I DIDN’T KNOW what it said about me that I could swallow down Lucas’s bitterness easier than the impassivity. I’d hurt him—that much was obvious. He wouldn’t have lashed out otherwise. That revelation had me breathing out a sigh of relief, because the thought of him not giving a shit about me, about what happened between us, hurt worse than any hate he could throw my way. At least now I had pushed a sore, vulnerable spot. At least now I knew he cared. Or had.

The soft sound of water dripping onto the hardwood from my soaked clothes had me moving down the hall toward the bathroom he mentioned. And if I remembered right…

I cracked open a set of retractable doors across from the bathroom to reveal a washer and dryer, brand new, but in the same spot I’d seen Gram folding baskets of clothes years ago. After glancing behind me to make sure I was still alone, I peeled off my shirt, followed by my pants, and put them in the dryer. Then I cranked it on high, grabbed a towel from the overhead cubby, and dipped into the bathroom to shower.

There was still scalding-hot water, even with Lucas showering upstairs, but I rinsed off quickly anyway and then wrapped the towel around my waist.

Out in the hall, picture frames still littered the walls, the same way I remembered them, and I stopped in front of one of Lucas and his parents, taken shortly before he’d come to South Haven. With his black hair and bronzed skin, he was the spitting image of his welder father, especially now, and Lucas always said he got his love of drawing from his fair-haired artist mother.

Huh. He’d combined his parents’ jobs of welding and art to make something of his own.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

At Lucas’s angry tone, I spun around to where he stood at the end of the hall, eyes blazing. And damn. Freshly showered looked as good on him as his rain-soaked clothes had. He’d put on a pair of ripped jeans and a blue Seattle t-shirt, which was so faded he’d probably bought it to remember his hometown before moving south, and his hair was still wet and almost spiky on top. Amazing how hot he still looked. His body was leanly toned in the way where you knew he did physical labor for a living, and there was a confident set to his shoulders that I’d only seen glimpses of in school. He’d fully come into his own at some point, and a twinge of regret twisted in my gut that I’d missed it.

“The fuck are you doing in a towel?” he said, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Lose your clothes somewhere?”

“You told me to shower.”

“I didn’t tell you to run around my house naked.”

Well, no, he hadn’t told me that, but judging by the heated stare, he didn’t mind as much as he protested.

Holding the towel in place where I’d tucked it in at my waist, I shrugged. “Not completely naked. Besides, did you want me to sit on your couch in wet clothes?” I nodded at the still-running dryer. “They’ll be done in a minute.”

Lucas gave an annoyed sigh as he avoided my bare chest, but that meant his gaze fell to the only covered part of me, and it lingered there below my waist long enough that my cock stood up and immediately took notice. Lucas’s eyes widened at the involuntary reaction beneath my towel, and he coughed before turning on his heel. “Make yourself at home, then, I guess.”

Wow… I still make him nervous. A smile crossed my lips at the thought. I still make this sexy, confident man nervous. That probably shouldn’t have made me harder—but it did. I reached down to get myself under control, pinching the head of my semi. “Will do,” I said.

But before he got to the opening of the kitchen, Lucas stopped, and then a second later said, “Hungry?”

The rumble of my stomach answered the question for me, and he nodded before heading into the kitchen.

It was funny…as begrudging as he was about me being there, Lucas’s manners wouldn’t allow him to not offer food or a place to ride out the storm. So as pompous as he wanted to be, and with whatever angry words he wanted to spew my way, I’d take them, because at heart, Lucas was a good soul. He may be different now, but that part of him would never change. And that made me want to get to know the man I’d lost.

When I followed him into the kitchen, he ignored me and went about setting out sandwich meat, bread, and condiment jars. I took a seat on one of the barstools at the island, and he continued to avoid looking in my direction. But him not looking at me gave me plenty of time to watch him, something that was unwanted if the clattering of plates he purposely dropped and the slamming of the utensil drawers were any indication.

“I’m not distracting you, am I?” I asked. And there I go again, pushing my luck.

“Yes. You are.”

