Because of Luke Page 26

  "It's not what it looked like," I rush into the explanation before I can even think it through. "Nothing happened."

  "What did you do?"

  I shake my head. "Nothing. I swear. I didn't."

  "You're lying. I know you and I know him. You're all weepy." She drops my arm and gestures toward my suitcase. "And you're packed. What? Were you going to leave without telling me?"

  I shake my head again. "No, Sheila. It's not—"

  "And him." She laughs but the humor is barely evident. "I know him best of all. He's never...we don't have sex like that. There's always foreplay and he's usually more...gentle. It's just who he is. But tonight, it's like he'd already been worked up. He was all over the place. Aggressive, gentle, almost...apologetic."

  I swallow so hard I could take my tongue with it. But I can't form a coherent sentence to save my life. "I--I'm...you gave me...the shots....and...we..."

  "So it's true? You slept with him?"

  "No!" This time I grab her arm. "No," I say more quietly.

  "Your top." She's glaring at me again. "And you were crying."

  "We didn't, I swear. He stopped it."

  Her eyes go so wide, I take a step back. "He stopped it? What about you? You're my sister. I invite you here and you...throw yourself at my boyfriend. There are tons of guys in this place and of all the ones..."

  "It's not that simple," I say. I'm struggling for words that will make sense, ones that won't hurt. But it's like they no longer exist. It's like the only thing that will fix this—make it all worthwhile, give me an out, make me innocent—is the truth. And I know I shouldn't tell it. I know I should just take the hit. Let her believe what she wants.

  But if I do, what was all this for? The secrets, the suffering? I'll be suffering anyway. She'll hate me anyway.

  "I met him first." I say it silently. So quiet, for a moment I believe I can take it back. But then I look up from the spot on the floor and Sheila's red, contorted expression tells me otherwise.

  "What did you just say?"

  I close my eyes and back up further, lowering myself to the edge of the bed. "I wanted to tell you." I scoff. "No, that's a lie. I never wanted to tell you. I was never going to tell you. I don't know how I thought I'd live with it for...ever, but in my twisted mind I guess I thought we could."

  "What are you saying?"

  "I met Lucas back in April last year. That night I was at the library. The guy I was..." I peer up at her to gauge the reaction.

  Sheila holds both hands over her mouth and closes her eyes. She drops her arms, shakes them out then plants them on her hips, pacing back and forth in front of me. "You're lying."

  "I'm not. I wish I was. But I'm not."

  Her shoulders are hunched and she's poised in front of the door now, as if plotting an escape. The first thing that comes to my mind is the possibility that she'll bring Lucas into the conversation. And no matter what, that can't happen. This is between us. I need to tell him myself before she can put two and two together.

  "Just listen," I say. "Please. I'm not trying to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. If anything, that's the truth. I just wanted to protect you. After that night, after you left, I felt awful. You were so mad and you stopped talking to me. And when I figured out my Lucas was your Luke I...I just couldn't tell you. I couldn't break your heart like that. I'd be the worst kind of sister if I—"

  "You are the worst kind of sister." She turns to face me. Her tear streaked face, and steely gaze shock me. "How could you do this? Humiliate me like this. All this time he..." She hangs her head.

  "Honey, please. We just wanted to protect you. He cares about you just as much as I do and I asked him not to say anything. I begged him."

  "And then you throw yourself at him? Is that your solution? Keep this big secret from me so you can have him on the side, whenever you feel like? What about David? What is that just some ruse so Mom and Dad won't catch on? Oh, my god. What about Ray? What kind of mother are you?"

  "Sheila...it's not that simple."

  "No," she scoffs. "It is. You're a slut. You have a baby, a boyfriend and now you're trying to screw mine. I don't care if he was yours at one point in time, Shannon. Right now. Luke. Is. Mine."

  She turns on her heel and heads toward the door.

  "Sheila, wait," I call out.

  "Just go home. It was my mistake to bring you here."

  "No!" I scream so loud, it surprises even me. "Just wait," I yell. "Would you stop being a little brat for once and actually listen to what I have to say! This is what got us in this mess in the first place. You running off without an explanation."

