Page 40 of August Lane

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

W hat Luke loved most about the pond on his family’s farm was how hidden it was.

He’d found it by getting lost one day like a little boy in a fantasy novel, and that’s what it became for him: his own secret garden.

His rabbit hole. Sitting beside the water under a full moon was still comforting, even though his most vivid memory of the place was scribbling pieces of his father’s lost poems in August’s journal with his brain still swimming in beer.

What he’d told her that night was true. He’d tripped and fallen while trying to leave the house.

But he’d left out details, like Ava calling him useless and shoving him on his way out the door.

He’d been afraid August would judge him for it, that she’d wonder what kind of man he was or why he’d let a woman do that to him, even if Ava was his mother.

Looking at him back then, the big, tall football player, it would have been natural to assume that he was the threat, something his mother had implied more than once.

Ava used to call him scary if he looked at her sideways during one of her rants.

“Oh, so you’re a man now? Big and scary?

What kind of real man threatens his mother? ”

That question had always plagued him. What kind of man was he?

He knew kindness and loyalty were the goal.

He knew he didn’t want to be “big and scary,” even though sometimes those assumptions could be a shield.

But he didn’t want to be a safe choice either, some easy-listening earworm everyone loved until the song was over.

Good art should be dangerous. Those songwriting lessons from August had ruined him in ways that saved his life.

The music industry, however, was a game. He’d made a mistake thinking he could win it with an August-Jojo reunion. But the business was cyclical, a constant rotation of bad and worse choices. Winning implied an ending.

Luke texted Ethan but skipped the greeting because he was tired of pretending they were being read.

I’m not good at being honest. It was never safe for us.

I always told people what they wanted to hear, including you.

I think that’s why you stopped listening.

So, here’s the truth. I don’t regret leaving you.

But I should have told you why I stayed away.

The pond was suddenly doused in headlights. Luke shaded his eyes and stared until he could make out August’s car. She climbed out holding a can of bug spray. “You’ve been in the city for a while, so I figured you forgot we bathe in DEET this time of year.”

He lifted his hand. She tossed the canister to him and watched as he covered his skin with the smelly spray. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

August didn’t answer right away. She was dressed in khaki shorts and tank top, which was only slightly less distracting than those sundresses she preferred. He preferred them, too. Each time she wore one, it felt targeted, like a problem she was daring him to solve.

“Your mother showed up at King’s.”

Luke stilled. “Was she on something?”

“Yes. I drove her home.”

An image of her wrestling Ava into her little Nissan made his stomach churn. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“Neither should you.” She gestured at his truck. “So go home. I’ll check on her before I leave.”

Luke didn’t normally let people do things for him. It made him feel lazy, like he couldn’t be trusted to clean up his own mess. But help from August felt like a gift. You’re not alone , tied with a bow. He moved closer, just shy of arm’s reach. “You still mad at me for stopping the other night?”

Her eyes dipped to his mouth. “Yes.”

“Me too.” He’d thought about it so much that his reasons for pushing her away had become blurry. His only sharp memories of that night were the sounds she’d made, staccato bursts of pleasure.

But he couldn’t reach for her right now, even though he wanted to. Thirteen years still needed to be accounted for. He was running out of time.

“Come talk to me.” Luke moved to a spot near the water. She followed him, and they sat in the grass.

“Ava wants you to forgive her.”

He dangled his arms over his knees. “Is that all?”

“Right now, it’s all that matters. You know you don’t owe her anything, right?”

“I know, but…” He pictured his mother the last few times he’d seen her.

There had been no sign of the volatile woman who’d raised him.

Instead she was deeply fearful, resistant to the slightest deviation from her routine.

The scared little boy inside him was smug because now she knew what it felt like, how exhausting her chaos had been.

But now he was also a man who’d destroyed things, thoroughly and permanently. “I understand her more than I used to.”

“She hasn’t earned that, either.”

“It’s not about that. Earning things. We can’t cancel out bad with good. People are both.”

August shoved impatiently at her hair like it was arguing with her, too. “But it’s also okay to avoid people who hurt you.”

