Because of Luke Page 34

  The fantasy of crawling in bed next to her and making love to her until the morning will have to wait. I won't be waking up on my twenty-third birthday to Shannon's gorgeous face after all.

  Damn it. I'm dying to talk to her. To touch her. It's been way too long. It suddenly occurs to me, that she might not even know what tomorrow is. Everything between us happened so fast. We never celebrated each other's birthdays before. Hers was just before I found out about Ray and I'm not even sure she'll remember mine.

  When we pull up to the old house, there are lights on. Ross stops in the driveway.

  "Why aren't you parking in the garage?" I ask.

  He doesn't answer and as I glance toward the house, I notice movement in the window before the lights flicker off.

  "What was that all about?" I ask.

  "Dash and Ryan." Sheila and Ross say this at the same time, then exchange glances.

  "They're crashing for the night," Ross explains. "Ryan's parents are in town and Dash—you know Dash—he's too damn lazy to bother going home."

  It makes no sense, but I shrug it off. "Whatever."

  The two of them are several steps ahead of me before I even hop out of the truck and Ross throws over his shoulder, "Grab the bags will ya? I need to hit the head."

  Sheila doesn't say a thing.

  "What am I? The fucking doorman?" I murmur, throwing open trunk and dropping each bag one by one onto the cracked pavement.

  I lug Sheila's heavy suitcase first. It's lopsided and annoying as hell to get up the four steps that lead to our porch. I deposit it by the door, which these idiots didn't even have the courtesy to leave open. I grumble my way back down the driveway, this time balancing mine and Ross's suitcases in one arm and our guitars in the other.

  Standing in front of the door, which I've now realized with great annoyance is locked, I bang on it as hard as I can with both fists. "Seriously, guys? Open the fucking door!"

  They must all be somewhere deep in the house, because I don't hear one response, let alone a footstep. I let out a heavy sigh and fish around for my keys. I just want to go to bed. It was a long ass flight and I got myself all worked up thinking I'd see Shannon when it was over. Instead, I'm stuck in my old room for the night.

  Ridiculous. I drop my keys. Fuck. And completely unfair.

  The house is pitch-dark when I enter, and the first thing I do is drag the luggage inside, grumbling all the way. I flip the switch to the foyer light, but it doesn't come on.

  "Goddamnit," I mutter. "Seriously?"

  I switch it again, back and forth, just to make sure, then give up, squinting my way down the hallway, leaving the bags behind.

  There's a scuffling in the living room and I make my way toward the floor lamp, tripping over something soft in the process.

  Someone curses and I go straight into defensive mode.

  "Ross?" I squint some more but can't see a damn thing in all this darkness. "Everything all right?"

  I creep toward the floor lamp, taking each step cautiously, being mindful of any other weapons in close proximity other than my fists. I can't think of anything, so I settle on the damn lamp. If anyone comes at me, they'll be eating light bulb.

  I reach my hand forward, slowly, and grip the string between my finger and thumb. My heart is stuttering and I hold my breath and yank it downwards, filling the entire space around me with the soft orange light.

  "Surprise!"

  I jump back, nearly losing my balance as I take in the scene before me. There are dozens of people packed into our living room. Most of them I know and some of them I've never seen before. Sheila, Roscoe, Dash and Ryan are front and center. My brother in the middle holding a towering chocolate cake.

  "Holy shit," I say. "You scared the shit out of me."

  Roscoe grins, nodding for me to come closer.

  I do my best to dust off the fear and make my way to the center of the room, all eyes on me.

  "Happy birthday, bro. It's midnight. You're officially twenty-three." He laughs as everyone in the room starts cheering. "I can't believe it," he says so only I can hear. "I can't fucking believe it."

  "Thanks." I smile, still unsure of what else to say.

  "It's a little early," Roscoe continues. "Technically, Mom didn't push your wrinkly little ass out until sometime just before midnight. I still remember Dad dragging me out of bed. But there's no harm in celebrating twenty-four hours early." His gaze drops to the candles still burning on the cake. "Blow 'em out, bro. Make a wish."

  As is our tradition, I close my eyes and count backwards from ten. I think of the past year, of Shannon, Ray, the band, everything I've done. All I've avoided, all the shit I've crashed into. And I wish with all my might, that despite whatever crap will inevitably be thrown our way, everything will turn out the way it's supposed to. And that I'll somehow be able to handle it all.

  I blow with as much force as I can muster, taking out every single candle at once. The room erupts in cheers again and music starts to play. Ross carries the cake into the kitchen and I take the opportunity to look around. There are balloons, streamers and, amid the smoky atmosphere, a few kegs in the corner in front of Dad's old piano and a table covered in food and bottles of the harder stuff.

  Someone tugs on my arm and I turn to face Sheila.