“Is it me or my nakedness that bothers you more?”

Lucas’s hand stilled where he’d been spreading mayo on a slice of bread. “Your general presence is irritating and unwelcome.”

I stifled a laugh. Way to be abrupt. “You’re a little more direct than you used to be.”

“When I said you had to stay and wait things out, I didn’t say we’d be reminiscing.”

“So we can’t talk?”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Nothing nice, you mean,” I said. “Well, that’s okay, because I have something to say to you.”

“Jackson, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You’re gonna hear it whether you want to or not. It needs to be said.”

“See, that’s the thing—it doesn’t.” He pointed at me with a butter knife and glared. “I don’t want to hear a half-assed apology or whatever you’ve got comin’, so you might as well save your breath. You’re eight years too late, and I’m not interested.”

Well, I supposed he thought that settled that. Unfortunately for him, we had a few hours to kill, and I didn’t do silence well. He seemed to react only when poked, so I bit back a grin as I said, “You’re a bit of a selfish, stubborn ass. When did that happen?”

The knife clattered onto the table. “I’m selfish? I’m selfish?”

“Mhmm. Seem to be.”

“Well. At least you’d know something about that.”

My smile dimmed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what that means.” He folded a few slices of ham, turkey, and cheese onto the sandwiches, shaking his head the whole time.

“Okay. Let’s get it all out there. You’re upset because I left—”

“No,” he said, shoving the plate in my direction with enough force that I had to catch the sandwich before it went sliding off. “You don’t get to assume anything about me.”

“At least I’m finally getting a reaction. For a little while there, I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”

“Wish I could forget,” he muttered, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and then slamming it shut. Then he popped off the cap, tossed it aside, and guzzled the beer down.

Jesus. That fucking stings. I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Really? That easy for you, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Wow. Your gram know you turned into such a jackass?”

“Gram’s dead.”

My jaw snapped shut as those two words made my head spin, and the words that’d been on the end of my tongue disappeared. Shit, his gram was…dead? Way to stick your entire foot in your mouth, asshole.

“Lucas, I’m so—”

“Sorry?” He snorted and leaned against the island. “I already told you not to waste your breath with that shit.”

“I am, though. I know she meant a lot to you.”

His gaze stayed on the window that overlooked the backyard as he took another sip of his beer. He didn’t have to say anything for me to know how much her death—whenever it’d happened—hurt. Continued to hurt. God, he didn’t have anyone left, did he?

Like he’d heard my thoughts, he shrugged, as if to say, “Shit happens.” And then to close out that conversation, he picked up his sandwich and we ate in tense silence. I’d poked the bear enough today. A defensive Lucas wasn’t one I could get through to, so once the angry red flush crept back down below the neck of his shirt, I vowed to rein it in.

Once I’d finished lunch and declined seconds, he took our dishes over to the sink and washed and dried them while I went to check on my clothes. They were just dry enough, so I quickly dressed and hung the towel back over the rack in the bathroom. When I returned to the kitchen, rolling the sleeves of my shirt up my forearms, Lucas was still at the sink. His back was toward me, his hands spread wide on the counter as he stared out as the rain gathered in puddles around the yard.

I had all intentions of leaving him alone to his thoughts, but before I could sneak back out, his quiet voice grabbed hold of me.

“Why’re you here, Jackson?”

“Because you won’t let me leave.” When that didn’t get him to look my way or crack a smile, I blew out a breath. “I had a work meeting—” I started, but he waved me off.

“No, I don’t mean the bullshit excuse about work or the piece. I mean why’d you go lookin’ for me Friday?”

“I…” Why had I gone looking for him? It wasn’t just to say I was sorry—that hadn’t even crossed my mind at the time. But I couldn’t even understand the whys of it myself. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“I overheard your name at a diner that morning, and I… I had to see you.”

Lucas lowered his head, rubbing between his brows with his thumb, and somehow I knew his eyes were closed as if he were in prayer.

“Jackson…” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Off in the distance, there was a crash, like falling timber, and then…the lights flickered out.