Trinity

“Hey!” Ten minutes after leaving Lucas, I walk into Emily’s house and stop cold on seeing her expression. Sucked down a lemon would be a fairly accurate description.

“I can’t believe you’d do that to me.”

“I’d planned to tell you, but it happened kind of quickly and other stuff got in the way…”

She turns away from me and stalks into the living room. A bottle of wine is already open—just the one glass—and she sits down, not inviting me to get comfortable.

I take a seat beside her anyway.

“He’s the enemy, Trinity,” she whines, sounding very like me a month ago. “He wants us to sell the house. Take my children’s home away from me.”

“Look, that what’s I thought. The enemy thing, but I do know that he’s just doing his job. Like your lawyer’s doing her job.”

I know Lucas. He’s a great guy. Funny and sweet and sensitive, and yeah, great in the sack. Am I really choosing my neglected lady parts over family? But surely I deserve some happiness as well. I can’t always be the last girl chosen for sports ball.

She grabs her glass and takes a slug. “Is this even legal? Aren’t there rules about consorting with the enemy?”

“There are but Brian said it was okay.”

She explodes. “Brian knows? Well, of course, he’s okay with it. He has you in his pocket now, playing for his team. Telling them stuff about me. He has all the advantages, the inside track.” She looks around as if there’s evidence on every surface that I could use against her.

I squeeze her hand; she pulls away. “You know what I think of Brian. He’s a no-good cheating jerk and you could not pay me to play for his team. This thing with Lucas kind of blindsided me, but you don’t have to worry. We don’t talk about your case because of lawyer-client confidentiality so there’s no inside track to be had.”

She assesses me sharply, that lip bite I know so well telling me that her mind is working all the angles. “Maybe he could tell you things. Strategy things.”

“So if Brian does it, it’s taking advantage, but if you do, it’s not?”

“I need all the advantages I can get!”

You’ve had nothing but advantages your entire life, sis. I suppress this uncharitable thought. Ems can’t help being weak. But maybe it’s a trap I’ve created for us. I like being in charge. I like being needed, and Emily needs me. Have I been enabling her all this time just to give myself a purpose?

I move closer to her and throw an arm around her shoulder, willing her to relax into me. “You are my number one, not some hot guy with amazing cheekbones, and sparkling blue eyes, and a dick I want to bronze.”

“Oh my God, really? I saw a photo of him online but I didn’t expect him to be so good-looking in person. And the dick as well?”

I nod solemnly. “Praise the dick.”

She laughs and leans her head on my shoulder. I love her for trying. “He’s got…interesting fashion sense. Does he wear that hat when he fucks you?”

“Ems!” I’m all affront, but then I add a wink. “Of course not, but I’m going to ask him the next time.” That sets us off giggling like teens, just like old times.

“God, I miss sex,” my sister says.

“With Brian?” I bite my lip. “Sorry, it’s just you said it wasn’t all that in recent years.”

“I know, but it’s like pizza. Bad pizza is better than no pizza.” She shrugs helplessly. “Mostly I miss the cuddling, that closeness you feel with another person. It’s been so long that today I almost gagged on my toothbrush and got turned on!”

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re not. I assume the Lucas-made orgasms are out of this world?”

“So-so.”

“Bitch.”

I grin, relishing the rare feeling of smugness and wanting to hold on to it for a while.

Ems sighs. “Well, enjoy it while it lasts. Brian used to make me shave his back. That’s what marriage is all about.”

“Ew! You’re well out of it, sis.”

We stay quiet for a while, both of us lost in our thoughts. After a moment, she speaks. “Remember when we went to Six Flags as kids and you had to drag me on every single roller coaster because I was a big ole scaredy-cat?”

“Yeah, I was a mean sister.”

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about. I needed someone to push me, to tell me the rush I’d get was worth those brief moments of fear. You did that. You’ve always done that.”

That was me. That is me. Protector and pusher. My own memories of that time have a different blush to them, though—going to Six Flags with Emily and her dad where more than once it was made clear that I was different. Other. Ticket takers, servers, the workers running the coasters would ask, Are you on your own, honey? Where’s your mom and dad? And Evan would assure them I was with him and Emily, his words intended to soothe but feeling like sandpaper over a raw wound. She’s with me. This is my stepdaughter.

