Page 87 of Winning You
“Let me get my keys. Lucas, call me if you need me.”
“I won’t. But I’ll text you when I get home,” he said.
Frankie grinned, gave Gage a nod of goodbye, then breezed past his brother into the hall. It was one step toward the rest of his day without Lucas, but it was also one step toward the rest of the night, where Frankie could have him in his arms again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LUCAS
He gota text around noon from Frankie, though he didn’t read it while he was sitting in his dad’s car. He’d forgotten his headphones, and the last thing he was in the mood to do was blast Frankie’s voice for everyone to hear and be forced to explain himself.
He had plans to tell them everything. Just…not today. Not tonight. Not until he and Frankie had some time together. It was bad enough he was fighting off a meltdown caused by the anxiety of being questioned once again. The detective was a lot kinder than the beat cops who treated him like he was incapable of answering even the simplest questions without help, but it was obvious he didn’t think Lucas was going to be much help in the case.
Luckily, they had security footage, so the attack would be added to Charlie’s charges. He was seeing a judge in the morning, and then Lucas would be sent an email letting him know when or if he would be needed for court.
It was a simple meeting, but it took up half his day, and now he was starving and tired and needed to be home so he could comfort himself without people staring at him.
“Do you want?—”
“Home, please,” Lucas said, his voice tight.
Bronx sighed. “I know, bud. But you haven’t eaten, and I thought it might be better to get one of your safe meals so you don’t have to stress about cooking.”
Lucas bit his lip, his throat a little hot with emotion. He hadn’t even considered that. He hadn’t eaten. His stomach had been in knots since leaving the hospital, but he knew he wasn’t going to be any good for Frankie if he didn’t regulate his system.
But the idea of cooking—of all those steps just to make a meal—was too daunting.
“I’m sorry for being an asshole,” he whispered.
“Don’t do that,” Bronx told him. The car slowed, then turned right. Lucas had no idea where they were going, but he could guess it was probably the Greek place with the drive-thru because that was the one he always picked when shit was rough. “You’re not being an asshole.”
“I know I can be sharp. When everything is too much.”
“You can, but I’ve developed calluses over the years,” Bronx said. He sounded like maybe he was smiling. Lucas was having a hard time telling right then. “And I don’t mind if you need to take it out on someone.”
“I don’t want to take it out on you. I don’t want to feel like this at all,” he said. His face was starting to throb, but he’d been avoiding taking pain pills because they always knocked him out. He was due for his next dose of ibuprofen though, which he had at home.
“Do you want me to stay with you for the afternoon? I can be quiet.”
“No. I want to be alone for a bit, and then I have plans tonight.” He turned his face toward the window. He didn’t want his dad to be able to tell anything.
“With Gage?”
“A new friend. Can we not talk about it?” Lucas asked.
Bronx was quiet for a beat. “I’d prefer to know who. If something happens?—”
“He doesn’t have—” He was going to sayhe doesn’t have anything to do with Charlie, but that wasn’t entirely true. Technically, knowing Frankie was the reason Lucas had been punched. He’d never blame Frankie. Not in a million years, but it would have been a lie, and he hated lying to his dad. “He’s my neighbor.”
Bronx’s eyebrows flew up. “Isn’t she, like, seventy?”
“Not direct neighbor. He’s two doors down from me. He has brothers, and he takes care of his sister.”
“Oh. Um…”
“It’s complicated,” Lucas said. “Can we talk about it later? We’re not going mountain climbing or anything. Just dinner and probably a movie at home.”
Bronx let out a sigh, but the car began to slow through another turn and didn’t pick up speed again, which meant they were there. “Your usual?”
