Trinity

I knock back a glass of Laphroaig while Pete and Gideon stare at me in horror.

“What?”

Gid takes the bottle away from me. “You didn’t even taste it, heathen.”

“Don’t care. Tonight I’m all about getting trashed.”

“Not on the good liquor you’re not. I’ve got some JD lying around somewhere.”

I cover my face with my hands. “How bad do you think that was?”

Pete pushes his glasses up his nose and waits a beat. “On a scale of one to ten, I’d put it at a”—he shrugs—“twelve?”

My groan echoes through their cute-as-a-button apartment in Uptown. They have throw pillows with the word Love silk-screened on them in rainbow colors. They’re absolutely adorable. “I was going to tell him, but it all happened so long ago and I thought it didn’t matter.”

Gideon shakes his head in pity. “You did not think that, you big-ass fucking liar.”

I close my eyes, trying to center myself. He’s right. I didn’t tell Lucas because I can barely stand to think about that awful time. It still embarrasses me. Being passed over. Being tossed aside. Also, I’ve always known the story doesn’t reflect well on Emily. Lucas didn’t need any more ammunition. I understand what happened all those years ago, but from the outside, it doesn’t look good for her.

Gideon turns to Pete. “You knew her back then and you never even told me.”

“Wasn’t my story to tell.”

Oh, God, if I must.

When Emily was little she had pneumonia. I’m not saying that this is the reason why my sister is a touch, shall we say, helpless. But she’s certainly assumed the mantle of damsel throughout her life. I know this. She knows this. But our dynamic has always been big sis looks out for little sis. It fits us, probably because we all have roles to play. These roles make us feel important, and Lord knows, we all want to feel important.

When I was nineteen and a sophomore at University of Illinois I met a guy. He was majoring in communications, which is a bullshit degree, and he had a good line in it, too. But man, he was cute, and more important, interested in me, the girl who spent her life looking out for everyone else. There I was in my sophomore year, taking premed courses and finally starting to blossom into the me I was meant to be. I’d met a guy who laughed at my dumb jokes and told me I had a great ass. Our love was young and unsure, but it was so exciting.

Then I brought him home.

My mom and stepdad had died six months before, so I was Emily’s official guardian. Emily was in high school and she needed me to get her through the final year. I actually got into Stanford, but the University of Illinois is a great school, so it wasn’t some terrible sacrifice. I would be getting a great education, paying in-state tuition, and taking care of business. Look at me, rocking it!

This night I’ll never forget, Emily had a math test the next day and I’d said I’d stop at home, even though I had a paper due in my econ class and I really needed to be knuckling down at the library. My boyfriend offered to give me a ride. Part of me balked. It wasn’t like we lived in a shithole neighborhood or had rat droppings everywhere (though the house tended to remain untidy until I had time to clean it on the weekends). But I think it was the first time I sensed that maybe my helicopter-sister attitude might be viewed as weird.

My boyfriend pushed the issue. I just want to meet this sister you’re always talking about.

Okay, why not? It could be a quick visit, and getting a ride meant I could return to the library to pull an all-nighter and finish my paper.

I remember like yesterday how he was tickling me as I put the key in the door. “Stop. It.” I was squirming and laughing and feeling all aflutter.

Two minutes later, it all crashed.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been passed over for my sister, but it was the first time it had happened with a boyfriend. Possibly because it was the first time I’d had a boyfriend. Someone who was all mine.

“Brian, this is my sister, Emily,” I said, my skin still tingling from where he’d been touching me. Within thirty seconds, the tingle was gone, replaced with a creeping chill that started in my gut and spread tentacles of dread in a chokehold of my heart. Witnessing the thunder bolt between two persons is generally lovely, but not so much when one of them is your person.

He offered his hand and Emily giggled, because she was seventeen and a handshake was a grown-up thing to do. My boyfriend was twenty, a junior, studying communications, and here he was communicating his pleasure at meeting my sister.

She didn’t pass the math test.

I didn’t get my paper in on time.

Brian had the decency to break up with me first. I think. I have to believe that my sister wouldn’t do that to me. She asked permission to date him, keeping good form, hos before bros, like I’d ever said no to a single thing she requested of me. We’re just so in love, she said, her big eyes wide and innocent. They married as soon as they found out she was pregnant—within three months of the thunderbolt—and Brian’s family was wealthy enough to see them through and ensure Brian got the degree, the girl, and everything he wanted.

