road, speeding toward his apartment only to slow down so he wouldn’t attract attention. He rolled through a stop sign, sped up, then bam. A white blur shot in front of him.

He squints at her light-blue sweatshirt, dirty backpack straps, and dusty jeans. Her shoes are filthy. Her clothes just as dirty.

Their gazes meet and hold. He swears.

Sunshine Girl.

What the hell is she doing out here on the edge of town at this hour? Why’s she in the middle of the road? He almost hit her.

Reality check. He could have killed her.

She would have been the second person he’s killed.

Bile brews in his belly, lighting a fuse to his anger.

He throws open the door and steps down from the truck. “I could have killed you.” Thank god he’d reacted fast enough.

At least he reacted at all, unlike the night Lily ran away, sixteen and pregnant.

That night he was home, hunkered over his desk in the apartment above his parents’ garage. Windows opened, he heard Lily screaming for him.

He went to check what was going on. It wasn’t unusual to hear shouting coming from inside the house. His parents argued constantly, and they often took their anger out on his baby sis. He was just rounding the back corner of the house to enter through the kitchen slider when Wes Jensen, Lily’s friend from school, burst from the patio door at a full sprint.

He wasn’t alone.

Lucas’s dad, Dwight, tailed him, close on his heels. It was dark, the fog thick as soup, but the flash of patio lighting off the gun his father aimed at Wes as they ran was unmistakable. Lily blew past him, chasing them both, screaming for him to help. But he didn’t think she saw him. Wouldn’t she have stopped if she did?

He didn’t move. He couldn’t.

From a short distance came the sound of shoes running on the metal dock where he kept his kayaks tethered. Then he heard their voices above the gentle splash of the bay lapping the pylons. Through a sheer force of will, he moved closer so that he could hear. Silhouettes appeared in the fog. Wes was pleading for his life while Lily cried for their father to spare him. But Dwight wouldn’t back down. He wanted Lily’s baby-daddy’s name or he’d shoot Wes.

Then they exploded into motion.

Lily lunged at Dwight. The gun fired. Wes went over the rail. There was a splash.

Then Dwight did what he had done best. Manipulate. He convinced Lily she’d killed her friend. He then told her to run. She had. She ran past Lucas without realizing he was right there.

To this day, Lucas regrets not interceding. He should have run after Lily and taken her to his apartment to keep her safe. Heck, they should have driven to San Francisco that night and moved in with Olivia.

But no, he just stood there. He did nothing.

But he can do something for Sunshine.

He reaches for his wallet at the same time wondering if anyone bothered helping Lily, then thinks better of it. What if he throws some cash at this girl and she blows it on drugs? Aren’t all homeless addicts? Vagrants used to hang out behind the dumpster at his mother’s real estate agency. She would make Lucas take out the trash when he came asking for money to party with his friends. Used needles littered the ground.

His eyes narrow on the girl. She could use a new sweatshirt. Pocketing his wallet, he reaches into the back seat for the USC sweatshirt he keeps in the truck. When he turns around to toss it at her, she bolts like a spooked deer.

“Hey!” he shouts after her, but the darkness swallows her whole.

He looks around to get his bearings. She’s running toward the abandoned cars the homeless use for shelter. Half those guys are strung out on heroin. He’d bet the others are one crime shy of changing their address to the prison up the road.

He pictures Lily living in such a place and he wants to punch his truck.

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