“Same. But not too tired to be here when you need me.”
No, Bo would never be too tired, too busy, too sick, to have Lucky’s back. He made a great partner, both on and off the job. Would asking Bo to marry him here and now count as being under duress?
The words sat on Lucky’s tongue, but Bo deserved hearts and flowers and some grand romantic gesture.
“C’mon. Let’s get you some coffee.” Bo ushered Lucky into the store, holding onto Lucky’s arm, but Lucky lacked the energy to say anything about being treated like an invalid.
He dawdled at the coffee pot, excitement and fear pouring through him in equal measure. Mama accepted Lucky back, but Dad? Stubborn didn’t begin to describe him. When he dug his heels in, nothing changed his mind. And Mama wouldn’t go against Daddy.
“You’re stalling, aren’t you?” Bo didn’t accuse, merely pointed out the obvious. “I’m here with you. No matter what. But things never turn out as bad as we fear.”
Yeah. Lucky’d remember to say those words when they ventured to Arkansas to reconnect with Bo’s folks.
He plodded back to the car on autopilot, buckled himself into the passenger seat, and sipped coffee while pointing out rights and lefts. “There’s where I wrecked my four-wheeler, and across the road I used to go fishing with my dad.”
The Lucklighter kids once waited at the end of the driveway for the school bus. “Turn off the paved road here.” Lucky pointed to a “blink and you’ll miss it” dirt road.
Packed red clay and gravel crunched under their tires. Pecan trees came into view. Many an afternoon, the Lucklighter clan gathered pecans to sell to a local farmer’s market.
The garden where he’d spent summer days weeding and picking beans, squash, and other vegetables now hid beneath tangled overgrowth. Twelve years hadn’t done the barn any favors.
White goats with red heads dotted the landscape, interspersed with white shaggy bodies, Moose’s ilk, keeping watch over the herd.
No rolls of hay stood curing in the fields. No one kept the place up with Daddy sick. Guilt overcame anxiety. What a piss-poor son he’d been. His sorry ass should be out on a tractor, cutting the field or plowing the earth for the garden.
Bo stopped his Durango before the house came into sight, lifted Lucky’s chin with his hand, and connected their lips.
Lucky latched on like a dying man, the last few hours slamming home: grief, guilt, terror of Bo being hurt, and for the next few hours he’d cling tightly to denial regarding the new facts he’d learned about Bristol.
He soaked in the comfort of Bo cradling his skull in one hand, the love surrounding the man who put up with all his bullshit. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against his partner’s.
For good, bad, better, and worse, this man would always be a part of him. And in return, Lucky had given away something of himself he’d never get back. Didn’t want back.
“You ready?” Bo asked one thousand years too soon.
“As I’ll ever be.”
In true Southern fashion, Bo smiled and replied, “I heard that.”
Fate awaited.
So did the Lucklighters.
***
The old swing Lucky and Charlotte used to sit in as kids still hung from the front porch. Roses scented the air.
The old frame two-story farmhouse flaked white paint. Brilliant red geraniums bloomed on either side of the steps. The same blue curtains hung in the window of Lucky’s old upstairs bedroom—a room conveniently located close to a massive oak tree.
So many times he’d slipped out the window, shimmied down the tree, and got into a little late-night mischief. If the hayloft could talk…
Two tabby cats met Lucky on the path up to the front door. “Mroow?” One stropped against his leg and he bent to scratch a furry ear, his incision halting him in mid-motion. Bending. Not a good idea.
Barely out of kittenhood, neither of these critters knew him, though the gray tabby lying on the front porch might. “Don’t tell Cat Lucky I cheated on him and tried to give his scritches to other cats, okay?” Lucky muttered.
Bo stood off to the side, saying nothing about Lucky’s cowardly attempt to buy time. Sooner or later, he’d have to knock on the door and face whatever came his way.
The entryway seemed so much bigger from the porch, the old timey screen door in bad need of new screen. The moment of truth. He sucked in a deep breath. Sweat trickled down his face, due to more than a sweltering summer day.
