Page 58 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)

On Christmas Eve morning, even while Luke and I listen to Die Hard on his TV and cook the few items we can make ahead of the meals we’ll be going to today and tomorrow, I’m still thinking fondly on yesterday.

Work was very busy, and my parents turned out to be among the guests. I knew they were getting to town yesterday, but I hadn’t been sure of when, so I was surprised into tears when they showed up under a cleverly vague reservation name. I was also thrilled to introduce them to Luke—albeit very quickly—because they wanted to sit in the bar area in order to look out at the patio. It touched my heart so much that they were in their beloved restaurant again, even though I wished it hadn’t been too cold for them to sit outside in their favorite spot.

And Luke…. When he told me about his chat with Mr. Polk, his eyes were alight and his cheeks were slightly pink, and my heart was so happy for him. It had been a good talk, he said. We understood that it didn’t set anything in stone, but we were still pleased because Luke had been given a chance to explain why he’s interested in the job and voice some of his concerns, and our boss was as warm and easy to talk to as ever. Really, we thought we might’ve been a little goofy to entertain the idea of him flat-out telling Luke he wasn’t good enough.

I look over at Luke now. He’s alternating between glancing at the TV over the bar counter and mixing cake batter.

Still, like he can sense my attention, he slips a look over to me too.

I smile at him.

He smiles back.

I’m proud of him whether he gets the job or not.

I’m proud of him no matter what happens with his dad’s side of his family.

And I love that I can see he feels the same way about himself.

—

The festivities with our friends were chill and fun.

We all gathered at Paxton’s place and took turns playing video games after we exchanged gifts and ate the food everyone helped make. He gave Luke a good-natured hard time about still having no idea where the What Do You Meme? card game is, which had us laughing because it was true. When he and I searched his place this time, I helped instead of falling asleep in his big chair, but neither of us found that box. It really was funny to think about, because where could it have gone? We may never know.

Now he and I are sitting on his couch on Christmas morning, each of us excited for the other to open their present. I’ve warned him a couple of times that what I got for him isn’t anything expensive or spectacular, just something I thought he’d like, and he has warned me of the same. But that isn’t stopping either of us from hastening into this giftwrap, just like my cramping and general discomfort from starting my time of the month isn’t stopping me from being in a happy mood.

From the pretty paper I’ve opened, I extract a palm-sized square box that obviously has jewelry inside. My heart leaps.

It doesn’t matter what the piece is—a necklace, bracelet, pair of earrings—I already love it.

Before I lift the lid, I look at Luke and see he has only halfway opened what I got him too. The dark gray t-shirt is out of the giftbag and in plain view, but it’s still neatly rolled up where it rests in his lap.

Smiling, he lifts his chin at me and says.

“Open yours,”

in a way I can’t bear to argue with.

So I open it. And my heart doesn’t just leap, it soars.

“Luke.”

I press a hand to my chest and swing my already-damp eyes between him and the gold necklace. “Oh, wow!”

His smile is gentling across his lips, but it stays full in his eyes. He sets his gift to the side and scoots over to me.

“You like it? Want me to help put it on?”

“Yes and yes!”

I carefully pull the delicate chain free, then spread it across my fingers so I can marvel at its pretty glint and the understated L on it.

The initial of his name.

I know my own smile is wobbling, but I don’t hide it from him.

He brushes my cheek with his knuckles, then takes the necklace from me and slips it beneath my hair. After he’s got it fastened and straightened just below my collarbone, I give him three seconds to admire it, then drag him into a kiss. He holds the back of my head, matching my ardor.

Shortly, I tell him.

“I love it. Thank you so much. It’s perfect.”

“You’re welcome. Not the fanciest of jewelry, but….”

“I don’t care. It’ll last fine because I’ll take care of it.”

He gives my lips another long peck.

“I don’t care either. I love how it looks on you.”

Wish I could live in his warm voice, the blue of his eyes, the tenderness of his touch.

But I urge him to finish opening his gift now.

I’m trying not to laugh even before he gets the t-shirt unrolled, but then laughter bursts out of him with an eye-crinkling grin, and I can’t hold back.

