Luc rubs his fingers over the glass and reads aloud what’s written on the cocktail napkin. “Luc, just a little bit of luck will do.”
It’s a quote from Luc’s favorite Steve Earle song. And below it is the signature of the man himself.
Luc’s eyes are bright when he looks at me. “Three years ago? You’re telling me you got this even after I spent seven years not talking to you?”
I shrug. “I hoped you’d come back someday.”
“Oh, Maggie May.” He shakes his head, staring hard at me.
“I was going to wait to give it to you for Christmas, but I got too excited,” I say, forcing a bright grin in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I knew how much you’d like it.”
“I don’t like it. Iloveit. Come here, woman.”
When he pulls me into a hug, I breathe in his smell. It’s the great outdoors, wind and moonlight and cool green foliage. His embrace feels as warm and comforting as ever. But it also feels…different.
Not in a bad way. Not in a good way either. Just different enough to make me pull back and busy myself by grabbing the binder full of letters.
He frowns. “And what’s this?”
“Letters.”
His frown deepens.
“So here’s the deal,” I explain. “When you and Cash left, I was…lonely.”
“Maggie May.” He takes my hand. His palm is warm and wide, his fingers long and strong. “I never meant to hurt you. Making a clean break seemed like the thing to do. So you could move on from that night. So I wouldn’t be there as a reminder. And I thought my going would mean Sullivan would lay off. Then there was Cash. He…neededme.”
I stare at our joined hands. My skin is so pale compared to his.
“I knew he’d run headfirst into the first bad batch of trouble he could find if I wasn’t there to pull him back,” he continues. “But I’m as sorry as I can be that you were left all alone. I truly am. If I could go back and do things differently, I—”
“Shhh.” I squeeze his fingers. “You were doing what you thought was right for everyone involved.”
Everyone except for himself. How much has he sacrificed by being friends with me and Cash? More than I’ll ever know, probably.Definitelymore than he’ll ever admit.
A soft, wet breeze blows through the open door. Outside, the trees whisper their pleasure at its touch. But inside, the two of us stay quiet. Then he says, “Seeing as how we’re clearing the air, there’s something I needa ask you.”
I frown. “That sounds portentous.”
“Did you tell Jean-Pierre what happened that night?” When he sees the shock on my face, he’s quick to add, “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. He’s your friend, and I’m sure you’ve needed someone to talk with about it over the years and—”
“No,” I interrupt, shaking my head vehemently. “I didn’t tell Jean-Pierre. I’ve never told anyone.”
A line forms between his eyebrows. “Then what was he talking about when he thanked me for riding to your rescue?”
I glance down at Yard, who’s unabashedly licking his private parts. Usually, I’d take this opportunity to make a joke. But there’s nothing funny about the thing my fourteen-year-old self contemplated doing. “You know how depressed I was when we first met,” I say slowly.
“We were both depressed.”
“Yeah, but I’dbeendepressed for years. More than that, I’d been guilty.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Maggie May, you arenotto blame for what happened to your folks.”
I sigh, not fighting the old pain, instead letting it wash over me. I’ve learned it’s easier that way. Just to…give in to it. Tofeelit in all its wretchedness.
“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. The point is, at the time I was convinced I was. And I wastiredof feeling that way, of fighting that pain and what seemed like an unbearable loss. And then you take all that and mix in a bunch of teenage hormones? Needless to say, I was a mess.”
I hesitate before revealing this next part. It took a whole bottle of wine before I opened up about it to Jean-Pierre.
