Page 29 of August Lane

Sirens were screeching in her head, warning her not to answer. “I don’t know,” she admitted, because warning bells were wasted on her. Might as well put up a sign that said come hither. “I come with so much baggage. Who’d want to take all that on?”

“When you love someone, it’s worth it.”

They weren’t talking about her hypothetical boyfriend anymore. “Love shouldn’t be hard.”

“If it’s easy, how do you know it’s real?”

Four days later, August had written and rejected twenty song titles for reasons she struggled to articulate. Her muse kept saying, no, this is wrong. You don’t care about what you’re writing. Come back when you do.

At first she thought it was nerves, but during their last failed cowriting session, when she spent five minutes watching Luke’s fingers dance over his guitar, she realized he was the problem.

Specifically, what happened when she forgot to hate him.

Letting go of her anger made her defenseless against what replaced it.

She genuinely liked him. Luke was thoughtful and generous in ways she could never anticipate.

Besides the work he’d done outside the house, he’d taken on other small projects, like fixing broken chairs in the dining room and removing stains from the hardwood.

He’d also cleaned the cloudy glass in Birdie’s family photographs, a collection of frames that covered an entire wall.

One day she arrived to discover that he’d pulled out a sewing machine and started mending the ancient living room drapes.

“You sew?” She tried to imagine Luke’s large frame hunched over the yellow Singer.

“Yeah,” he’d answered, with a tone that asked, Don’t you? “It’s a good hobby. Saves money and keeps my hands busy.” He flexed his fingers, and the simple motion wreaked havoc on her insides.

That was her second problem. In addition to lapping up his sweet gestures like a delirious cat, she couldn’t stop picturing those fingers “keeping busy” between her legs.

It was her own fault. She’d poked a very horny bear with that stress-fucking nonsense.

It had felt too much like tutoring him again, only this time on how to self-medicate with dirty sex.

That was one of her favorite hobbies, stacking orgasms with a big, beautiful man who could toss her around like a sack of potatoes.

Luke was a people pleaser who showed affection through acts of service.

He probably wouldn’t question what she wanted.

He’d merely ask when, where, and how hard.

Unresolved sexual tension had an obvious solution.

But that was dangerous thinking with Luke.

He could see through her defenses. Enthrall her with a melody.

When she arrived for their fourth session, determined to stay on task, the sight of him stirring a pot of greens while wearing a paisley apron crumbled her resolve like it was tissue paper.

“You’re cooking now?” Meat was roasting in the oven. Yeast rolls were being kept warm by one of Birdie’s blue-and-white tea towels.

Luke wiped his hands and motioned for her to try one. “Surprised I’m a grown man who can feed himself?”

She pinched off some bread. “I thought those were extinct.” She took a bite. “Are these from scratch?”

He nodded, smugger than she’d ever seen him. “What do you think?”

“You should sell these at King’s. They’re that good.” She scanned the kitchen. “Where did you get all this food?”

August immediately regretted the question. They hadn’t discussed his finances since she’d offered to let him stay there.

“You mean, where did I get the money?” He poked at the greens again, tasted them, then grabbed a bottle of hot sauce. “One of Ava’s neighbors is a contractor. Been helping him out with a few jobs.”

“Ava?” She kept her voice flat to hide her irritation. The only way he would have met this person was if he was still visiting his mother. “Do you think seeing her is a good idea?”

Luke opened the oven and pulled out a pot roast. She sat down at the kitchen table as he piled her plate high with meat, greens, and rolls. He took his time fixing another plate before answering her question. “I don’t know. But she’s not doing well and I’m the only one around to help her.”

She considered asking about his brother, Ethan, but decided against it.

Luke was fighting the same battle she’d repeatedly lost with Jojo, so she wasn’t qualified to offer advice.

No one ever won those, though, wars waged on mothers.

You can’t change who carried you. Sift through the skeletons in your closet and you’ll find their bones.

Once both plates were on the table, Luke sat down and waited for her to eat. August picked up her fork. “We’re supposed to be writing.”

“That wasn’t happening. Figured I’d try something else.”

She prodded the food. “Did you put something in this?” He laughed. She took a bite of the roast, and it tasted like heaven. “Oh. Just your foot.”

“All right, smart ass. Finish your dinner so we can talk about what’s going on with you and this song.”

Her appetite vanished. Luke ate for a while before he noticed she’d stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“Not hungry anymore.” She stood with her plate. He stood, too, blocking her path to the kitchen.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“That.” He flung a hand at her. “Shut down and pretend you’re not upset. We both know you’re struggling. I thought we could work on a solution together—”

“I know what the problem is. And you making the best meal I’ve had in weeks wearing”—she flicked her hand at his chest—“an apron, of all things, isn’t helping.”

He ripped it off, revealing a formfitting black T-shirt that made her want to bare her teeth like a wild animal. “Better?”

“Fuck you.” She tried to move past him. He grabbed her arm, and all the food on her plate slid to the ground. They stared at the mess until August looked at him and said, “I was going to eat that later.”

