Preston Brothers: Lucas Part 17

Without so much as slowing, he says, "Luke! He's lost his f.u.c.king mind!"

Cooper comes next, his eyes narrowed, anger flaring on his lips. He sighs when he gets to me, hands on hips.

"What the h.e.l.l just happened?" I ask.

"It's fine, baby." He kisses my forehead. "I'll be out soon, okay?"

I nod, watch him go down the tunnel and when I turn back, Lucas is walking toward me. "What the h.e.l.l was that?" I ask him, blocking his path so he has no choice but to talk to me.

He tries to step around me but I shift, my hands going to his chest to stop him. His shoulders tense, his lips pressed tight. "What, Laney?" he shouts, his voice echoing off the walls of the tunnel. "Your boyfriend gets a little of his treatment back and now you want to talk to me?"

I drop my gaze. "What's going on with you, Luke?" I ask, my tone soft.

He shoves my hands off him. "Leave it alone, Lane."

"Luke!" I look him in the eyes, hoping he sees my concern.

"You want to know what's happening? Fine!" He steps closer, towers over me, his eyes right on mine-eyes filled with rage. "Your boyfriend won't get off my back. He just keeps pushing and pushing until I've got no room to f.u.c.king move!" He sucks in a breath. "Leo's grades were suffering, so the school brought a specialist in and they told him he's dyslexic. All those books he walks around with? He can't even f.u.c.king read them! And last night..." He laughs, but not out of humor. "Last night the cops showed up on our doorstep with Logan, cuffed. He was smoking weed at the f.u.c.king playground. And the twins are being bullied at school, so much so that Liam's talking about killing himself! They're only twelve! They shouldn't be dealing with this s.h.i.t." His voice breaks, his pain slicing through his words. "And now Lachlan's going around asking every woman he sees if they're his mom because his mom's dead, Laney. She's dead, and he doesn't understand that. And it'd be really f.u.c.king nice if his G.o.dmother was around to get him through that!"

I wrap my arms around him, tears in my eyes, because abandoning Luke served a purpose, but abandoning his brothers...

His hand settles on the back of my head, the other grasping the fabric of my top. His chest rises and falls against mine. He wipes his eyes on my shoulder, his pain causing my own. He whispers, his mouth to my ear, "And I miss my best friend, Laney. So much."

"Where's your head at, Sanders?" Cooper asks, watching me from his desk while I study on his bed.

I look up at him. "Hmm?"

"You've been on that same page for the past ten minutes."

"I have?"

"What's going on?"

I blow out a heavy breath. "Have you been giving Lucas a hard time at practice?"

He rolls his eyes. "This is about that kid?"

"That kid is the same age as me."

"That's not what I meant," he says, getting up and sitting on the bed with me. "I do give him a hard time," he admits.

"Why, Coop?"

He doesn't skip a beat. "Because he's good. Better than good. He's the best one out there. He may even be better than me, and he's been slacking lately-"

"He's got a lot going on," I cut in.

He sighs, looks at me like I'm stupid. "And that may be fine off the track but if he wants that UNC scholarship he has to do better. I'm not doing it to be an a.s.shole because he was one to you. He races well when he's under pressure, when he feels like he's competing against an enemy. I'm doing it for him, Lo. No other reason."

"Okay," I concede. "I'm sorry. It's just really not like him to explode like he did today. He's always been so calm and-"

"I really don't care," he cuts in.

I rear back. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry. I just don't care about Lucas off the track, especially after what he did to you. And I'm not going to sit here and pretend like I do. I get you guys were friends, but he means nothing to me."

"Wow. That's a little harsh."

He shrugs. "Maybe it's a little too much honesty when you're used to lies."

I start to pack my books. "I'm going home."

"No." He stops me, his hand around my wrist. "I'm sorry, okay?" He leans in, kisses me once. "I'm just stressing and I'm taking it out on you."

"Is everything okay?"