“You mean like me?”

Luke studied her closely, trying to gauge her reaction. They both knew she should stay away from him, that any rational person would tell her to do exactly that. The past ruled them like gravity, pinning them to a place where he’d never stop running, and she’d always be left behind.

“I meant it when I said I didn’t come here for forgiveness,” he said. “That’s not something I expect from anyone, but especially you. I’ll always be the guy who left, who lied.”

“Luke—”

“I can answer questions, though. Explain things. But only if you need that.”

She drew her knees to her chest, made herself into a hard little ball. Luke braced for what was coming because the truth would be embarrassing no matter what she asked. He couldn’t think of a single story about his life he’d be proud to share.

Lying about her song was the big one. Why hadn’t he said her name when the Country Star producers asked for writing credits?

The truth was that he had. That first day when they threw so much information at him it was hard to remember his own birthday, Delilah Simmons, his future manager, had asked him who wrote it.

“A friend of mine.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No. Well, maybe. It’s complicated.”

She’d huffed and mumbled, “Not good,” which made Luke feel like he’d already lost the competition.

“She wrote the lyrics,” he’d offered, trying to recover. “I wrote the music.”

“So you did write it.”

“The music.”

“Songs are music.”

He was confused by her irritation. “Yeah, but they’re also words.”

“Luke, I need you to focus. When someone asks you who wrote it, tell them what you told me. That you wrote the music.”

Delilah had rewritten his story with a sleight of hand that he never saw coming.

“Luke wrote the music” became “Luke wrote this” when he was too distracted by all the attention to correct anyone.

Once he realized what was happening, revealing the truth meant being a liar.

Liars didn’t win reality shows or sign production deals.

They were sent packing, dumped at the bus stop with a ticket back to their shitty farm and their shitty mother, and that shitty future they were trying to escape.

“I want to know why,” August said, finally. “If you loved me, why did you stay away?”

He should have known she’d get to the heart of things. It’s what made her a good writer. His reasons for lying about the song were obvious. But not coming back, never calling, made her question everything else he’d said.

“Because I was a drunk who wanted to keep drinking. And I couldn’t be that with you.”

She closed her eyes like it hurt to look at him. This was his worst fear. This was her in all his nightmares. “I wouldn’t have—”

“I never wanted to be like her,” Luke interrupted. “But that’s exactly what happened.” August’s eyes flew open, and he knew she understood him. She’d just poured his mother into her car.

“That’s not true.”

“I’ve been sober five years, but I’ll always have a disorder. I’m still tempted to drink when things get hard. But accepting that changed my life.” He took her hand in his. Her fingers were long, tapered, and delicate. He ran a thumb over her knuckles, pausing at each bone.

“I’d never put my hands on you,” he said softly. “I’d die first. But there’s lots of ways to break a person. I couldn’t risk it.”

She stared at their hands. “I would have helped you.”

“I didn’t want help. Drinking was the only thing that made my life bearable, and I chose it over you every time. Once I was in recovery, I’d been gone so long I figured it was best to stay away.”

She pulled her hand back. “You were wrong.”

“I know that now. And I’m so sorry.”

A long moment passed before she spoke again. “What made you decide to get sober?”

He had stories. Everyone in recovery had them, things the average person would find horrifying. They always underestimated someone’s rock bottom because they couldn’t see down that far. They had reasonable limits. But the Snake wasn’t reasonable. It only cared about the next drink.

“I was at this bar in Memphis, and this guy recognized me. Big dude, way bigger than me. He started hassling me, asking where I’d been all these years.

” Luke had ordered a beer in the middle of the guy’s verbal assault.

He’d been on autopilot, dodging the sight of an empty glass.

“Something he said set me off, and to this day, I don’t remember what it was, but I hit him.

Then I was on the floor getting the shit kicked out of me. ”

Luke remembered staring at the ceiling, thinking, I can take it. I’ve lived through worse. But for the first time, he also thought, What if I don’t? “Dying like my father was comforting to me—that’s how fucked up I was. It felt like I was following in his footsteps.”