Luke squeezed her arm. “If being around me is this hard, maybe we should stop. I’ll think of another way to get your song out there. We don’t have to do it this way.”

August gripped the plate tighter, pressing the edge into her stomach. Another insult was on the tip of her tongue, waiting for deployment. But she was tired of arguing. Sick of hiding. “I don’t think I hate you,” she said. “And I should. Right?”

His grip slackened, and he took a deep breath. “Yeah. Probably.”

She looked at his mouth. “What does that say about me? After everything. That I don’t want to do this without you.”

He bit his lip. “Don’t look at me like that, August.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” He swallowed hard, his fingers tight on her arm. “Just don’t put the plate down.”

August stared at the only thing separating their bodies. “They’re ugly anyway.”

She let it fall, and his mouth was on hers before it shattered.

Touching her was a mistake. He thought he was long past those with August, but she made it so damn easy to keep turning left when all his instincts said turn right.

Left was the road of no return. That’s how it felt when he kissed her, like there was no turning back from this.

No waking from the dream that was her lips parting to welcome him, her tongue slow dancing with his.

He leaned back to get his head straight, but then her hands were on him, sliding under his shirt, while she kissed his neck and chin.

He started trembling, fucking shaking —that’s how good it felt.

But he needed to stop. His brain knew this was a bad idea for so many reasons, but his hands didn’t care.

They’d been waiting years for this moment, so he let them roam.

He gifted his palms with her hips, his fingers with the dip of her spine.

“What are you doing to me?” was all he could ask, because he’d never felt so out of control before.

Not high. Not drunk. He nudged her back to the table, knowing he shouldn’t.

He fisted her hair and tugged, opening her wider, fully aware it was a mistake.

He kissed her again and again, damning himself thoroughly because a man like him, who’d done the things he had, could only have something this good if he stole it.

He stepped back to do what he’d been dying to ever since he saw her in one of those little sundresses. He pulled the skirt up, baring her thighs and a strip of cotton. He traced the edge, watching her face. She looked ready to catch fire. One good spark and she’d be ashes.

He licked two fingers, and August made a strangled sound that raked through his body.

He pulled her panties to one side and massaged her clit.

She grabbed his neck, whispering, “That’s good.

You’re so good Luke.” Her praise poured into him, weighing him down, filling all the empty gaps.

He wanted more of it. He wanted to be so heavy and full that if he waded into water, he’d sink like a stone.

She was writhing, quaking with tight little shivers.

One strap of her sundress had collapsed, and he leaned over, kissed her bare shoulder, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. He pushed his fingers inside her, and she cried out, clenching over them.

Feeling that, owning it, triggered some primitive part of his brain that wanted to know how much she could take.

He started stretching her. She moaned, then whispered, “Don’t stop.” The words echoed and fractured in his mind. Don’t stop. Don’t stop .

Don’t.

Stop.

What the hell was he doing?

Luke straightened and pulled his hand away. “August, I’m—”

“Shhh.” She tugged him closer. “Don’t say whatever you’re about to say.”

He felt her thigh press against his damp hand, her skin soft as silk. “We need to talk.”

“You’re right. I’m on birth control. Condoms are in my purse. I’ve been tested recently. All negative. What about you?”

That wasn’t what he meant, but he answered anyway. “I’ve been tested. Plus, it’s been over a year, so…”

Her eyes widened. “A year?”

Yes, a year. Because people in recovery weren’t supposed to date. Or at least they should be slow about it. Luke had been glacial. He didn’t want to inflict himself on anyone ever again. But August didn’t know that. She didn’t know he was defective in ways he’d never told her.

Luke took a step back. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

August looked confused. “What?”

“This was a mistake, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I took advantage, and I’m—”

“Are you being serious right now?” She yanked her skirt down and righted the strap that had fallen. “Don’t apologize to me. And don’t ever call me a mistake. I’m not a fucking mistake.”

“No, of course not! I meant me.” He touched his chest. “ I’m the mistake. What we just did… it’s too fast—”

“It’s been thirteen years!” She was breathing hard, blinking through damp eyes. “Which I don’t want to talk about anymore. It hurts!”

“I know,” Luke said. “But you’re still angry with me.

I can’t sleep with you and not—” He stopped because the confession was too big.

She would never forgive him. She shouldn’t.

Which meant if he had her, he couldn’t keep her.

And he’d never survive that. “I don’t want it to be another thing you regret. ”

Her faced flattened into an expression he couldn’t read. And that hurt more than anything—how quickly she closed herself off to him. “What do you think I regret, Luke?”

He’d turned it over in his mind so many times, rewound every choice that led to this: lost moments, misspoken words, every chance he had to love her the way she deserved, but saved himself instead. He gathered it all in his mind, held it there, and said, “You never should have met me.”

She smiled the worst smile he’d ever seen. Like a gaping wound. “You’re wrong. I never should have lost you.”

Luke was too stunned to respond. She used his paralysis as an opportunity to gather her things. There was so much to say. But none of it mattered. “You didn’t” was all he could manage as she slipped out the door.