I push those memories away. “Then we went with Chase and his friends when he was what—eleven? And neither of us would go up on them.”

“With age comes the knowledge those machines could drop out of the sky at any second.”

“But I used to love them,” I say. The anticipation, the climb, the drop. Nothing scared me, but over the last few years, I’ve retreated to another place. Played it safe.

Until Lucas.

Emily wrinkles her nose. “Does he know about—?”

“No,” I cut her off before she can say it and taint our truce.

She pulls back, her eyes alive with concern. “Don’t you think that’s something you should share?”

“I will. I just—shit, I didn’t expect anything to come of it. He’s supposed to be the good-time guy, the jump-starter, the one who gets the juices flowing. Not a…possibility.”

“Funny how things can just spiral out of control like that.” For once, Emily looks and sounds like the older one. Miraculously wiser after a crappy year. Why the hell do we have to go through hell to gain all the fucking insight?

We’re okay for now, but this feels like a tremor in our relationship, a precursor to the big one—and I’m not sure how I’m going to react when those tectonic plates shift.

---

Sunday night, and the Library is hopping. We have three parties in for whiskey tastings, one of which is a bit rowdy, but nothing I can’t handle. What I’m having trouble handling is the deadweight of my heavy heart, telling me I screwed up with Lucas.

I left messages for him after I made up with Emily yesterday, but I haven’t heard back. That he might be in pain because I chose to run after my sister has my stomach in knots.

“Heads up,” Gideon says. “Three o’clock.”

I look to the right.

“Your other three o’clock.”

Stupid guy directions. To my left I see that the man of my fantasies has just walked into the bar. He captures my gaze with an intensity that flays me alive as he approaches, stopping short a few feet.

I look at him more closely. It’s like staring at a sun that’s been drained of life.

“Lucas.” I grasp his hand and pull him forward. “What’s wrong?”

His fingers curl around mine. His expression brightens by a few watts, and knowing my touch does this for him lifts me up.

“I know it’s late, but I figured my friendly bartender would be willing to pour beer down my throat regardless of the hour. Or if you won’t do it because you’re a liquor snob, maybe I can convince Treebeard to help out.”

We left things weird, stuck in that space of mistrust when we should have been basking in the glow of finally. I want to tell him we’re good, that Emily’s on board.

“Would you like to go somewhere? There’s an office in back.”

“No.” He looks uncomfortable, which is strange because Lucas is usually so at home in his own skin. “I want to just stare at you and not feel obliged to talk. I want to feast my eyes on beauty and life and everything good. Do you think you could do that for me?”

Who could refuse such a request?

“Of course.” I lead him to a stool near the end of the bar, one that will give him a good view of the space if he wants to…uh, watch me. I call over to Gideon. “Give the man whatever he wants.”

“I have a break in about thirty minutes,” I say to Lucas. “We don’t have to talk or anything, but if you feel like it, I’ll be here.”

He curves an arm around my waist and pulls me close. His eyes scorch me with their intensity. “You’re a good woman, Trinity Jones. Far too good for the likes of me. But I don’t care. I’m keeping you.”

I cup his jaw and hold his gaze. He’s not drunk. He’s completely sober, yet his words are the words of a madman. Usually Lucas projects a “high on life” attitude, but this…this is something else.

“Maybe I don’t want to be kept.”

“No.” He releases me with a light tap on my ass. “You’re no one’s possession. I don’t mean that—I’m just rambling, love. Ignore me. Off now and tell the world about the demon drink.”

Gideon places a pint down before him. “You okay, Lucas?”

“Yeah, mate. Peachy. As long as I’ve got a beer and my girl, all is good.”

Gideon and I exchange looks. Subdued Lucas is weird Lucas. Philosophical Lucas is even more odd, but hey, no one can be 100 percent on all the time.

My chest warms at seeing facets of this man I never knew existed.

“Give me a shout if you need anything,” I say, meaning both Lucas and Gideon.

Lucas salutes me, but it’s like he has to think about it first. His default setting of bonhomie is on the fritz.

I return to work. Every time I head back to the bar, I do a visual check-in with Lucas. Sometimes he smiles, more often he doesn’t. He just drinks me in.

And it’s intoxicating.

My rowdy party is investment bankers, and one of them keeps trying to light a cigar even though I tell him he can’t. The third time I try to enforce this rule, he grabs my wrist.

