He wondered sometimes if that’s partly what had spurred his rebellious teenage years—the driving need to take the pitying look out of everyone’s eyes. If he was a drinker, a partier, and a drug user who drove too fast and slept around, they couldn’t keep looking at him with all that sympathy.
His strategy had failed. They’d still looked at him with sympathy. The day he’d turned eighteen, he’d left town with the urgency of a drowning swimmer fighting for air.
The strangers he’d met in Atlanta hadn’t treated him like the brother of a dead kid.
“Even if I don’t owe you,” Ben said, “I do care. I really liked Ethan. I still think about him often. I’m sorry about what happened to him and sorry about what happened to you and your family because of it.”
Based on what Luke’s mom had told him, Ben kept in close contact with her and his dad. Ben was perfect in every way.
It was annoying.
“I’m just hoping,” Ben went on, “that you might get to a place where spending time with us doesn’tonlyremind you of the worst day of your life. It would be great if we could also remind you of the good, at least some of the time.”
“What good?”
“The fact that we lived.”
“Here’s where you and I view things differently.”
“How so?”
“For years, I didn’t see the fact that I lived as good.”
Ben nodded once, solemn. “And now?”
“I’m still undecided.”
Luke could see that Ben wanted to say more.
“What?” Luke asked.
“You remember my mom?”
“Yeah.” CeCe was a short woman with tall opinions.
“She and Genevieve’s mom, Caroline, are going to host a Valentine’s party. It’s the kind of event they love to do. Big. All their friends and family members will be there, from eighty-year-olds down to teenagers. Mom wants you to come.”
“No.”
“She talks to me about it every day.”
“Still no.”
“Will you come if I take this dog home with me for the night?” Laugh lines creased the skin around Ben’s eyes.
“No.” As little as he wanted to keep the dog overnight, Luke wanted to attend a Valentine’s Day party much less.
Ishould have taken Ben up on his offer, Luke thought at 2:40 a.m. What had he been thinking? Lying on his side, he clamped a pillow over his exposed ear.No Valentine’s Day party could be worse than this. The puppy had more energy than a football fan hopped up on Red Bull.
Finley had said a lot of things to him about crate training, house training, and putting the puppy on a schedule because puppies loved routine.
At this point he could not have cared less about crate training, house training, or a routine. His goal was far simpler. Keep the dog alive until its rightful owners—and he couldn’t imagine who’d be idiot enough to adopt this puppy—took it home.
He just wished he knew how to make the job of keeping the dog alive easier on himself.
Before he’d stretched out in bed, he’d moved the playpen and crate into his bedroom because Finley had told him it would be comforting for the puppy to sense his presence through the night.
She’d said nothing about how uncomfortable it would be for him to sense her loud, unhappy presence through the night.
