Lucas

I jolt awake to bells ringing, calling people to church on a Sunday morning. The peals are supposed to sound joyous, I suppose, yet all I can hear is mocking.

Lizzie exhales a long, juddering rattle of a breath, and I hold one of my own, waiting.

The beeps continue. Proof of life.

Three days ago, a sniffle turned into a cold that turned into a lung infection. She made it out before, but I don’t think she has the strength this time, possibly because I’m not strong enough. For fifteen years, we’ve held on together. Last night she slipped into a coma.

I squeeze her hand.

“Hey, Lizzie, remember that time we crept into the movies to see Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban?”

She giggles, as soft and joyous as a church bell.

“Yeah, you had a lady boner for Sirius Black, aka national treasure Gary Oldman, and you were like a silent Beatlemaniac every time he came on screen.” I raise my hands to my face and mimic a screaming teen.

Shut yer piehole, Lucas!

I laugh, joining in with her—but she’s only laughing in my head. The incongruity of it washes over me. All this time I’ve been playing both sides of the chess match, speaking my part and hers, living two half-lives as if I can somehow meld them into a single decent one.

My own laugh turns into something maniacal. Christ, I need to get a coffee, maybe even take a shower, because I suspect I smell like a fucking distillery. At least I’m starting to appreciate whiskey.

I close my eyes to fight off the demons and I imagine Trinity is here. Just hearing her voice—when was it?—over a day ago offering to take the weight for me broke something wide open in my chest. Her voice is the one in my head now, replacing Lizzie.

I shoot to a stand, thrown by that conclusion. That’s not what I want. Is it?

I snatch the door open, needing air, needing to get away if only for a moment. Jenny is standing there, and with her is the woman I’ve conjured from my dreams.

“Hi,” my Trinity says.

My Trinity.

“Lucas, I was just coming to tell you about your visitor,” Jenny says, splitting a glance between us. It’s a wonder she’s not being sizzled alive with the zinging electric current.

“I need coffee.” It’s a strange way to greet the woman you love, especially when that woman has traveled thousands of miles to see you. I turn to Jenny. “Will you—”

“I’ll text you if anything changes.”

Jenny slips into the room and closes the door, leaving us alone in the corridor.

“Why are you here?”

Her smile is heartbreakingly sweet. “You asked me to come.”

True. Not outright, but the act of placing that call was a plea for this woman to be at my side.

“I hope you don’t mind. I asked Grant to use your firm’s resources to track where you were.”

I’ve been ignoring Grant’s and Max’s calls. “There’s a family hospitality room around the corner. Coffee’s terrible, but they sometimes have Jaffa cakes.”

“Jaffa cakes?” she asks, walking alongside me.

I smile, for what feels like the first time in days. “Jones, you’re going to love Jaffa cakes.”

Trinity

So Jaffa cakes are awesome, like chocolate marmalade cookies. They shouldn’t work but they do. We’re not all that different from a Jaffa cake, Lucas and I. Sweet and tart (guess which is which?).

Coffee and cookies in hand, we take a seat in side-by-side armchairs. I wish it was a sofa. I want to press my thigh to his, hold him close, and breathe him in.

“I didn’t expect you,” he says. “If I’d known a drunken ramble would get you on my side, I would have tried it much sooner.”

“Tell me about Lizzie.”

He swallows. “What’s there to say? She loves the Spice Girls and Harry Potter. Has a laugh that makes you feel like you’re wearing a sweater on the inside. Is clever and bright and—” His hand moves to cover his mouth, as if concerned the next sound will be a scream.

I kneel in front of him, push his knees apart to get closer. Then I hold his head with both hands. His stubble-rough jaw scrapes deliciously against my palms.

“She’s clever and bright,” I echo. “Of course she is. She’s the one who got all the personality from the Wright gene pool.”

He snorts, swiping at a stray tear.

“She—she’s not going to last long, Trin. I think I’ve been holding on forever, and now that my focus is elsewhere, I don’t have enough to keep her going.”

His focus? Does he mean me? I’d hate to bear that responsibility, but the man has to live, to move on. We both do.

“I’m here for whatever you need. And if you don’t want me here, if it makes it all too much, I’ll go.”

He cups my face in return. “Lovely Trinity, always taking care of people.”

“Not always.” I shake my head, remembering my fight with Emily. “I told Emily she needed to grow up. Accept some responsibility.”

“Ah,” he says. “Went over like a lead balloon, I assume?”

“Yeah, but it was a huge relief to get it out. This weight I’ve been carrying. And I owe it to you, for making me see. I guess I’ve always known that I enable her, but we never really understand what’s best for us. Not when we’re so close to the problem. We’ve made up, started afresh.”

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

He kisses my nose, the dark circles beneath my eyes (I didn’t sleep a wink on the plane). He kisses my cheekbones, reverent whispers across their planes. He smells of whiskey and leather, of longing and Lucas. Of home.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come for you, Lucas? After everything you’ve done for me?”

“So you feel obligated? A Cadbury Crème Egg and here you are.”

I pull on the lapels of his jacket, frustrated at his ever-present self-deprecation. “I’m not so easily bought. I’m here because you’ve been bearing this for a long, long time, and I’m offering my shoulder. My body. My heart and soul. All these pieces of me are strong because you made me feel worth the trouble. You gave me strength when I had none, care when I needed it. You saw the real me. Not the forgotten daughter, the abandoned girlfriend, or the put-upon sister. But me. Trinity Jones.”

As the words spill from my mouth in raspy utterances, the notion that I’m making this all about me crosses my mind. But what I’m really trying to do is force him to realize how special he is. How beloved. Not just by me, but by Max and Grant, Sadie and Aubrey.

He is not alone.

I plead with my eyes for his understanding. And when he speaks, I know he’s heard what I have to say.

“Trinity, my love, would you like to meet my sister?”

I can only croak the words out. “I’d be honored.”

As he stands, he pulls me to my feet. Hand in hand, we walk back to Lizzie’s room where inside, Jenny is mulling over a close-to-complete jigsaw puzzle.

“Nearly done,” she says, and I don’t know if she means the puzzle or her patient. She quietly slips out, the door closing with a soft snick.

“Hey, Lizzie, I want you to meet someone.”

Damn, she’s pretty. Dark haired and pale, the proverbial English rose. I wonder if she has Lucas’s clear blue eyes—or if she’ll ever open hers again.

“Hi, Lizzie,” I say shyly. “So nice to meet you at last.” I squeeze her hand, surprised at its warmth. There’s life in the girl yet.

Lucas watches her closely. “We’ve been reading Harry Potter, and we stopped at a really exciting bit. Harry’s about to go up against—well, you know who.”

“Talk about delayed gratification,” I say. “Took seven books to kill Vold—”

He holds up a hand dramatically. “Don’t say it! As for delayed gratification, you and I know a little something about that, don’t we?”

“We do.” There’s power in waiting. Appreciation in the anticipation. We became friends first, and it made everything so much sweeter.

Lucas pulls a chair forward and sits me down in it. Then he plucks a thick HP tome off the nightstand and takes a seat close to Lizzie. I curl up and listen to him read. He does all the parts, just as he lives. Lucas Wright, man of a million roles.

When Harry defeats what’s-his-face, Lizzie takes her leave, as if she was waiting for the Boy Who Lived to emerge victorious. Lucas clasps her hand as she slips away and I sit on the armrest of his chair, my hands on his shoulders, giving him my strength.

I hold him through his sobs. I tell him he is loved. And then I step outside so he can say his final goodbye.