Page 108 of August Lane
“Jason’s boy?”
“Yes. He was my father.”
“You look like him.” She came down the stairs. “Smell like him, too.”
Luke took a step back, even though there was plenty of space between them. He resisted the urge to sniff himself. “I’ve been staying at Delta Blue,” he explained, which sounded better than the truth, that he’d bathed in so much pilfered vodka Saturday night the scent might never wear off.
The door opened again, and August stepped out. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, her typical uniform. Her hair was straight and loose, like it was most days. Seeing her again, looking exactly like herself, made him happy enough to explode. That’s how much he missed her. His body was too small to contain it.
“I need to talk to him,” she told Birdie.
“He smells like that bar.” Birdie blocked his view of August. It was like that night at Delta Blue when Silas stopped him at the door. Another family member walling off the path to her forgiveness.
“We won’t be long,” August said. She held a journal, the one with “Luke’s Song” inside. The sight of it calmed him a little. Birdie was trying to keep them apart because she didn’t know. No one had heard their music yet. But they would. He was sure of it.
“Five minutes,” Birdie said, before retreating into the house. August watched her with a somber expression that made him nervous. He didn’t have a speech planned. The only way to stop a lie from spreading was to tell the truth, something he didn’t think August wanted to do. All he had were reasons and explanations. A heart full of hope.
“I tried calling,” Luke said once they were alone. “No one an—”
She grabbed his shirt, fisting the fabric at his neck, and pulled him down to her. Their eyes caught and then she kissed him, hard and deep. Luke didn’t hesitate, or at least his body didn’t. His thoughts were a confused jumble as he pressed closer and kissed her senseless.Finally.It was tongues and breath, hand seeking purchase, and bodies welded so tight they started sweating.
“Augustina Lane!”
Luke wrenched away so fast he nearly fell to the ground. Birdie had the screen door open and gaped at them wide eyed and fuming. August smoothed her hair and yelled, “Sorry! Won’t happen again!”
“Three minutes,” Birdie said, and motioned for them to separate.
Luke complied, but August stayed where she was, watching him through her lashes. Once Birdie left, she said, “I’m mad at you.”
“Oh?” His stomach sank.
“But only because I love you. So it’s okay.”
He was already unsteady from her kiss. Now she’d split him open. “I love you too,” he said, and his voice was gruff, coated with rust. That’s what happened when you held something in for so long.
His answer made her happy. It was a brief shimmer, but definitely there. Then the somberness was back. “Birdie’s sick,” she said. Luke looked up at the house, at the place where her grandmother was just standing, and she added, “You can’t tell. Mild cognitive impairment, they said. Rare at her age. They’re running tests.”
That internal clock started up again, counting down, warning him to get ready. Here it comes. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s why I missed school. I’ll probably have to do that a lot. Take her to appointments. Work. She’s gotten lost a few times, nothing major, but now she’s afraid to drive.”
“I could help,” Luke said quickly. “Drive her around. Take some of the load off you.”
“It has to be me. If I’d been around more maybe…” She looked at the journal in her hands. Luke kept his eyes on her face, refusing to acknowledge what she was implying, that they should feel guilty about finding each other. There was nothing to regret.
“You couldn’t stop it,” he told her. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“We like to think that don’t we? When it’s hard? But there’s always something.” She offered him the notebook. He didn’t take it. They stayed like that for a moment, then August said, “Could you hold on to it? I don’t have time for music right now. Taking care of Birdie, plus school and graduation—”
“What are you saying to me?” She’d just kissed him. Said I love you. Now he was being dumped? What kind of story was that? They couldn’t skip the part where they tried.
“She needs me right now. More than you.”
Right. So that was his mistake, letting her think he was fine. That he’d come here standing upright instead of on his knees. “You need time,” he said. “I get it. Take all the time you need.”
She offered the journal again. “Luke—”
“Do notgive that to me!” he snapped. “I never paid for it. It’s not mine.”
