Lucas

Lizzie’s room is quiet except for the sound of various apparatus. A regular beep. The whoosh of the ventilator. Sometimes I imagine I can hear her blinks.

The window to her room is open, a light breeze wafting through as early morning sunlight struggles to brighten our surroundings. It’s England, so we can never take the sun for granted. The British are grateful for small mercies.

“I’ve met a girl, Lizzie. A wonderful, prickly girl.”

Tell me about her.

I wander over to the jigsaw puzzle and add a piece. Someone has completed the left side, revealing Hagrid walking down Diagon Alley, his hand resting paternally on Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s carrying Hedwig, his snowy white owl, in a cage and looking up at Hagrid—the father figure—with adoration.

Yes, I’m that transparent.

Our father died nine years ago, a heart attack at the age of forty-three. I was traveling in Thailand at the time, so I missed the funeral. A nice affair, I heard later. Once he’d moved away to Scotland, he didn’t make all that much effort to be a dad to us. Some might say that circumstances snatched the opportunity away from him. Events overtook us.

I could blame outside forces, but I know who’s at fault here.

I add a puzzle piece that looks like the underside of a cauldron and turn back to my sister. Taking a seat, I curl my palm around hers. Her skin is cool to the touch, a few degrees away from death.

“Trinity’s her name. She looks like a warrior princess—fierce hair, fierce eyes, fierce smile. And when she drops that sun on me, I’m a goner.”

So what did you do?

I chuckle. Lizzie knows me so well.

“I tried to move things along. You know how I am.”

Impatient. Impossible.

“That’s what she’s said. It’s sort of complicated between us. Boring legal stuff, but it amounts to me not running something by her and her getting mad. Still, you’d like her. All this fire she brings, but it seems like it’s—well mostly on behalf of other people. Her sister, her nephew. She’s big on supporting other people, putting everyone else first. All this ferocity, and she won’t draw on it for herself.”

I shake my head, questioning the accuracy of my conclusion. I’m willing to fight for my sister, my clients, for Trinity. If I want something, I take it.

Sure, if I want to bury my guilt, I pay a few quid for a complete stranger to read to my sister.

Lizzie’s breathing stops for a moment. Occasionally this happens and it terrifies me. What if this is the time she forgets how to inhale?

I squeeze her hand. “Fight, Lizzie. I’m here. I love you.”

She exhales. So do I.

The nurses say her immune system is weak, that an infection could carry her away. They say it matter-of-factly, their tone clear: Maybe it would be for the best.

I know what’s best for my sister. If she can’t fight, I will fight for her.

Trinity

It’s been two days, and I haven’t talked to Lucas since I left his office in my ripped leather pants looking like I’d been well and truly fucked—in all meanings of the phrase. Yes, I freaked out over Brian, but Lucas really should have checked in with me first before he got Brian’s permission.

Gah! The idea that this guy has any say over my sex life makes me ill. To have Brian looming over me wielding this power is unbearable. And for Lucas to make that decision for me? No way.

Then there’s Emily. What would she think of me knocking boots with the enemy? She’d feel betrayed by the one person she needs most right now. Like you did all those years ago, Trin. I thought I’d stowed that hurt deep, but recent events are making me rehash it all over again.

Guilt is my new bestie, so in order to make myself feel less culpable, I’ve agreed to babysit Arianna and by default, Chase. Emily has her Animal Flow class, where she taps into her primal self in the name of fitness. She’s the kind of girl who really needs endorphin boosting, so if that has to come in the form of crawling around a germ-ridden gym mat pretending to be a tiger, I’m all for it. However, it leaves me with the devil child.

I jest. Sort of.

Ari’s not completely evil, but she does appear to have early sociopathic tendencies that I think might best be handled by a child psychologist. Only a couple of weeks ago I tripped over a pink Barbie Glam Cruise convertible mysteriously placed on the top rung of the stair. As I soothed my sore butt, the sound of Ari’s laughter rang in my ears.

Then I found the same toy in the same place the next day.

So she’s not tearing wings off flies. Yet. But it’s in the eyes. I see flashes of The Omen at work.

We’re spending the afternoon in one of my favorite places in the city, the Alfred Caldwell Lily Pool. This little-known spot on the edge of Lincoln Park behind the conservatory is the best-kept secret in Chicago. A duck pond sheltered by trees, it’s an oasis away from the craziness of city life. You enter by a hidden gate on Fullerton and wend your way along a stone walk encircling a lily pool. Birdsong and the gentle sounds of a waterfall fill your ears, and it’s easy to forget that a busy city bustles outside the gates.

Good thing I have a moody teen to remind me.

“This is boring,” Chase says.

“How would you know? You haven’t taken your eyes off your phone.”

He takes his eyes off it now, only to roll them.

“This is what your sister wants. Right, Ari? You want to see the ducks?”

“Ducks!”

Exactly.

I take a breath, seeking peace after my argument with Lucas.

I should have explained my objections to Brian more clearly. And I would have if I’d realized that this was evolving into something much more serious than I’d planned. Not that I planned a thing. This entire fiasco was completely unplanned—it’s reckless, sexy, and just a little bit absurd.

Take Lucas Wright, a man who wears ugly golfer pants and dumb T-shirts and jaunty hats. I mean, who wears hats in this day and age? He’s loud and raucous and not my type at all. Too young, too hot, too everything.

Why should I share anything important with a man like this? He won’t be around for the long haul. I can’t imagine a future with Lucas—except when I think of him not being in it, I feel ill.

