Page 6 of This Much Is True
I press the doorbell and wait. There’s no movement inside the house. I press it again.
My heart pounds as I dip my hand into the right boot.
“So predictable, Luke,” I say, pulling out the spare key. I stick it in the lock, and the door swings open as if waiting for me. The thought makes me smile.
The hardwood is warm on my bare feet. An earthiness unique to this place—mud mixed with tobacco and kissed by the sun—greets me like an old friend. I shut the door behind me and venture into Luke’s house.
A bigger television hangs on the wall. The refrigerator has been replaced. A few more pictures have been added to the collection of family photos on the unused dining room table. Not much has changed in the six years since I was here. Yet …
Every move I make is like a pin dropping to the floor. It’s as if the house is holding its breath like me. Somehow, it feels like I just came in after a shift at The Scoop to do homework with Luke.
My dress swishes against the floor as I cross the kitchen to inspect the photographs.
So many framed memories have been here for years—pictures of Poppy and Luke’s grandma and Luke’s parents. There are photos of Luke and his siblings. My favorite one is in the center of the table, and I pick it up.
Luke gives the camera the cheesiest grin. To his right are his oldest brothers, Chase and Mallet. On his left is his little sister, Kate. Crouched in front of them, as if he might attack the person taking the shot, is their brother Gavin.God, I love these people.
It’s hard to breathe as I gaze at the faces I haven’t seen in a long time—faces of some of the best, most hardworking, salt-of-the-earth people I’ve ever met. They loved me like their own. I loved them right back. Until everything fell apart …
I wipe away the tears rolling down my cheeks and set the picture back in its place.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, looking around the house. “What am I doing?”
Panic surges, using the crack in my willpower to make itself known. My stomach clenches like I might puke. Fight-or-flight instincts kick in. My brain screams at my legs to move, to walk—to leave before I make a mess of things, but my heart whispersno.
There’s nowhere else to go, anyway.
I’m royally screwed.
I sit on the brown plaid couch. The springs bite through all the fabric attached to my butt and bite into my bones. At least I can feel it. At least I’m notthatnumb.
Gravel popping under the weight of a vehicle rings through the silence. I bolt upright, unsure whether to run out the back door or sit still and take whatever comes my way. For the briefest of seconds, I regret asking Troy to leave.
A door shuts. Boots climb the stairs. The handle turns, the hinges creaking.
I grab the edge of the couch, holding my breath and waiting for my eyes to meet Luke Marshall’s.
When he enters, his head is down. He shuts the door with his foot. With his phone in his hand, he lifts his face and stops mid-step.
The phone clatters to the floor.
I gasp as our gazes collide, and the world outside this room ceases to exist. The collision takes my breath as heat sizzles through my body, snaking down my spine in a slow, torturous curl.
I struggle to catch my breath amid the butterflies sweeping through my stomach.
Oh, my…
Luke Marshall is all grown up.
Age has done fine things to this man, filling him out in all the right places—broad shoulders and a barrel chest. A belt showsoff his trim waist. Angled jaw.Long lashes. He wears a day’s scruff that makes me shiver.
No amount of social media stalking could’ve prepared me for this moment.
He tilts his head in surprise, then in confusion.
A sardonic smile parts his kissable lips. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter Three