“Is it stupid?”

I work to get out.

“Are you kidding?”

He goes from looking at the shirt to holding it up so I can see better, though it quakes with his amusement.

“It’s real life!”

We crack up as we look at ‘eggs Ben-addict’ and the simple, colorful graphic of eggs Benedict placed under the text.

“I’m fucking wearing this now.”

He drops the shirt aside and starts pulling up the one he has on.

“No, you need to wash it first,”

I say, though I’m interested in the undressing aspect of this.

He pauses with his current shirt lifted halfway up his chest, then continues.

“It’ll be fine.”

“No, it needs to be washed. We have time to get it done before we go to your mom’s.”

I reach across him for the new shirt. “Give—”

He grabs it and holds it away. I get distracted by his bare shoulder and accidentally touch it instead of aiming for the shirt again. Then I can’t help fleetingly touching his chest—I pull my hand back and look at him sheepishly.

Just like that, there’s a shift in his eyes; a flirty smirk comes to his lips as he flicks that gaze over me.

I can feel these moments turning from lighthearted and fun into something more.

“Actually,”

he says with the change in his tone, too.

“you know what? You’re right. We do have time to wash it.”

I press my lips together, but I can’t mask a smile.

He nods.

“And while it washes, we….”

I don’t know how we became close enough to kiss again, but it happened and is happening. And I don’t know which of us sparked off the chuckling, but we’re both doing it now.

He starts tugging my shirt up as well.

Yeah, we should get that bit of laundry going right away.

—

While we’re at his mom’s house, my attention keeps getting pulled in different directions, but I like it. There’s so much love everywhere I look.

Although Luke and I are both quite attentive at this little gathering, every now and then, I can’t help thinking back a few hours.

After we got his new shirt in the washing machine, we made out on his couch, which led to us definitely wanting more. He swore he wasn’t bothered by it being my time of the month and I thought that was wonderful, but I still didn’t feel up for sex, especially since the particular ‘more’ I had silently started craving was to make it all about him. I wanted to touch him. So I told him that. He was worried I would feel left out; I assured him I wouldn’t, so he admitted he wanted me to touch him too. And I couldn’t wrap my head around how good it made me feel to bring him pleasure in that way. It didn’t matter that I’d done it before, the first time in his bed—his moans, his hold on me, his kisses still pleased me to the core.

During our get-together here, I’ve caught him sneaking looks at me in ways that made me think he was recalling all of that as well. It always made my cheeks warm, which always made him smile. Then we’d resume helping get things ready for the meal, or talking to whichever parent had turned their attention to us, or any other thing we’d briefly slipped away from.

Speaking of parents: there’s love with them, too, because mine love Luke.

I knew they would, both because they trust that I’ve picked a good guy and because I know he is a good guy. Still, it has made something in me glow to see it come true. And he seems to love them, too, which adds to the glow especially because I know he was a little nervous to meet my dad.

‘I hope he’ll like me,’ he confided in me in the car.

That hurt my heart and soothed it with warmth at the same time.

But he hasn’t been actively trying to get my dad—or mom—to like him. He has been himself. Funny, respectful, kind, chill, helpful, and whatever mixture of cheeky and sarcastic has always pushed my buttons for better or worse. And they already love him.

They already love his mom, too, and she already loves them back. Just like I quickly bonded with her and her with me at Thanksgiving.

No tension. No hesitation. No questioning or pointed looks, no passive aggression, no rudeness. Just a good time.

There’s also been a lot to love about the food. Luke’s mom’s cooking is as delicious as Thanksgiving was. My mac and cheese and his chocolate cake are hits again in their own rights.

And conversations have been easy to carry. We’ve all gone from talk of my parents’ life in California to the book club Mrs. Bramhill started to how work is at Lucent—though Luke doesn’t bring up the new job hope, just pats my thigh under the table and smiles when I pat his hand in return.

But the instant one certain other thing gets brought up, I know neither of us is going to shy away from it.

“I mean it,”

my dad says, after having just told Luke he and my mom don’t know how to thank him for helping me with Kyle.

“We can’t tell you what it means to us that you took care of our precious girl.”

