Page 23 of August Lane
Her expression shuttered slightly. “Why were you fighting over her?” She eyed her apple like the exposed core was more interesting than his answer. “Did she cheat on you with Richard?”
“No.” The second question was easier to answer than the first. He’d been fighting over a girl, yes, but not the one everyone assumed.
Luke had finally admitted that to himself last night.
He’d thrown that punch for August. Because Richard had tricked her into having sex.
The scariest part was how good it’d felt.
Like he was made for that kind of destruction.
Jessica had screamed at him later. Her dining room had been a fishbowl with people watching them behind glass doors. Luke hadn’t said a word. He’d absorbed every accusation like a sponge. Eventually Jessica lowered her voice and asked, “Is this about August Lane?”
The guilt he’d been ignoring surged forward, and he rocked back in his seat, trying to escape it. “Why do you keep bringing her up?”
“I saw how you looked at her.” Her voice was tight, poised to shout again. “You’re fucking her, aren’t you.”
“No!” Luke tried to wave off the accusation with his good hand, but his movements felt slow and unconvincing. The county fair, the notebook, the music he’d written her. Strung together, it was obvious what he’d been doing. “I’m not sleeping with August.”
“You want to,” she said. “She’s not Jojo, you know. Her pussy won’t get you closer to fame.”
“Why would you say that?” Luke tried to reconcile the girl he cared about with the bitter person looming over him. He never thought she saw him clearly, but maybe it was mutual. Maybe they’d both been dating someone else. “You think we’re all like Richard? Using people for clout?”
Her glare was acid. “You’re not better than me.”
“I never said that’s what you—”
“You don’t say anything, Luke. And I’m sick of waiting for you to.”
It was an official dumping, “I quit” via a weekend-long ghosting paired with the silent treatment during class that morning. Their only interaction had been her eye flick in his direction when someone mentioned sending Richard a care package. Jessica flipped her braid back and volunteered to help.
“I ruined her birthday,” Luke admitted to August. It felt like one of his more egregious offenses. Jessica had been talking about the party all month, eyes glittering with joy that made him jealous. Luke dreaded his birthdays. Ava made them feel like a chore. “She didn’t deserve that.”
“Richard did,” August said, with a devilish grin that made her even cuter. Luke barely suppressed his own smile. He didn’t want to joke about hitting someone, but August’s moods were infectious. She made wallowing in guilt feel like a wasted effort.
“Coach suspended me from three games,” he said, which had seemed like a big deal when it happened. Now it sounded silly. No football for a month. Some punishment.
“You hate playing anyway.”
“No, I don’t,” Luke lied, but then remembered what he’d admitted at the fair. “Okay, I do, but I hate being suspended from anything. Everyone will know why I’m not out there.”
“And they’ll talk about it,” August said quietly. “Behind your back.”
He realized how he must have sounded to her, whining about the same thing she dealt with every day. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You can’t hide in here forever.” She started gathering her things. “The fall play is coming up. And the toilet’s broken, so unless you plan to shit in a bucket, you’ll have to show your face in public again.”
He watched her toss her trash with growing panic. “Don’t go.”
“You’ll be fine.” She was talking to herself now, eyes on anything in the room except him. “Just make another touchdown, and everyone will get amnesia. Or write her a song. Girls love hot guys with guitars.”
“August, stop.” She ignored him. He stood, heart pounding, and grabbed her hand. “Don’t leave.” She jerked away. Luke’s face caught fire, and he stepped back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have grabbed you. But I want you to stay.”
“Why?” She rubbed her palm where he’d touched it. “We’re not…”
She trailed off, unwilling to finish the rest of that thought. “I don’t know what we are.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Luke said. He could feel something loosening inside him, that same unraveling he’d experienced when they’d met in total darkness.
“I’ve never written music for someone before.
Not like I did for you. It felt—” He stopped because, as usual, the words weren’t coming. “I want to do it again.”
August fidgeted. “I was joking earlier. I don’t know if a love song will fix your relationship.”
“It’s not about that.” He knew he needed to fix his reputation and make things right with Jessica.
But he also knew that sitting with those lyrics, putting melodies on paper, had been more intoxicating than the vodka that had caused him so much trouble the other night.
“I think I’m meant to write music. Like you. ”
August went still for a second, and he glimpsed that raw hunger behind her eyes. But then she was smirking and shrugging, and it was like he’d imagined it. “I’m pretty sure real people don’t have destinies.”
“I’ve seen your writing,” Luke said, ignoring her sarcasm. He was starting to recognize her defense mechanisms. “You were born for this. I hope you believe me.”
She looked away like she didn’t want to. “If you want to write songs, then write songs. You don’t need me for that.”
“I can’t.”
“It’s not that hard.”
“Not for you .” He paused. “Would you help me? Teach me how?”
She huffed a laugh. “Like a tutor?”
Luke realized he’d been reading the conversation wrong. He’d been so caught up in daydreams about songwriting with August that he’d forgotten they weren’t that close. Just two people with similar interests who’d stumbled into knowing more about each other than they should.
“Yeah, like a tutor,” he said, cleaning it up. The moment immediately felt smaller. “I could pay you.”
August took her time responding. “How much?”
He was relieved but also disappointed. A small part of him hoped she’d say working together would be enough. That she was just as excited about it as he was. “How much do you want?”
“Three hundred dollars. I had it before, but my cousin needed help. I have to put it back.”
He remembered what she said about moving to Nashville, how she was saving money for an apartment and demo.
“Three hundred is fine.” There was money in the bank from his father’s life insurance payout.
It was supposed to help pay for college, but something about using it to make music felt right. Like his dad would have approved.