Page 88 of Lavender and Lightning

I sit up, suddenly wide awake and alert. I turn to look at her, but she’s staring hard at her hand, brow lowered in concentration. Caleb, on the other hand, is completely unreadable.

“What did he want?” I ask.

“What else? To see you. But the Eastern Block-Head sent him home with his tail between his legs,” Gabby says with a snort.

I look at Caleb, but he doesn’t lift his eyes from the cards in his hands. He picks one out and plays it, making Gabby groan in frustration. The corner of his mouth twitches as he draws another card, but there’s no other tell in his poker face.

“Why, though?” I ask insistently.

“He doesn’t know why he needs you yet,voyin. It’ll do him some good to sit with this for a few days,” Caleb answers simply.

I blink at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but the card game continues in silence. I settle back into my seat on the couch, trying to puzzle out his meaning. But the lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion of the last few days clouds my head, and I give up, slumping down into a more comfortable position. It doesn’t take long before I drift off to sleep.

Almost a week later, Gabby and I return to the hotel room after spending the morning down on State Street. With no shop, our days are long and boring without something to do, so we’ve volunteered to help with the clean-up from the fire. It’s hard, heartbreaking work, but there’s something soothing about it, like burying an old friend. There isn’t much left, but every now and then we find a soot-blackened or water-logged treasure and it makes it all worth it.

Wila has been off trying to find a temporary space to rent so we can get back to work. I know it’s her way of dealing with the loss, but only seeing her in passing for the last few days has been difficult. I want to apologize, or try to explain, but she’s gone before Gabby and I get up in the morning, and she goes right to bed when she comes home well after dark. Gabby brushes off my worries about Wila eating or sleeping enough, but I can tell she’s worried about her grandmother, too.

Gabby goes off to shower, and I head into the kitchen to find the room service menu. We’d ordered takeout the last few nights, but I miss Lucas’s cooking. No one from the pack has tried to contact me since Mateo came to live in the pack suite, and it’s been nice to have my space. But I’ve caught myself looking for them more than once, searching for traces of their scents in the air. And each time I don’t find them, the aching in my chest grows.

“I’ve been looking at plane tickets. There’s a flight out of Atlanta that leaves early enough on Friday for us to get to Louisiana and then drive to Chauvert before the bank closes,” Caleb says, leaning on the counter next to me.

I jump a little at his sudden closeness but nod. He and I have been operating under the assumption that the pack is not going to help me at Sam’s wedding. Caleb didn’t ask questions or make me defend myself when I explained my insistence. He just started planning. We have the floor plan memorized, all possible exit routes planned, and we’re just finalizing details of the time surrounding the event. I want to tie up the loose end of my trust fund, remove another piece off the board, but we have to time our arrival just right. With no way to contact Jason, we can’t guarantee that my parents won’t happen to stumble across us, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. This blood money has hung over my head long enough.

“I don’t know how I’ll pay you back for them,” I mutter, thumbing through the menu to avoid looking at him.

“I’ll send the invoice to the Foundation,” Caleb says, and I look up in time to catch his wink.

We share a little chuckle before I call in a dinner order for the three of us. I manage to catch a quick shower and get dressed in comfortable clothes before the knock comes on the door. Gabby is answering the door as I exit the bedroom, squeezing some water out of my hair with a towel.

“Seriously?” Gabby drones.

“Always a delight seeing you, too, Gabby,” a familiar sarcastic voice drawls back.

I rush to the door, shoulder checking Gabby out of the way to throw my arms around Lucas’s throat. His arms wind around my waist without hesitation, nearly crushing my ribs with the strength of his embrace. I breathe his clean towel and marshmallow scent deep, eyes burning.

“Missed you, Lydi-bug,” he mutters into my hair.

The nickname nearly breaks my resolve not to cry, but I force myself to let go and step back. “What are you doing here?” I ask, a little breathless.

“Well, Idowork here, remember?” He chuckles with a smirk, tossing his fringe from his sparkling blue-gray eyes.

I notice then that he’s dressed in a white coat with the sleeves pushed up. I blush hot and look away, shuffling my weight a little.

“Plus, someone had to check on Matty,” he adds.

I look up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Lucas sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We didn’t know he left until the other day. We thought… but when we called the front desk, they told us he’s been here the whole time, so…” He trails off, picking at a stain on the hem of his jacket for a moment. “It’s been… well, there’s no way to sugarcoat this. It’s been hell without you at the pack house, Lydi-bug,” he says heavily.

I shift my weight back onto my heels, twisting my fingers around themselves nervously. He looks at me again, and the flash of sadness in the depths of his eyes makes my heart clench. I look down at the cart of covered plates and then back behind me, meeting Gabby’s expectant stare. Caleb is just behind her, and to my surprise, his gray eyes are soft and encouraging. He gives me a little nod, and my shoulders relax slightly as I turn back to Lucas.

“Let’s take a walk, yeah?” I ask hopefully.

His beautiful face lights up with a smile, and he nods enthusiastically. We push the food cart into the room, and I slip on a pair of shoes before following Lucas down the hall toward the elevators. We’re silent until we reach the lobby, where he takes my hand and leads me away from the front doors, toward a set of plain doors marked employees only. It’s easy to let him lead, to not ask questions as we wander down a twisting path of hallways, eventually reaching a small office just off the bustling kitchen. There isn’t much inside, a desk with a computer, some duct-tape patched chairs, piles of cardboard boxes, a corkboard with layers of papers tacked to it. Despite the cacophony of smells coming from the other side of the door, Lucas’s scent covers every surface.

“It’s not much, but it’s better than trying to do inventory at a prep table,” Lucas jokes, motioning for me to sit.

I smile and curl up in the offered chair, tucking one foot under my hips as I hug my other knee to my chest. Lucas leans on the edge of the desk near me, running a hand through his hair as he sighs heavily.

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