Page 25 of August Lane

Luke stepped back, intending to retreat without being noticed, but the guy set furious eyes on him. August followed his gaze and winced. She gave Luke a tired look that said his timing was terrible. Luke answered with a shrug that told her he was aware.

“There he is,” the guy said. “Flavor of the week.”

August blocked his view of Luke. “Go home, Terry. You’re drunk.”

“Shirley threw me out again. I don’t have a home, thanks to you.” Terry glared at her. Once Luke saw the bloodshot glitter in the man’s eyes, he moved closer so he could jump in if necessary.

Terry noticed Luke sizing him up and chuckled. “Chill, Country Drake. I ain’t here to fight you. Not over her.”

His tone implied there were better prizes. Better women.

“Then maybe you should leave, like she said.” Luke glanced at Terry’s flowers. “Take those with you. She’s got plenty.”

Terry eyed the unplanted bushes. “Hope she made digging all them holes worth your while, at least.”

Luke knew his temper intimately. It flared as faint needles along his spine that would cluster and steamroll over everything in its path.

He could barely restrain it when he was drinking, but he typically won that battle now that he was sober.

It’d been years since he’d brawled over dumb shit he could barely remember the next day.

But he’d never learned to restrain himself when it came to August. Watching her now, how she shrank from Terry’s insults, erased every anger management strategy his therapist taught him.

He wanted to break this man. Grind him to dust.

Luke’s hands were in fists before his brain registered the movement.

August touched his arm and said, “I can handle this.” She stepped to Terry.

Luke wanted to snatch her back. She shouldn’t have to deal with guys like this.

Richard Green in high school. Now this asshole.

She deserved someone who knew how to love her.

“You’re hurt,” August said to Terry. “But picking a fight won’t help.”

“Who’s trying to fight?” Terry forced another laugh. “I’m just stating facts. Dude, ain’t you married? She likes ’em unavailable.”

Luke started to speak, but August touched him again, asking for patience.

“You’re hurt,” she repeated, in a louder, stronger voice.

“Birdie died and I used you to make me feel better. I should have told you that from the beginning instead of letting you think this was something it wasn’t.

I was careless and I’m sorry. But regret is all I owe you.

And it’s the last thing you’ll get from me. ”

Instead of responding, Terry looked at Luke. “You in love with her?”

Luke was grateful that August was focused on Terry. He knew the answer was clear on his face. Terry grunted and hurled the roses into the yard. They all watched them fall into the grass, a red heap in a sea of green. Terry gave August one last dirty look before he walked away.

August didn’t speak until Terry’s car became tiny brake lights in the distance. “Were you about to fight for me, Country Drake?”

Luke grimaced. “I don’t look like that dude.”

She laughed—and, holy hell, how he’d missed it. The sound hummed in his stomach. “I’m getting divorced,” he said, because Terry’s taunts had bothered him. He didn’t want the news to get out before Charlotte was ready, but that had nothing to do with August. He needed her to see him clearly.

“Isn’t everybody?” She looked pointedly at Terry’s abandoned bouquet.

“Charlotte and I have been separated for ten years,” he told her.

“She finally signed the papers a few weeks ago.” Knowing she had every reason not to trust him, he pulled out his phone and showed her the signed settlement Darla had sent that morning.

The email from Charlotte’s future wife was riddled with exclamation points.

She was excited about starting the next phase of their lives.

August read it, flicked her eyes up, then refocused on the screen and whispered, “Oh.” Her mouth puckered over the word longer than necessary. The woman was painfully kissable. Resisting the urge was going to give him migraines.

“How do you feel about that?” she asked.

“Good. Relieved. For her more than me. I’m heavy baggage.”

“No shit.”

Luke laughed. She watched him, smiling, and then said, “Terry told me he was getting divorced, too. Then I found out he was lying, so I dumped him and picked a fight with his wife.”

He raised his brows. “A fight , fight?”

“Hair was pulled.”

“Did you win?”

“I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“It’s a fair question.” He stepped back and looked her over, using the moment to admire how that thin sundress hugged her curves. “Trying to picture you scrappin’ on the ground.”

Her skin flushed—deep umber brushed with red. If things were different, if they weren’t who they were, he’d grab that little knotted belt beneath her breasts and tug her closer to get a better look.

August wiped away the sweat on her neck. “None of that bothers you? Me being with Terry?”

“Only if you love him.”

It was basically a confession. Please don’t , is what he was saying. Hate me all you want, just don’t love him where I can see. Luke was stronger in a lot of ways: Physically. Mentally. But not when it came to her, his favorite weakness.

August seemed confused at first, then seconds from laughing, but finally settled on irritation. “Why do you care?” she asked, but then immediately shrugged. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”

“You deserve better. Mistakes are one thing, but loving a guy like that—” He gathered his thoughts. Thinking about how Terry had spoken to her made him angry again. “It would mean you don’t believe in it anymore. Not the way you used to.”

August folded her arms like she needed protection from him. Maybe she did. He couldn’t be trusted when she was like this, all teasing smiles and sweaty skin devouring light. He’d slip up at some point, admit to having feelings she didn’t want to know about, and their fragile truce would be over.

“Those were just songs,” August said.

“They were your stories.” She tried to move past him, but Luke blocked her path. “Don’t you remember?”