“Big brother first? Why?”
“You gotta remember, he was only thirty-five or so when they met. To you and me, thirty-five seems so far away. But in the grand scheme, it’s actually pretty young. So for him to have met me, this ten-year-old who enjoys debate, and writing essays, and riding scooters, and cooking dinner for her flakey mom, he had to become my friend first. I wasn’t a baby who would just coo and go to him because he opened his arms. I was a person with my own opinions and feelings. He had to prove himself worthy, and once he fell in love with my mom, he realized his happiness depended on my approval.”
I stop and grin. “He never once gave me reason to doubt him. He treated Mom like a queen – well, a crazy, probably-gonna-get-kicked-off-her-throne-for-being-so-weird queen – and in my first year of college, before he died, he phoned me most days and called me ‘Slugger’. We were friends, genuinely, and if, by some crazy circumstances, he’d lived but they’d split, I would have still been his friend.”
“Unless he was a prick and the reason they split.”
“Well, yeah.” I laugh. “In which case I would have ended his life by burying him in a corn silo.”
“Freakishly specific.” He snorts. “Did you choose that because of how the corn fills the silo and compresses in on him? It’s like drowning, but without water.”
“Yup. I had it all planned out. A daddy-daughter field trip to the local corn farm, an ‘oops, I dropped my sunglasses in the silo’. The rest would have taken care of itself.”
“Well, you sound completely sane and not at all homicidal. Should I be afraid?”
“Only if you snitch.”
He stops working, and his eyes snap up to bore into mine for so long that I crack and ask, “What?”
“First word that comes to mind when I say snitch?” he asks.
“Ditch.” I look back to the water. “Snitches end up in ditches, duh. What’s your word?”
“Well…” It’s cute how this guy who is seemingly high-energy can manage to look so chilled out and lazy on this pier. Slow movements, easy smiles, productivity, but without the exertion. “I tend to start with stitches,” he explains. “Let a fool redeem himself. But if he doesn’t, then I head to ditches.”
“Fair call. You give people a second chance. That’s a romantic notion.”
“You’re still analyzing my brain.”
“It’s a habit.” I laugh. “And kind of a pleasure, too, to listen to people speak. I enjoy learning how someone’s brain ticks.”
“Sounds awesome.” The tone he uses implies it’s not awesome at all. “Don’t analyze my brain. It annoys me.”
“It only annoys you because to everyone else, you play a role. Young, wild, a little bit dangerous.”
“Pfft.” He scoffs. “Little bit dangerous? Woman, I’ll have you know I’m the baddest motherfucker in this town.”
“A bad motherfucker, I think, doesn’t need to announce he’s bad. He’s just… his behavior and interactions speak for themselves. I think you’re a teddy bear, Luke. A romantic, but you’re a little too young to settle down, so you keep the romance away for fear someone will get attached. I think you’re a family man through and through, a sweetheart, and just so you know, I’ve read the notes from your earlier sessions with Sonia. I saw the court manuscripts; you were defending a woman when you got into that fight.”
“I was fucking a taken woman, and when her boyfriend found out about it, he got mad.”
“Yes.” I flatten my lips and brush away his need to be crass. “You were searching for, and had found, another way to be with someone, but it was safe, because the fact she was someone else’s meant neither of you were at risk of catching feelings. It was fun and fast and wild, and I doubt you’d planned to ever see her again.”
“Stop analyzing me.”
“You had no feelings for this woman, you intended to walk away and never see her again. But then her boyfriend walks in, and suddenly, you’re forced to decide to ditch this poor girl to deal with the anger herself, or you…” I let my sentence trail off.
Very few people can handle the pressure, the heat of such a dangling premise.
“I couldn’t just walk away!” he explodes. “Dammit, Allyson. Shut the fuck up with your fancy education.” He pops to his feet and storms along the pier in search of… well, I suspect he wants me to think tools. But what he actually wants is a second to breathe and find his control.
I climb to my feet with a smile, leave my things exactly where they are, and I follow him along the pier. He’s like a wild animal, trapped in a cage. And unfortunately for me, this analogy demands I’m the cruel person on the outside, poking him with a stick.
“It’s not a bad thing to be a decent person, you know?” I tell him.
I walk halfway along the pier and try – I swear to all that’s holy, I try – not to look at Luke’s tanned body as he paces. His pecs ripple when he’s facing my direction, but better yet – worse yet? – when he turns, his back is all toned, perfect lines, and bulging muscles that make my throat turn dry.
“The fact you stayed and helped her makes you a good person, Luke. Had you left, there would be a lot of people who’d dislike you at a very core level right now. Starting with your mother, moving through everyone else you consider important, and ending with…”
I wait for him to stop. To turn to me. To scowl.
Then I grin. “You.”
“You can leave now.”
“Why?” I look around at the beautiful lake surrounding us and almost do a Sound of Music-type turn. “It’s perfect out here. It’s hot enough to swim, the breeze is cool enough to take away the burn, and it’s almost dinnertime, which means the day is done and there’s no more work for anyone.”
“Wrong. I’m working right now. But you’ve crossed a line of tape that clearly says don’t cross, and now you’re trying to tinker with my head.”
I burst out laughing and hold my ground as he makes his way back in my direction. “I’m not tinkering with anything. I’m merely… reading. Guessing.”
“You’re being a pain in my ass.”
Part of me, I suppose, expects him to come right up to me, to get in my space and demand just a little bit more. He’s the type of guy who will impose, purely so he can establish he’s the ‘baddest motherfucker’ in town. So as Luke stalks in my direction, I hold my ground, I lift my chin and stand tall so I can face him down and not lose whatever this battle is.
But I guess he and I aren’t playing the same game.
He slams a hand to the center of my chest. Not a single word is spoken, no smile, no sneer. He simply shoves so hard that the oxygen in my lungs bursts out and glances off his face, then I’m falling. Off balance, arms swinging, legs scissoring, my equilibrium can’t be recovered.
I fall backwards with wide eyes and a loud squeal, then I hit the water’s surface with a loud splash before sliding under. I clamp my lips shut when water threatens to race down my throat. Then my eyes, when the murky lake stings them. And fighting the funnel of water trying to take me lower, I kick with fast, motor-like speed, and break above the surface with a banshee scream.