Page 12 of The Shift Between Us (Covewood #2)

Chapter Five

Luke

T he loud clank of weights smacking against metal irritates my already dismantled nerves.

I’m at the gym with Ryland, both of us slick with sweat from the past hour of pushing ourselves hard.

I’ve been trying to clear my mind, focusing on the burn in my muscles and praying it will scorch away the frustration of the last twenty-four hours.

One phone call from my father unraveled everything. It’s been years since I’ve seen him, and you’d think I would’ve used that time to let go of the past. Yet, I’ve let my pride stand in the way, choosing to despise him instead.

Sometimes giving someone a second chance is like giving them an extra bullet for their gun because they missed you the first time.

That’s what it would be like to forgive my father.

I’ve chosen to hang on to the truth, to the pain, in order to protect myself.

You can’t be prepared for war by pretending the person coming after you isn’t still out there waiting.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Ryland gasps, his chest heaving rapidly .

He sets his weights down and drops to the floor next to his water. I fight a grin as I watch him chug his bottle of electrolytes until it’s empty. Even in high school, he couldn’t keep up with my workouts, and yet he still shows up to the gym with me each day.

“Just trying to do my best-man duties and get you ripped before your honeymoon.”

He frowns up at me. “I told you, my brother would kill me if I didn’t let him be the best man.”

“I don’t care what you say. We both know that I’m your best man in spirit.” I wink at him.

He raises a hand toward me, and I grab it, hoisting him up until he’s back on his feet.

“I should’ve made everyone a best man. Can I do that?”

I shrug, grabbing Ryland’s fifty-pound weights, and start doing curls. He shakes his head, disbelieving that I can keep going. With these negative thoughts swirling around inside my brain, I push through the pain of a long, hard workout until every negative thought has been pumped out of my system.

“How’s the leg?” He eyes the brace I’m wearing over my right kneecap.

“It’s better. Just wearing this as a precaution,” I reply, patting the brace.

“Well, I think we’ve done enough for the day.” He looks at his watch. “I need to go pick up Annabelle.”

“You can head out. I have a few more things I want to do before I’ll call it a night.”

He eyes me cautiously, running a hand through his hair, an understanding passing between the two of us.

If anyone understands the ghosts of my past—besides Raine—it’s Ryland.

He watched, firsthand, some of the worst moments of Raine’s and my lives.

He also dealt with an abusive father who chose alcohol over loving his children.

The difference between Ryland and me is he had a supportive grandfather who stepped up and helped him to heal those dark parts of himself.

I didn’t have anyone to lean on—well, besides God, of course.

It feels like I’m handling this all on my own, and so far, prayer and the gym are the only things keeping me afloat.

“When the gym isn’t enough, I’ll be here anytime you’re ready to talk.”

I look away, focusing on the floor. I know I can talk to him. Some days, I want to, but as I open my mouth to say something, I cave and keep my feelings locked up. I’m going to have to work on that soon. Just not today.

I take a deep breath, shoving the thoughts away, and give Ryland a friendly smile as I pat his shoulder. “Thanks, man. I appreciate that.”

“I’ll see you Thursday?” he asks, grabbing his things.

Since Thanksgiving, Raine’s been hosting weekly dinners on Thursday nights to bring our group of friends back together. After moving away ten years ago, she missed a lot—and now, she’s determined not to miss anything else.

I’m glad she’s back in Covewood. Raine’s like my little sister—one who shares the same nightmares as me.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

I hop into my car after the gym and start the engine. Just as I shift into drive, my phone rings, and my grandma’s name flashes on the radio display.

I grunt, instantly reminded of the upcoming Christmas trip to Indiana with my dad’s side of the family. I love my family, but being around them is hard. Even though my father won’t be there, his ghost always is.

My mom usually comes with me. She’s stayed close with my dad’s family over the years and uses the trip to also visit old college friends. It’s a whole thing—one I quietly dread every single year.

“Hey, Nonni.” I put the phone call over the speakers so I can start the drive to my house.

“Luke, how’s my favorite grandson?”

“You say every grandchild is your favorite.”

“Because they are!” she squeals. I’ve always loved her thick Italian accent. “I have to talk to you about something.”

I don’t like the way her voice cracks on that last word. It unsettles me, and I start to wonder…has my father tried to contact her too? What would that even mean? I feel the urge to hang up, to dodge this conversation entirely, but I don’t want to upset her.

“Yeah?” I ask, swallowing away the bile rising in my throat, and try to brace myself.

“Your father has kidney cancer.” I can hear the quake in her voice. I hate myself for not feeling an ounce of grief over the thought of my father dying from cancer. If anything, I cling to the fact that karma finally got the best of him.

“And? What’s this have to do with me?”