  "How could you possibly explain any of this?" Sheila glares at me her chest heaving up and down.

  I sigh, then clench my jaw. "It's complicated."

  "Then un-complicate it."

  I take a deep breath and ready myself to rip the Band-Aid off. "It's Ray," I blurt out. "That's why I didn't marry Dave. Not because I don't love him, because he's not Ray's father. Luke is." My last sentence is infinitesimal in volume compared to the first but, by the look on her face I can tell she's heard me. And the impact hits her hard.

  She blinks, her mouth dropping open. Then she slinks back against the wall, the color draining from her face. "You..."

  "Sheila." I rush to her side, gripping her hands between mine. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you the moment I saw him that day in my living room, but I didn't know how. You looked so happy."

  "Why?" she whispers. She's looking at me, but not really. It's more like she's staring right through me. "Why would you keep something like that from me?"

  "I wanted to protect you. You were already so mad about everything and I was so messed up about what to do already. And then you showed up with him out of the blue and...I didn't know what to do."

  "Does he know?" She looks horrified.

  I quickly shake my head. "I know I have to tell him. I'm sorry, Sheila. I'm so sorry." I'm crying now and even though I know it isn't fair, I can't stop. "I'm sorry," I whisper again.

  Sheila pulls her hands from mine and stands up straight. When she turns toward the door, I begin to panic. "Please don't tell him. Please. Let me do it. He has to hear it from me."

  She doesn't respond. She simple walks out the door without looking back.

  Sheila

  I crash through the next door I see and slam it behind me. My whole body is shaking, my head spinning so fast I can barely see straight. I wanted to talk to Luke. To get the whole truth, but deep in my gut, I know I've already gotten it. I know my sister was sincere, no matter how twisted it all is. And that fact is tearing me up inside.

  I switch the light on and nearly crash into Dash's drum set.

  There's a pissed off groan from somewhere on the bed. "What the fuck?" But it's not Dash. Roscoe hurls a pillow in my direction. "Turn it off!"

  I scramble to flip off the switch, then fumble for the door. But I'm too exhausted, too angry, too sad, too confused. I can't stand anymore. Instead, I slump to the floor and let the sobs overtake me.

  Another groan fills the room and even though I know I should get ahold of myself, pick myself up off the floor and drag my humiliated body to some private corner of the house, I can't. I can't move. All I can do is cry.

  And after a while, I don't bother to try and hold it in. I just let it go. Sobbing, hiccupping and leaking from every hole on my face.

  I hear the crash of the cymbals first, then a curse. After that, there's a drunken shuffle across the carpeted floor. Another thump. Another curse and finally Roscoe is by my side.

  "What the fuck?" This time it's a gentle question. And a few seconds later, he switches the light back on revealing the blubbering mess I am. "Holy shit," he says. "What happened to you?"

  I shake my head and when he sits down beside me I throw my arms around his neck. At first he stiffens, but the tighter I grip, the more he relaxes, until he's rubbing my back and stroking my hair.

  "What the hell happened?" he asks
again.

  "It's so fucked up," I whimper. "Luke...and Shannon..."

  "Oh, shit."

  My head snaps up. "You know?"

  "This isn't going to cause problems is it? With the band I mean?"

  I'm so stunned I just stare at him for the next few seconds, working through how many other people could possibly have been in on a secret I've only just found out.

  "Don't look so shocked. He's my brother, he tells me everything."

  "Must be nice." I mumble.

  My sister's clearly grown out of the sharing portion of our relationship. And, now that I think about it, every time I brought up Shannon's name or anything about my family, Luke shut me down. And here I thought it was because of how they treated him. Not how well he knows them.

  "It's been over for a while. It was just better this way. If you'd found out sooner, it would have messed things up with the band and...well, you know. It's in the past. Big deal."