"Not really." He shifts his gaze away from me and over to the desk where he'd been doing his own studying. "My cla.s.ses are killing me, and doing this whole coaching thing and training but not being able to compete is getting under my skin." He faces me again, a sad smile pulling on his lips. "You're my saving grace, Sanders. I live for this time with you. Stay. Please?"

I nod, open my books again.

"No," he says. "Stay the night with me?"

I swallow, nervous, because even though we've had s.e.x, we've never slept together. There's a knock on his door, saving me from answering. A man pokes his head in, a man I've only seen in the pictures hanging on the walls. He seems taller in person, or maybe it's just his presence. "I'm sorry," he says, looking between us. "I didn't know Cooper had company."

I stand, fix my clothes, make sure he knows nothing inappropriate is going on in his son's room. Then I walk toward him, my nerves on end, my hand out to shake. "Hi, Mr. Kennedy. I'm Lois Sanders. It's such a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Behind me, Cooper chuckles.

His dad shakes my hand. "Lance Kennedy," he says. "It's good to meet you, too, Ms. Sanders." His smile is tight as his gaze shifts to Cooper behind me. "Sanders," he murmurs. "She's not Brian Sanders' kid is she?"

I nod while Cooper says, "Yeah, Dad. She is."

"Right." Lance drops my hand, keeps his focus on Cooper. "Your mom and I are heading out to some charity dinner I knew nothing about until an hour ago. We'll be home late."

"Sure, Pops," Cooper replies.

His dad looks down his nose at me. "Goodbye, Ms. Sanders."

Once he's gone, Cooper cackles. "It's such a pleasure to meet you, sir," he mocks.

I walk to his bed, pick up a pillow and throw it at his face. "Shut up."

He attempts to contain his laughter as he tugs on my tee, pulling me down until I'm lying on top of him. He shakes his head, eyes on me, smile for me. "You're so cute, all nervous and stuff."

"You said your parents were out of town."

He shrugs. "They were. I guess they're home now."

"I wish I'd met them properly."

"What was wrong with that meeting?" he asks.

"I panicked."

With a laugh, he says, "A little."

"Did you know he knew my dad? And how does he know my dad?"

Cooper shrugs again. "My dad invests in a lot of property. They may have worked together in the past. Who knows?" He moves his hand to my back, under my top, moving higher until his fingers find the clasp of my bra.

"Really?" I ask. "Now?"

He kisses my cheek, moves across my jaw toward my ear, his tongue like fire against my skin. He bares his teeth, tugs on my earlobe. "Right now."

I want nothing more than to get lost with him, but he was right. My mind is elsewhere. I lean back, look him in the eyes. "I'll stay with you tonight but tomorrow, I need to do something."

"Where is my bra?" I whisper-yell, panic swarming through me.

Cooper rolls around in his bed, using his pillow to m.u.f.fle his laugh.

Two seconds ago, the front door slammed shut, meaning his parents were home, and we were in his bed... naked.

I stumble around his dark bedroom in nothing but my panties, searching for my clothes while he tries to calm himself down enough to switch on the lamp for me.

"How long were we...?"

"Were we what?" he asks.

I find my bra, slip it on while my face heats with embarra.s.sment.

"You can't even say it, can you?"

"Doing... it."

"Having s.e.x?!" he shouts.

"Cooper! They're going to hear you!"

He laughs again. "The s.e.x part, probably about twenty minutes..." He smirks, his eyes drinking me in. "The foreplay, though, that lasted about an hour."

I slip on his t-shirt and get back into bed, doing my best to make my hair look presentable. Meanwhile, he's still naked, a smug smile across his smug, post-s.e.x face. "They're home early, right?"

He shrugs and flops back on his pillow, the slight light from the lamp casting a shadow across his brow. "Cooper!" I shove him.

"What?" he asks lazily.

"Get dressed!"

He pats my head. "They're not coming up here. Don't worry."

I whisper, "How do you know?"

"Because they're too wasted to even remember I'm home."