Even though Luke smiles, there isn’t a hint of brush-off about him.

“I was glad to help, sir,”

he says.

“It was important to me. You don’t have to try to thank me.”

My dad shakes his head.

“Sure we do. I know you two didn’t get along before that, but when you found out she needed someone to stand beside her, you did it. You made her feel safe. That’s what a real man does.”

He puts a hand to his chest.

“I’m proud of you and so damn grateful to you.”

‘I’m proud of you.’

I have trouble drawing a good breath because those words punch me in the chest—in the best way. Because I know they do that to Luke too. I can feel it in the sudden tremble of his hand around my thigh, can see it in his eyes.

Glancing around the table, though, I can’t tell that anyone else sees it like I do. I don’t think even his mom understands what, ‘I’m proud of you,’ sounds like to him when coming from a father figure. I don’t think she knows he’s never heard it until now.

“Thank you,”

he says humbly. He clears his throat, follows my lead at tightly lacing our fingers together.

“And, uh…no problem at all. Really. I really was glad to do it, and—”

he lets out a surprisingly soft laugh.

“—and I didn’t think it would lead to anything real, but…Maggie is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, so I’m grateful, too, that I decided to help her.”

With my heart fluttering, I can’t help interjecting.

“So am I. And that I let you.”

The look he turns on me is bright.

I add.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

No, the look is radiant.

Our moms make similar sounds of squeaky joy while my dad chuckles warmly. I see them all beaming; I think I catch a slight glisten in both women’s eyes.

My mom says.

“I’m thrilled things have gone this way for you two!”

His is nodding big.

“Love it for you both!”

There’s something extra special in the glance she exchanges with her son, and it makes me smile.

Makes me smile more, that is—I’ve apparently already been doing it.

My dad lifts his drink.

“To Maggie and Luke! What a wonderful pair.”

As we all copy him, I feel a blush in my cheeks and the affectionate brush of Luke’s thumb over the back of my hand.

He and I clink our glasses together, and it’s hard to take sips when we’re grinning, but we manage.

After my hand is free again, I touch the necklace he gave me. Then I stifle a giggle that would interrupt what the others have started saying about…whatever they’re talking about…because Luke seriously decided to wear his new shirt over here. It’s so silly and it looks good on him and, mmm, those memories.

He catches me peeking at him and winks at me before squeezing my hand.

“Merry Christmas,”

he murmurs to me.

A giggle does escape me, along with a look of unabashed tenderness.

“Merry Christmas, Luke.”

—

Yes, what a merry Christmas we had with each other, family, and friends.

The holiday vibe has continued past that, as it always does; it’s the last week of the year, so New Year’s is approaching with all the excitement and craziness that usually brings. Joy has planned resolutions, Emma has said resolutions in general are dumb, and I’ve played referee. Various plans and parties have gotten talked about. Luke and Paxton think we should do small fireworks in one of our apartment complex’s parking lot, which I’m pretty sure is not allowed…but I’m the only one in the group who has been nervous about it, so we’ll see what happens.

Something else exciting is that Luke officially applied for the assistant manager position and has had a legitimate interview for it. He has been a little nervous here and there since that talk was more in-depth. Although Mr. Polk didn’t care much about his history of clocking in a few minutes late, Luke promised to continue doing better, and then they discussed his write-up from insulting Marcus. Luke also learned more about what he’d be responsible for with the new job. But nerves aside, he’s had a positive outlook overall. I have, too, even though I know Mr. Polk has interviewed at least one other person; I greeted the man the day he came in for his appointment.

It’s hard not to hope Luke gets it. I can see he’s been trying to be realistic even as his own hope grows, and inexperience aside, it’s actually easy for me to imagine him being Mr. Polk’s choice. Luke knows Lucent. He’s been there for a while. People like him and he’s a hard worker. I mean, he may be goofy and have a slightly different view on rules than I do, but I’ve learned those things aren’t as bad as I used to think. And, really, I believe he has learned that, in some ways, being composed and following rules isn’t as bad as he used to think. If given the chance to do something other than be a bartender, I know he can rise to it.

