Lily beams at him like he hung the moon. I wrap my hands around my cup, inhaling the scent. It’s good. Really good. Like someone actually cared enough to make it right.
“We’ll get going once Dean and Mikey stop arguing about who gets to control the remote,” Lily jokes, rolling her eyes with a fondness that makes me smile.
“Want to do your interview?” Luc sits across from me. “Good a time as any, I suppose?”
I nod, even though my chest tightens. Yeah. I’m ready for this. And absolutely not ready at all. But this is good. I need the distraction. Something else to think about beside the mistake that shall not be named. And now I won’t have to try and corner him later. The bus is quiet, personal, the perfect place for us to talk.
The bus pulls away from the resort, the movement steady and soothing as we hit the main road toward Memphis. Lily rises after a few minutes, Larkin asleep against her shoulder. “I’m going to put her down. You two talk.” She disappears into the back lounge, closing the door behind her.
Luc exhales. “Okay,” he asks, “where do you want to start?”
I lift my recorder and set it between us. “Wherever you’re comfortable.”
He nods once. “Then I guess… her. Knowing this will help understand us.” My heart stutters. Because I know exactly who “her” is. The ghost Dean carries. The wound he hides behind all those sharp edges.
Luc’s voice drops low, soft. “Her name was Emily.” He doesn’t tell me everything at once. He unfolds it slowly; like someone handling broken glass. Dean was eighteen. Stupidly in love. Headfirst, heart-first, no-brakes kind of love. Emily was bright. Kind. A spark. And they adored each other. It was the kind of love every one dreams of finding one day, but they got lucky and found it early.
Luc talks about the accident next, but he talks around the worst parts. He doesn’t need to be graphic. The way his voice tightens is enough to make my eyes sting. They were driving behind her. They were dropping off the car to be serviced. They saw it happen. A dump truck slamming into the driver’s side of the car.
Dean reaching for a steering wheel he couldn’t control.
Dean running toward twisted metal.
Dean holding her battered body in his arms, in the middle of the road until the ambulance arrived.
Dean refusing to let go of her once they did.
Dean shutting down every piece of himself afterward.
“He still thinks to this day that it should have been him,” Luc explains. “It was his car. She wanted to drive it. It was a Mustang, and she thought it was the coolest. It was two miles.” He shakes his head. “If he had been driving, she’d still be here.” He grimaces. “At least, that’s what he believes.”
My breath catches. Luc looks at me and something in his gaze gentles even more. “He loved her. Really loved her. And losing her, it changed him. Permanently.”
I swallow; throat tight. “He doesn’t talk about her.”
“He won’t.” Luc shakes his head. “If he does… he might never stop.”
Silence drapes heavy around us.
“And now?” I ask. It’s barely a whisper.
Luc’s gaze softens. “Now he cares more than he wants to admit. And he’s terrified. Of losing someone else. Of surviving it again. So, he pretends nobody matters.”
I blink hard, fighting the burn behind my eyes.
“You’re not going to tell anyone any of this,” Luc offers me a small smile. “I know that.”
“I wouldn’t,” I breathe. “I’m not that kind of storyteller.”
“I know,” he repeats. “That’s why I told you.”
My chest feels too full. Too complicated. Too raw. Luc glances at his phone and huffs a laugh. “And apparently Dean’s being dramatic as hell. He texted asking why you ditched them.”
I freeze. “He what?”
Luc smirks. “I told him to handle it like an adult. He sent back a middle-finger emoji.”
A laugh escapes me, it’s tired, disbelieving, and aching around the edges.