  I sniff and frown at him drawing back from his embrace. "It's a huge deal. She's my sister and she...they're..." I'm tempted to tell him what I know about Ray, but I bite my tongue. There's still a part of me that wants to protect her, no matter how broken I am. "Plus, she's so much hotter than me. She always has been. With those damn eyes and all that thick, shiny hair. Plus, she's way curvier. And now that she's had a baby, she's got boobs too."

  Roscoe lets out a howl of a laugh and rises from the floor. He walks over to the bed, grabs a bottle of Jack and walks back over to me, unscrewing it.

  "First of all," he says. "They're nothing. Like I said before, in the past. And my brother's all googly-eyed for you." He takes a swig of whiskey then hands it to me. "Second of all, you're the hot one. I mean Shannon's cute and everything. But she ain't like you."

  No she really isn't. She had his kid. I'm just his rebound. I nearly choke on the drink, but I force it down. It burns my throat the whole way.

  Roscoe takes the bottle from me again. "Come on," he says, leading the way back to the bed. "You look like hell and I'm too fucking drunk to sit on the damn floor."

  I get up to follow him and watch as he begins to pick up pillow after pillow and pile them into the far corner of the bed.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I don't mind sharing." He tosses over his shoulder. "It's late. I can keep you company, but only in a bed." His smirk widens into a grin and I roll my eyes.

  "The pillows, I mean. What's with the pillows?"

  Roscoe shrugs. "I've seen your bed. It's covered in these things. All fluffy and pink."

  "Purple," I correct him.

  "Whatever. Just trying to make you comfortable."

  "Thanks," I murmur. I crawl onto the bed and settle into my corner.

  Roscoe tosses a blanket over me, then eases into bed next me.

  "Why are you even in here?" I ask. "Where's Dash?"

  "Gettin' lucky, I guess. Saw him shoving his tongue down Coco's throat earlier." He chuckles and a lazy smile spreads over his face. "She sure did grow up nice."

  I laugh because it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Dash rarely hooks up with anyone anymore. And Coco and Dash? She would never. I shake my head. "You are drunk."

  "Last time I saw them they were headed to my room. I would have said something, but I didn't want to interrupt the man's game. You know how he is. You don't believe me? Go see for yourself."

  I close my eyes, tuning out his ridiculous banter and once again get lost in the pain that persists in the center of my chest.

  "You'll be all right," Roscoe says. I hear the swish of the whiskey as he takes another sip and I hold out my hand. As I take it from him, he adds, "You're kind of badass that way."

  I sure as hell don't feel it. I feel like I've been run over by a truck. I take a few quick swigs, squeezing my eyes shut as I embrace the fire.

  "Not like it matters anyway." I hand the bottle back. "This is where I get off, right?"

  He finishes it in one tilt and tosses the empty container on the room floor. "What the hell are you talking about now? You quitting on me again? Because of this?" His brows are drawn downward, jaw clenched. "You can't be fucking serious. You two said you could handle this. That it wouldn't affect the band."

  "Well, Luke said you're moving. That you got some condo in the city."

  "What you don't want to live in the city? You said you loved it there. That it was better than sex."

  I laugh. "You remembered that?"

  "Of course. You're not a complete idiot, like most chicks. I do actually listen to what you say."

  I raise my brow, unsure of whether to take that as an individual compliment or a slight to my entire gender. With Roscoe, it's hard to tell.

  "There's a room for you too. The biggest one, so you can fit all your shit. It's not healthy for you to share a room with that idiot. Too much drama. We don't have time for drama."

  "So what am I supposed to do? Just follow you around like a puppy?"

  "Well, you're our manager. Aren't you?"

  "I..."

  "I already told the label we're a package deal."

  Tears blind me again and before I can think better of it, I lean in and wrap my arms around him. "You're like a fucking angel," I say. "Why're you so nice to me?"

  He stiffens beneath me again and I draw back. "I wasn't always," he says. And before I can completely let go, he pulls me close. "Guess you have an effect on me."

  I smile. "I've never been jealous of Coco—her being stuck with Cole and all. But you know, it would have been nice to have a big brother. So much less drama. No competition. Luke's a lucky guy."