Bartender Luke sure is perfect the way he is, though….

I guess we’ll just have to see what happens with all of that as well.

—

“I still can’t believe you won a gift card!”

I loop my arm snugly through Luke’s.

“I know!”

he says. We huddle together against the wind as we go down the sidewalk towards Merritt’s.

“So many people were there that night. It was fun to enter the giveaway, but I really didn’t think I stood a chance!”

“Yeah, I didn’t think anyone in our group might win. There were five of us, sure, but when you consider all the other—”

“Well, well, well,”

hits the air, interrupting me, drawing our attention sideways. A guy is shutting his car door and staring at us with a lifted chin.

“Look who I found.”

Luke and I slow our pace. He grows tense while I wonder who that is. I don’t think I….

Wait.

My stomach drops.

Is that…?

“This son of a bitch,”

Luke intones, displeasure suddenly in the place of his previous glee.

I think I’m right.

We stop walking as the guy approaches us. Since he’s older now, he looks a little different from the last time I saw him, but I do remember him. In my memory, I see eleventh-grade Luke hanging out with him at school…see them standing together and talking about Luke dating me because he lost that bet.

“I don’t wanna talk to you, Jayden,”

Luke says presently.

“Well, I wanna talk to you. You’ve been ignoring my texts since that night we met up.”

Jayden gestures at Merritt’s.

“I think you owe me an apology for acting like an asshole. I’m your best friend. You don’t treat best friends like—”

“We’re not best friends anymore. We’re not friends at all.”

Holding my breath, I glance at Luke’s stony expression, then at Jayden’s surprised one.

And Jayden turns his stare from Luke to me, over which my stomach seems to drop even more. I try to control my exhalation.

Does he recognize me?

The wide, unsettling way he smiles makes me think he does.

No. Please leave me alone.

“Oh, man,”

he says. He looks between me and Luke.

“Am I imagining things or is this the girl we fucked with in high school? The one you were all defensive of the other day?”

His mouth falls open and he laughs.

“Is she the girlfriend you have now? Is that why you care so much about whether I feel guilty for what we did?”

Luke’s tone shifts into snappiness.

“Yes, we’re together, and I felt bad about that shit even before we were. I felt bad about it as it was happening. She knows that. You, though? You wanna talk about someone owing an apology? You owe one to her.”

Jayden rolls his eyes out of his laughing.

“No, I don’t.”

He looks at me, holding up his hands.

“It was a harmless prank or game or whatever you wanna call it, and—”

“It was not harmless.”

Luke’s voice is rising, and as much as I want to tell him this guy isn’t worth him getting pissed about, something about it happening is comforting to me.

“It’s bullshit that you don’t have a shred of empathy, Jayden. How do you still not feel bad?”

“Because I didn’t do anything to feel bad about. I was just having fun watching you pay for losing the bet. I told you that the other day.”

While Luke scoffs, Jayden crosses his arms and looks at me. I can see tension returning to him.

“And you must’ve been desperate for companionship if you took him back after such a huge deal,”

he says to me.

“Or maybe he was desperate. I mean, you look better, but if you ask me, you’re still not….”

As he glances over me, he shakes his head slowly and disapprovingly.

My face burns. I’m torn between humiliation and standing the inner ground I’ve been building up lately.

“No one is asking you,”

Luke is informing him.

“Now apologize to her for that and for high school.”

“No,”

Jayden draws out.

“I’m not sorry and I’m not gonna say I am. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Luke’s laugh is utterly empty of amusement.

“Wow,”

he says.

“No wonder you’ve had to cheat your way through your higher education. You’re an absolute fucking moron.”

Jayden rushes at him. I gasp—Luke pulls his arm from mine just before he gets pushed a couple steps backwards.

Fury crashes through me, the breaking of a tidal wave I hadn’t noticed was rising.

I grab Jayden’s shoulder to try to peel him out of his continuing advance.

“Get off of him!” I demand.

His elbow hits me hard and sends me stumbling with a yelp. I grab the instantly-tender place near my own shoulder, and I vaguely hear Jayden call me a bitch—

—before he grunts from Luke’s fist colliding with his face.