More doors open and shut downstairs, heels clank, footsteps thump. Another slam of a door. "Next time you want to act like a wh.o.r.e do it at home, Vivian!" Lance yells.

My jaw drops, my eyes wide and on Cooper.

"See?" he says. "Wasted. They always do this. Go to some function, drink too much, come home, argue."

I hear his mother's voice for the first time. "I was just talking to him! You embarra.s.sed me in front of all my friends!" she yells.

"I embarra.s.sed you?!" Lance booms. "My a.s.sociates and business partners were there! How does that make me look? Having my wife-"

"All I did was talk-"

A chair sc.r.a.pes. Gla.s.s breaks.

"Shut up!" Lance shouts. "Just shut the f.u.c.k up!"

I grasp Cooper's arm, my breaths short, my pulse pounding in my ears.

"Come on," he whispers, getting out of bed and slipping on his boxers. He removes the covers off his bed and takes my hand. Then he leads me to his walk-in closet the size of my living room and sits on the floor, tugging my hand for me to join him. I sit in front of him, my legs crossed, mimicking his position. He takes the ends of the blanket and wraps it around both of us. "I used to do this when I was a kid," he says, his voice low, his forehead touching mine. "I used to be afraid, too, but then it happened so many times it became my version of normal. It'll stop soon," he says, kissing my cheek. "I promise."

It stops then and there, the new silence deafening. We get back into Cooper's bed, and a moment later, he's fast asleep, his breaths even. I stare at his face, at the distant calm on his features, and I wonder how it's possible he can sleep after what we just heard. It became my version of normal, he told me. I find myself frowning, an overwhelming sadness creeping in my chest, images of a smaller version of Cooper sitting alone in his closet, hands to his ears to avoid the anger around him. I kiss his lips, and his breaths falter, but he doesn't wake. Then I spend the next hour tossing and turning, trying to find the peace he so easily found. The house is eerily silent, and my mouth is dry, my throat thirsty. I get out of bed, slip on my pants, and make my way downstairs and toward the kitchen. The tiled floors are cold against my feet, the rooms are dark, the curtains drawn. I walk with my hands out, hoping not to b.u.mp into anything, or anyone, on my way to the kitchen. A sliver of light shines from beneath the kitchen door, and I stop in my tracks, place my ear against it. I listen for sounds, proof that someone's in there. When I hear nothing, I open the door and freeze in my spot, my gasp loud.

A woman, blonde and beautiful, one that stands proud next to Lance Kennedy in the pictures on the walls, sits at the kitchen counter, an ice pack to her left eye, dried blood on the corner of her lip. She glances up, shocked. "I didn't know..." she whispers.

A shiver runs up my spine. "I'm... um... I'm Cooper's."

She smiles, sits straighter. "You must be Lois."

I step closer. "Are you okay, Mrs. Kennedy?"

She shakes her head and removes the ice pack, revealing the onset of bruising. "I had a little too much to drink and stumbled, walked into the doorframe."

"Oh." I clasp my hands tighter. "I just came down to get a gla.s.s of water." I move closer again, careful, not wanting to startle her. My mind and my heart want to believe her, but my gut tells me it's a lie. She didn't walk into a doorframe. She walked into her husband's hand. I ignore my need for water and ask, "Do you need help?" I motion to her face. "Cleaning that up?"

"No." She shakes her head again, freeing strands of hair from her once-perfect bun. "I'm fine."

No, Mrs. Kennedy. You're not fine at all.

"Do you have a first-aid kit?"

She seems to concede, drops the ice pack on the counter. "Under the sink in the guest bathroom."

I find the kit and quickly make my way back to her. Then I sit in the stool next to her, wait for her to face me before getting the supplies. My hands shake as I dab at her lip with a wet cotton swab, removing the dried blood and the dark red lipstick now smudged at the edges, seeping into the wrinkles around her lips. In her day, she would've been so beautiful. Right now, she looks tired, not just from age, but from life.