“Have a drink with us, angel.”

His gaze runs point over my legs, revealed in a short skirt I wouldn’t normally wear. But being with Lucas has given me confidence and made me feel sexier of late. I pull away gently, though my skin is crawling.

“On the clock, gentlemen. No can do.”

“What about after?” Bloodshot eyes peer up at me through lank, sweat-drenched hair. “You can help me with my fuck-it list.”

I don’t like the sound of that, so I refuse to ask a follow-up question. Instead I laugh it off like I’m the dumb server who doesn’t get what the important men are saying.

“No fraternizing with the clients,” I say with a wink. “Keeps things simple.”

“His fuck-it list!” one of his mouthy friends yells, as if everyone needs reminding. Whatever it means, it makes them all bust a gut laughing. We’ve finished the tasting, so now I’m just bringing rounds of scotch to them. This is definitely the last one.

“What are you missing, John?” one guy throws out to the fuck-it-list guy. “An Asian chick and…” He trails off and the rest of them chuckle with a pointed look in my direction. One of their party looks a little uncomfortable, but remains quiet. A real stand-up guy.

I understand the fuck-it list now. I’m the “it” in this scenario, but really who I am doesn’t matter. It’s my supposed exoticness that’s of value, a check box on some inventory.

Fuck-it-list guy stands up and places a hand on my arm to steer me away from the group. “Sorry about them, they’re dicks when they drink.”

And I think you’re probably a dick even when you don’t drink.

“No problem!” Disarm and de-escalate. A woman’s weapons. “I’ll bring your check.” Even though you haven’t asked for it.

“You’re throwing us out? Hey, that’s no way to be. They’re just kidding. They didn’t mean anything by it.” Right, the defense of every asshole bro racist ever.

“Uh-huh.” I’m not going to get into it. One step back. “Like I said, no problem. Plus we’re closing up in about ten minutes.” This is true, thank God.

He steps with me. We’re in the middle of a crowded bar. I should feel safe.

I don’t.

His fingers brush my waist. It’s the last thing he does before he’s shoved away with force.

I pray it’s Gideon, but my mind knows it’s not. My mind knows that Lucas was watching every microsecond of my interaction with this piece of shit and now he’s here to play at white knight.

“Hey, what’s your problem?” Fuck-it-list guy yells.

“You are. Touch her again and I will end you,” Lucas grates, his accent like a Guy Ritchie street thug. “I’ve had a pretty shit day and I’m just looking for an excuse to pound someone. You want to give it to me?”

“Lucas, it’s okay.”

“Is it?” He stares at me, and I can see that whatever’s eating away at him has had a five-course meal. He’s being torn apart.

I only have to think it and Gideon appears, his expression telling me he has this. I take Lucas’s hand. Initially he resists, preferring to get a few more death stares in, but after a moment he relents. We travel down a corridor, around a corner, and into our small office. I push him into a chair and close the door.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“That arsemonger laid a hand on you.”

“Well, that arsemonger was a customer and I had it under control.” What is an arsemonger anyway? Is it like a fishmonger? A seller of arses?

“Everything good with Emily?”

I swallow at the abrupt change of topic. “Yeah, we made up. I left you messages. I wanted to tell you.”

His eyes bore into me. “I wasn’t trying to make you choose. I wouldn’t expect to come out on the good side of that.”

I should say, yes, I would choose you in a heartbeat. There’s no question. Instead I respond with, “She’d never ask for that. It’s not even an option.”

He remains quiet, the space filling with unspoken accusation. If she had asked, if my being with Lucas truly hurt her, where would we be?

I made it clear from the beginning that Emily and her kids are my primary concern. They need me. But I didn’t expect this to happen with Lucas, where the notion of choosing him—choosing us—over Emily might ever be an option. Might even be a choice that needs to be made.

Luckily it doesn’t, but the implication remains: I’ve failed a test.

“Luc—”

A knock sounds on the door and Gideon’s voice echoes. “Trin, we’re closing up.”

“Okay! Gimme a sec.” To Lucas, I say, “Could you wait here ten minutes while I finish out there? Please. I want to talk.”

His nod is curt. We’re not over this hump yet, but I’m determined that before the night is through, Lucas and I will be on the same page.