  Roscoe snickers. "I'm not sure he sees it that way."

  "Oh, he does. He adores you. Even though you are a pain in the ass most of the time."

  He kisses my head then releases me, burrowing himself beneath the covers. "Night, Carlson. Don't let shit get to you."

  Luke

  There's something in the air. I don't know what it is but it's as thick as the Jell-O shots that are rocking my stomach right about now. The whole house is quiet as a grave yard when I step out of my room, and my gaze swings to Sheila's door. Much of the events of last night are a blur. But I've got a pretty good handle on how royally I've fucked up.

  Behind that door are the two women who, a year ago, waltzed into my life and changed the way I see everything. I was content to stay in my room rather than join the party, and school was my other means of escape. I was supposed to lead a quiet life, away from all the drama. On my own. Now I'm signed to one of the biggest labels in the country, about to release our first album and juggling women like I'm some kind of player.

  But I'm not. Hell no. I never have been. Ever since the look on Mom's face when Dad's mistress testified against them in court, I knew I'd always be a one woman man. That was if I ever decided to touch a woman again. As far as I was concerned back then, they were poison.

  Dad's chick on the side turned over on him to cut a deal and after Mom found out—right there in the courtroom—he was as good as screwed. He'll be behind bars until he dies. While they'll both be out by the time I'm thirty.

  I need to wake the fuck up and I need to do it now. If there's anyone who can help me sort things out in a situation like this, it's my brother. I'm not in the mood for I-told-you-sos, but I need to avoid this drama even more. Asking my brother for dating advice is almost laughable, but at this point, I'll take anything.

  I make my way down the hall to face the music. Ready to take whatever advice he's willing to give, but behind Roscoe's door is a mind-boggling scene involving Dash and Coco. And a few minutes later, when I throw open the door to Dash's room, I find myself in the midst of a situation that makes me angrier than I've been in a good long while.

  Sheila jumps up from the bed—or at least she attempts to. My brother's arms are gripped so tightly around her waist she has to struggle to break free from his embrace. I glance from her back to his sleeping form, working to put together a sentence.

  When
she wriggles out from beneath the blankets, it doesn't help. She's still wearing my t-shirt from last night. It's barely covering her ass. And from what I can remember, her bra is still at the foot of my bed.

  She rubs her eyes. They're puffy and her face is streaked with tears. Her hair is a rat's nest and I just stand there. Staring, still unable to even grunt a response.

  In the next few minutes that follow, Roscoe comes to. The first thing he does is stretch, like the snake he is. Then he rolls onto his stomach and lets out a yawn so loud, Sheila jumps. After he fills the air with his usual morning fumes, he reaches over to the other side of the bed.

  I've seen this routine a million times. All the times I had to drag that chick out of his bed, and roll her into mine before Maya showed up unannounced. I just never expected that chick to be...mine.

  "Get the fuck up." My voice doesn't even sound like me. It's deeper than usual and it's shaking. I ball my fists and shove them into the pockets of my sweats.

  Roscoe rolls onto his back again and props himself up on his elbows. As far as I can see, he's nude. The way he always sleeps. And she was rolled up in the sheets with him.

  He stares at me for a long while—his body awake, but his senses still catching up. When he finally registers my face he smiles. Then his gaze shifts to Sheila, his eyes widen, and his attention is back on me. He shakes his head and I clench my teeth.

  "Tell me you didn't."

  "What the—? No, man. Bro, come on."

  "Then why the hell is she half-naked in your bed?" I'm practically screaming and no matter how my mind tells me to hold back, to calm the fuck down, I can't. My mind tells me to take a breath, let them explain, but my heart—my stupid heart—is betraying me. "You didn't fuck my girlfriend? But I walk in to find the two of you wrapped together like a...a..."

  Sheila steps in front of me. She shoves me so hard I stumble, and that's when I realize I've moved. I've walked from the open doorway all the way to the side of the bed. And Roscoe? He's actually cowering. I glance over at my raised fist and lower it. My heart is beating so fast it's messing with my breathing. My breaths are raspy and uneven.