She scoffs, muttering something in Italian I can’t translate, then continues, “I know how awful your father has been. What a terrible parent he was to you. I’m speaking from experience when I say that it’s better to let go of hatred. It’ll only rot you from the inside.”

She exhales, and I can almost see her pinching the bridge of her nose, like she always does when talking about him.

“Your father was homeless. He needed a place to stay. And now that he’s in hospice…we let him come here. I just thought?—”

“Thought what? That I would feel sorry for him? Because I don’t.”

“Luke! Now you listen to me. This can be your opportunity to work on your heart. To finally let go of the hurt from your past. To finally move forward.”

“He doesn’t deserve my forgiveness,” I spit, feeling the heat of anger rise up my neck. I shouldn’t take this out on her. She has been nothing but supportive and kind to my mother and me, despite the neglect from her son.

“We all make mistakes and need forgiveness. I’m not asking you to forget what he’s done. I’m asking you to consider what it might feel like to finally lay that burden down. God knows your pain. He knows exactly what your father did. Don’t you think He’ll bring you healing once you let it go?”

I’ve heard all this before—from my mother, from Raine, from members of my church, and from my therapist. And yet, I still refuse to listen, because I’m too stubborn to let go of the hurt.

It's the sort of pain that took place on a molecular level; it always requires more work than it's worth.

I'm only going to put myself through that kind of pain again when necessary, which historically has been when my back is against the wall.

Right now, I still feel like I have a choice, and I'm taking it.

“I’m allowed to take my time to heal,” I admit, more to myself than to her.

“Yes, you are. But your time is running out.” Her voice falters, and I hate the sound of it.

There it is—that backed-into-a-corner feeling–like God’s quietly nudging me, telling me this is the moment to finally let go and start working on my heart. So why does it scare me so much?

“We have decided to move our Christmas celebration to next weekend. To give everyone a chance to say goodbye.”

“I can’t—” I say, pulling onto the side of the road because I’m starting to feel like I’m suffocating. I roll down my window, letting in the frigid air, inhaling a deep breath and welcoming the prickling feeling it leaves in the back of my throat. I pray that it’ll distract me from my racing heart.

“Luke, please come. Not for him. Not for me. But for you.”

I suck in another chest-burning breath, tightening my grip on the steering wheel to keep my hands from shaking .

God, I’m not ready for this. I might not ever be. Help me, please.

“I’ll think about it,” I say to her before we say our goodbyes and end the phone call.

So many emotions are swirling inside of me, and I have no idea what to do with them all. If I hadn’t already been to the gym, I’d turn right around and go back. I need something to take the edge off.

It’s moments like this when I start craving the taste of alcohol.

As a teenager, drinking was the only way I knew how to cope.

It numbed the pain and silenced my fears.

I believed I needed it just to survive each day, but after the night of our graduation party, I caught my reflection in the mirror and saw someone I barely recognized—someone dangerously close to becoming my father.

That night, I chose sobriety. I’ve held onto it ever since, determined not to become anything like him.

I place my forehead onto the steering wheel and inhale a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling. I repeat the silent prayer until the chaos inside me settles into a quiet calm.

My phone pings, bringing me back to reality, and I see that it’s a message from Olivia.

Liv:

I might have finally perfected the recipe on my gingerbread-latte cookies.

*Photo of her smiling with a tray of cookies*

When Olivia smiles, it’s like her joy can’t be contained. It pours out of her, radiant and effortless. It’s not just beautiful; it’s healing, like a balm to the raw places I keep hidden. Go to her , my heart whispers, aching to close the space between us, but then my doubts begin to stir.

She’s light—brilliant, steady, warm. And I’m just the aftermath of too many storms. Cracked in ways no one can see. What if being near me dims her light? What if I pull her into the darkness I haven’t been able to escape?

She deserves better than the wreckage of a man I’ve become.

It’s why I ignored her yesterday. Why I kept my distance. Because the dark place I was in would only strangle out the positivity she carries. She’s the type of woman who needs room to blossom, to reach as high as she can to soak in as much light as she can get.

Lately, I’ve watched her start to wilt with all her failed attempts at dating. I’d only cause her to wilt even more.

Even so, I’m too weak to stay away from her. Because as she sends me another photo of her with Buttercream, remembering how she said he was ours , my heart takes over and drives me toward her house. I park my car in her driveway, behind her bright-yellow car, and stay frozen in my seat.

I try to talk myself out of going inside, convincing my heart that she’s better off without me crowding up her tiny home with the gloomy clouds that always seem to follow me.

However, I remind myself that it's okay because Olivia knows everything.

All of my nightmares. All of my secrets. All except for one.

One that has haunted me since the night of our high school graduation party.