Lucky escape, I hear you say. Definitely. Any affection or attraction I had for Brian died with that tingle. You can’t steal what doesn’t want to be stolen, I insisted to myself. Emily felt bad for a while—I know she did. And I felt bad that she felt bad and went out of my way to make her feel better. I had to act like the adult because that’s my role. So maybe I was within my rights to scream at her, or rip her hair out, or give her the cold shoulder. At a minimum. But I got over myself and moved on. I was the supportive sister, her maid of honor, a free babysitter for their date nights. Chase and his chubby cheeks have always been my weakness.

I’m trying not to take pleasure in the collapse of their marriage. People are being hurt, the kids are confused, and Brian is really a turdweasel, but…but I don’t think he’s a great guy. I think my sister deserves better and Chase deserves a more attentive father and role model. And if it means I won’t have to see Brian’s ass-chin face anymore, that’s a freakin’ bonus.

I didn’t share my past with Lucas because when you’re insisting you’re in a fling with a younger, hotter, out-of-your-league guy, you adopt a certain mindset, namely: Don’t share the deep stuff, especially the hurts that shaped you.

But after seeing the look on Lucas’s face when Brian dropped the bombshell, I know I screwed up. I wished I’d been brave Trinity, the woman who used to love roller coasters, who would jump into anything. I wish I could have trusted my instincts.

How do I tell him that I had no idea he was the one until I was so deep that I was drowning in him?

Lucas

“So, he’s a tool?”

I eye Aubrey over my ale and wait a beat before responding. We’re at the Legal Eagle, a regular haunt near the courts, though the usually easy vibe is being ruined by the baseball game on the TV.

“Show me a client going through divorce who isn’t, princess. There is an incontrovertible link between toolhood and marriage dissolution, especially in the male of the species.”

She snorts. “You’ve changed your tune. I thought it was all boo-hoo, my penis makes me sad but shouldn’t disqualify me from fatherhood.”

“I’m still the guy you want in your corner if you’re a dad with a tricky custody issue, but Brian Carson has stepped on my last nerve. However, I know you’ll do your best to represent him fully and to the utmost of your abilities.”

“Stow it, Wright. I’ve already said I’ll take it on.”

I’ve spent the last thirty minutes filling Aubrey in on Brian’s case. As much as I despise the toxic toad—and especially after what I’ve just learned about him and Trinity—I feel an obligation to ensure he gets the best money can buy. Aubrey is a pistol, so I know he’s in competent hands.

She flips through the paperwork I’ve given her. “So basically, she needs to sell up, get a job, and accept ownership over her situation.”

“Bingo.”

“And…” She knows I’m hedging.

“And she leaves the kids with Trinity, probably more than a woman in a custody battle should. It’s not straight-up neglect, but…” I know I shouldn’t compare my situation, but we all arrive with baggage that influences us. Emily’s not trying that hard when it comes to her kids, Chase in particular.

“You think we should get a guardian ad litem?”

“Might be time.” A guardian ad litem is a court-appointed lawyer who works on behalf of the kids in a custody dispute. I’ve been hoping Brian and Emily could work this out like adults, but neither of them can get out of their way long enough to come to an agreement that’s in the best interests of the kids.

“A little leverage never hurt.” Aubrey looks thoughtful. “So unloading Carson opens things up for you and Trinity now.”

It would if we were on speaking terms. I’m still fuming, not because it was Brian, but because she chose not to share. I unburdened and Trinity was there for me, listening, soothing. But she clearly doesn’t see me the same way. She doesn’t see me as the person who will make her better. Who will catch her when she falls.

I wasn’t there for Lizzie—I literally didn’t catch her. (And that’s the correct context for literally. Look it up, vocab nerds.) If I can’t be that for Trinity, then what use am I?

A louder than usual buzz at the bar area steals our focus. People are pointing at the TV screen, and I squint to figure out what the fuss is all about.

“Bloody ’ell, do you see that?”

Aubrey’s mouth hitches and she shakes her head. “Good for him.”

Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing romance in full bloom. The camera has zoomed in on the scoreboard at the Cubs game at Wrigley Field—and it’s a doozy. The words Max Charlie are tearing up the eyes of every coldhearted cynic at the Legal Eagle.

“Gotta text him. Can’t believe he’s making me watch fucking baseball.” I shoot off a text affirming that I knew this—a bloody proposal!—would happen all along. I so love being proved right.

“I miss him,” Aubrey murmurs.

“Who, Grant?”

She rolls her eyes at the apparent absurdity. “Max. He and I used to be good friends.”

“But Grant got him in the divorce.”

“Right. What is it they say? Divorce is like the death of a small civilization. All these ripple effects that start small and…” She mimics an explosion with her hands.

I think on Lizzie and how her accident has affected me, except it’s almost the other way around. An explosive event that’s rippled inward, contracting my organs and shriveling my heart. The Lucas I show on the outside is not the Lucas that festers on the inside.

