There’s no awkward bro-ness about this embrace. No heavy-handed backslaps or clumsy angles. He lifts me off my feet, squeezing me until my ribs ache.
I don’t have his strength, but I hug him back with all I do have. When he finally sets me on my feet, his eyes are misty. Mine are too.
Of course, neither of us acknowledges it.
Slapping a hand on my shoulder, he says, “Heard you checked yourself outta the hospital against your doctor’s orders.” He shakes his head andtut-tutslike an old Southern granny. “Boy, are you ever gonna learn there’s a difference between stubborn and stupid?”
“Not if I can help it.” I gift him with a cocky grin, but then immediately sober. “Sorry about what happened with Sullivan. You okay?”
A Gallic shrug lifts his shoulders. “It is what it is.”
Luc talks a big game. But I know the taking of a life, regardless of whether he had a choice in the matter, has never been something that sits easy with him. In the wee small hours of the morning, when he’s all alone, he’s prone to soul-searching and second-guessing.
Luc is one of those rare animals who isn’t afraid of self-reflection. Even if he doesn’t like what he sees when he gazes in the mirror, he never shies away from looking.
“Take a seat.” I motion toward the steps, claiming the top one for myself. “I’d invite you inside, but there’s a big puddle of dried blood that needs to be cleaned up. Not to mention a broken picture frame and spilled coffee, and I haven’t had enough of this”—I lift my flask—“to make facing all that worthwhile.”
“You shouldn’t be drinking after a concussion.” Maggie’s eyes are clouded with concern.
“True. But I figure whatever damage the whiskey does to my already mangled brain will be small potatoes compared to what’ll happen to me if I start going through withdrawal. So…cheers.”
Upending the flask, I take a healthy drink. The pain in my head is better today. More along the lines of what I’m used to dealing with. Although, who’d have thought I’d considerthata blessing?
Neither of them bothers to hide their disapproval. But neither do they say anything. Instead, Maggie grabs one of the middle steps, leaving Luc to lower himself onto the second-to-the-bottom tread. Not only are they avoiding each other’s eyes, they’re also being careful not to touch.
As Alice would say,Curiouser and curiouser.
“Okay, so what’s with you guys?” I ask. Best to get it out in the open, right? Maybe if I face it head on, I can get over the misery of seeing everything I’ve worked for come to fruition. “Why are you treating each other like plague carriers?”
Maggie waves off my question. “It’s been a pretty tough couple of days. We’re both feeling like we’ve been chewed up and spit over a cliff.”
I wait for Luc to own up to what’s actually happening. But he remains stubbornly mute.
So much for facing it head on.
“Fine.” I down some more whiskey. It’s a small consolation, but I’ll take what I can get. “Keep your secrets. We have more important things to discuss anyway. Like, what’s the story with your lawyer, Luc? When will he get this ridiculous murder charge dropped?”
The thought of Luc being accused of doing anything that isn’t at the tippity top of all things ethical is too absurd. The man is the poster child for morality. Which, yeah, has made it tough to be his friend at times.
His mouth twists. “He’s working on it.”
“And you trust him to do it right?”
“Hebetter,seeing as how I’m paying him an arm and a leg.” When he sees my concern, he shakes his head. “He’s the best defense attorney in the state, if you believe his record. I reckon I’m in capable hands.”
“Good.” I nod, more than a little relieved. “That’s really good. And in the meantime? He give you any instructions on what you’re supposed to do?”
“Keep on keeping on, man. I gotta sit tight and let the wheels of justice turn.”
Easier said than done. Especially when his freedom, and maybe his life—Louisiana still has the death penalty—are on the line.
I shove that thought away before it has me breaking out in hives. Wouldn’t that be the icing on my sick and pitiful cake?
“Well, while they’re turning, I’ll help you keep your mind off things,” I tell him. “We’ll turn on the afterburners on the house, finish our list of excursions, and—”
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute.” He slaps the air with both hands. “First I wanna know what the hell happened with Rick.”
Rick. Right. Also known as the World’s Worst Assbag.