I take a plastic bag of bread out of my purse and hand it off to Ari. “Want to feed them?”

“It’s not legal,” Chase says. “There was a sign when we came in.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Law and Order.”

“I want to feed the ducks,” Ari says with steely resolve.

“Feed away, kid.” Better she’s nurturing them than decimating them. I watch her carefully, ensuring she stays close and doesn’t fall in. Off in the distance, a gentle but persistent quacking fills my ears.

A raft of ducks descends on the single piece of bread Ari throws in. She looks with grim satisfaction at the havoc she’s created. The raucous quacking continues.

“Duck’s hurt!” Ari exclaims.

“He’s just annoying,” I say, but I then look closer. The duck appears to be spinning in circles, Exorcist-style, flapping its wings, and being a general nuisance. Another duck—maybe annoyed by Duck No. 1—is also bringing the noise, screeching in duck at his buddy.

It occurs to me that maybe Duck No. 2 and Ari are onto something. Duck’s hurt.

Any further investigation is superseded by a series of unexpected events, starting with the appearance of a red, white, and blue blur, which lands in the duck pond.

“Hey, it’s Coach,” Chase says, as if this is completely normal.

It is Lucas, and he’s doing something to the duck.

Okay, he’s saving the duck. I think. After a titanic struggle, he lifts the duck out of the water to reveal—holy shit!—a turtle’s jaws attached to one of the duck’s spindly legs.

“Turtle!” Ari screams.

Duck-turtle combo beast in hand, Lucas wades through the water toward us. That turtle is determined; he’s not letting go. “Grab a stick, mate!”

“What?” I screech helplessly, but Chase is on it and back with a stick he pulled from the wooded area along the path.

Lucas places the duck down in the water, takes the stick from Chase, and jabs under the surface—at the turtle, I assume. A few people, drawn by the commotion, line the pond watching this battle between man and beast unfold.

“Poke it!” Chase yells, and soon we’re all bellowing variations on “Poke it!” “Do it!” and “Kill it!” (Ari. What did I tell you?)

Finally the duck stops thrashing and swims off to the center of the pond, free of the evil turtle, and followed by his companion. Applause breaks out. We all grin stupidly, happy in the communal bubble of having witnessed something special, and just a little amazed at how it all went down.

Lucas stands waist-deep in the pond, hands on hips, peering up at me with a big, goofy smile.

Aw hell, I’m falling for this guy.

“Get out of there!” I yell, mostly because I’m annoyed at how pleased I am to see him and how—shit shit shit—I might have more than pants-feelings for him. “That turtle is probably looking for new meat.”

He strides to the edge of the pond and hoists himself onto the path with his yoga strength. I pull on his arm as if I’m helping, but really just to feel up his biceps, which look amazing. He’s wearing white (now pond-gray) jeans, red Converse, and a blue tee with the slogan: “I may not be right, but I can sure sound like it.”

“Why are you here?”

“Why do you think?”

I turn to Chase. “Did you tell him where we were?”

“He’s been helping me with my math homework.”

Really? That’s so sweet. Besides, I can’t blame Chase. I suspect Lucas will always find a way.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas says.

“No. Don’t.” I can’t bear to hear him atoning for my overreaction.

He addresses Chase. “Mate, can I trust you to keep an eye on your sister for a second?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Standing and shaking off the pond water, Lucas holds out his hand. “I’ll take the phone while you’re on watch duty.”

Chase frowns but hands it over immediately, then takes some of the bread from the bag. Lucas assesses the child care situation and, once satisfied it’s to his liking, he takes my hand and leads me down the path until we’re out of earshot. He high-fives two guys on the way.

“Lucas, you’re wet. You need to dry off.”

“In a minute. Something to say first. I handled this all wrong. I should have run the waiver business by you first and made sure you were involved in that decision. It was disrespectful. I wanted you, you see. More than I’ve ever wanted anything, and when I saw you at that tasting kicking ass and taking names and just being all around fucking awesome, I didn’t want to wait a second longer.”

My heart is pounding ten times harder than the moment ago when I thought Lucas’s wedding tackle was about to be ravaged by a turtle. “You saw me doing my job and realized you had to have me?”

“Pretty much.”

“Witnessing me operating in my chosen field drove you to such heights of insatiable lust that it made you lose your mind?”

“That about sums it—”

I kiss him before he can finish, an all-in, filled-with-gratitude kiss. I shouldn’t be this grateful, should I? I should just accept his hard-on for my competence as my due, but no one has ever seen me like Lucas does. I feel respected and desired, which is a heady combo.

“This isn’t all on you,” I whisper against his lips. “I overreacted when you were just trying to eliminate an obstacle.” I pause, wondering if I should tell him exactly why Brian’s blessing makes my skin crawl. Too soon, a little voice says. “I had no idea that this would turn into something.”

He brings my hand up to his heart, covered by his wet T-shirt, which is very, very distracting. “Something?”

“I can’t label it, so something will have to do.”

“How about I label it?”

I shake my head vehemently. “Don’t. As soon as you do, it places expectations on us.”

“You mean it places expectations on you?”

I clam up, unsure how to elaborate or even if I should. I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t think Lucas would do that consciously, but why would he choose me for the long haul? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been tossed aside.

My gaze dips over him, taking in all the sexy, noting how his wet clothes mold to every perfect angle, plane, and bulge. Particularly the one that’s magnetizing my greedy, grasping eyeballs.

“We really need to get you out of those wet clothes—”

“And into a wetter woman,” he finishes, this time with a deep kiss that fills my soul.