I am a fraud. Is that why Trinity can’t trust me?

“Hey, what’s wrong? You look like someone walked over your grave.”

Sure. Dead man drinking.

I peer up at the TV screen. The romance has moved on, a fleeting moment to brighten up that most dull of American sports. Is that what I’m doing with Trinity? Trying to desperately craft bubble-bright moments to take me away from myself?

A small hand covers mine. “Lucas, are you okay?”

“Just fine,” I mutter, and squeeze her hand back, more to make her feel better than myself. God forbid I let anyone see the pain.

Except Trinity. She’s seen it, and I thought she understood.

But not enough to share hers.

My phone vibrates and I check it, expecting a response from Max. I texted the prick five minutes ago, after all.

It’s not Max. Dammit, but I wish it was.

---

Police stations are not my favorite places. Between the belligerent drunks and grouchy wankers, it’s an environment guaranteed to put the fear of God into the most hardened of criminals. And that’s just the coppers. Zing!

I’ve no doubt my current client is terrified. When I was pinched for stealing, it was the scariest time of my life. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the door to the interview area opens and a ruddy-faced officer brings him out.

I place my hands on Chase’s shoulders and squeeze. “What. The. Fuck.”

Those shoulders shrug under my touch. “I screwed up.”

“Uh, yeah you did.” I level the police officer with my no-shit, unhand-my-client gaze. “What happens next?”

“He’s lucky. No charges will be filed, but we’ll be watching him. Lucky kid, having a lawyer on retainer.”

“I have a good mind to tell them to go ahead and file those charges. Christ, if you needed money for a video game, I would have given it to you, you bloody moron!”

Another shrug. We both know it wasn’t about the money.

“Where’s your partner in crime?” Carlos was also nabbed by security at Best Buy.

The officer answers. “His parents picked him up ten minutes ago. And we tried calling this one’s mother. Left a message for his aunt, too.”

No surprise, there. Emily Carson dropped out of the running for Mother of the Year a long time ago.

“Look, about what happened after the game—”

“When we all found out Trinity used to hook up with my dad?” He pushes out the words through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, that. Listen, it all happened a long time ago. Don’t be too hard on them, okay?”

“She should have told us.”

Agreed, but I’m trying to see it from her point of view. Not everyone is comfortable opening a vein. Trinity’s spent so long putting aside her problems for everyone else that the idea of leaning on anyone is nowhere near instinctual.

“So she didn’t tell us. People make choices, do what they think is best at the time. She’s always the one listening to everyone else, and it probably never occurred to her that she has sensitive men in her life like you and me who’ll make her a cup of tea and buy her those disgusting Cadbury Crème Eggs and let her unload all her problems.”

“I suppose,” Chase says, his tone one of teenage suspicion. “Those eggs are freakin’ gross, aren’t they?”

“Totally manky, mate.”

“Chase!” A familiar voice rings out.

Chase’s eyes fly wide. “You called him?”

“Yep. There’s no escaping this.”

Chase pulls away from me, hurt in his eyes at my betrayal. But he doesn’t get far because his father gathers him in his arms.

“Are you okay?” Brian asks gruffly.

“Course I am. It was just a misunderstanding.”

This sets Brian off into a haze of righteous indignation. “Who the hell did this to my son?”

“Brian,” I say tiredly. “You’re not going to win this battle. Just count your lucky stars that the store is not going to press charges.”

A moment passes where I wonder if the man will do the right thing: be the parent his kid needs. Tick. Tock.

“Do I need to sign something?” His tone is, for once, conciliatory.

The officer, who is watching this play with interest, weighs in. “Free to go, but keep an eye on him.”

Brian gives a curt nod to the man in blue, then to me, “Thanks, I owe you one.”

“Full service, mate, even when I’m no longer your lawyer.”

Lowering his voice, he thrusts out his hand. “About what happened over the weekend. I’d had one too many, made a bad call. Are we good?”

No, we’re not. You hurt my girl, then and now. You hurt your kids and your behavior is likely the reason Chase is acting out. But I’m feeling magnanimous. If I can work things out with Trinity, there’s a good chance that I’ll be clinking beer bottles with Brian at family cookouts and birthday parties. Time to let bygones get gone.

I take his outstretched hand. “Good luck, Brian. And listen to Aubrey, she’ll put you right.”

Before Brian can answer, another voice, one filled with anguish, calls out. It should be Chase’s mom, but it’s not.

Trinity stalks in like a mama bear ready to do battle for her young, and damn, it’s hot. Her eyes widen on seeing me; her lips purse on seeing Brian.

“What the hell is he doing here?”