  "Happy Birthday." I have to read her lips it's so loud.

  I thank her with a hug and for the first time in more weeks than I can count, she doesn't tense up. "I'm sorry," I murmur in her ear. "If I didn't say it before, I really am. I was out of line and I put you in a shitty position."

  She pulls back a little, then pats my cheek. "It's okay. We'll figure all this out eventually. Like I said," she adds with a wink. "No matter how you slice it..."

  I grin, taking her in for another quick hug.

  I've barely pulled back the first quarter of my beer when Roscoe, escorts me out the side door and toward the garage.

  "I've got something for you," he says with a sly smile. "For the kid who's got everything."

  I follow along, behind him, my heart racing. He makes me close my eyes, like he always does. But as idiotic as I feel, I'm too giddy to care.

  He clicks on the door opener and the garage opens so slow I want to yank it up the rest of the way. When I finally catch full view of the inside, I hold my breath.

  "Is that...?"

  I'm frozen in place and Roscoe enters first, standing beside a familiar object covered in a dark gray sheet.

  "Is that...?" I ask again.

  His smile is so wide I know I'm right and I'm freaking out like a little girl.

  "No fucking way."

  "See for yourself."

  I finally manage to move, my feet stumbling forward as I snatch the sheet from it's place.

  "Shit, Ross! You bought me a fucking Harley?" I smooth one hand over the cool shiny surface, and caress the staunch leather seat with the other. "Holy shit," I whisper.

  "You like?"

  "Are you kidding?" I shake my head. "It looks...it's just like Dad's."

  "It's better than Dad's." He crosses his arms with a frown. "It's a FLSTC Heritage Softail." Ross circles the bike, pointing out all the things I've yet to notice. "Look at this. Chrome everywhere, floorboards, oil pump, air breather, coil cover, head bolt covers. It's got braided cables, leather seats and saddle bags. This bike is the shit. Dad's bike didn't have a thing on this."

  "And it's red." I crouch next to it.

  "Your favorite color." Ross reaches behind the bike and tosses me a helmet. "Ready to take it for a spin?"

  I just stare at him. "I...can't...I haven't driven one of these since...I don't know..."

  "What're you sayin' you forgot how, you little bitch?"

  I shake my head. "No, it's not that." It's just that it's so beautiful. It's bad enough we just took the sheet off, exposing it to the elements, now he wants me to take it out on the road?

  I must have that look in my eye, because Roscoe rolls his, shoving me once in the shoul
der, as though to snap me out of it.

  "Oh, no. I didn't blow a shit load of cash on this thing for it to sit in the garage, while you polish it every day."

  We both freeze at his words, then burst into laughter as we recall Mom saying almost the exact thing to Dad when we were kids.

  "Take it for spin," Ross says. "You'll be glad you did."

  I nod. "All right. You're right. But if I don't come back to my own party, it's on you."

  "I'll gladly bear the burden, little bro."

  I climb onto the bike and lift the helmet over my head. For a moment, I just sit there, gripping the handlebars, memories of my past come flooding back—driving around with Dad, sneaking the bike when he was out of town. I'm just about to secure the strap, when Sheila comes rushing into the garage.

  "Luke!" Her eyes are wide, her bottom lip quivering. "It's Shannon."

  I tear the helmet off my head and jump off the bike.

  "She...I...she said she was feeling weird. That's why she didn't come to the party. But..." She shakes her head. "It was morning sickness. Just morning sickness."

  "What happened?" I grab ahold of her shoulders, urging myself not to shake it out of her.

  "I...I don't know. Mom called and said she's in the hospital. Dave took her there about an hour ago. She told me to..." She breaks down into sobs and I let go of her, rushing toward the truck.

  "What hospital? Where? Is she okay?"

  "P—p—pullman Regional." She shakes her head again as if to clear it. "I don't know, I don't know. She didn't say."

  "What do you mean she didn't say? Is she at Pullman or not?"

  Sheila nods against Roscoe's shoulder. "I don't know what happened."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Sheila

  The ride to the hospital is excruciating. Roscoe insisted on driving because Luke is erratic, cursing and yelling at me like I know something I'm not telling. But I don't know a thing. Mom barely said anything.

  "Your sister is in the hospital. It's serious. Come right away." She was calm as ever over the phone, like she was inviting me to dinner. And it hasn't occurred to me until now—no one bothered to call Luke. He wasn't even a second thought.

  He's calmed down a bit now, but is sitting in the backseat, muttering under his breath.

  "I'm sorry," I say and Roscoe shoots a glance my way. "I don't know why they didn't call you. I'm sure Shannon would have called if she could have."

  I've realized, too late, in trying to make him feel better about my parents' obvious slight, I've only made things sound worse.

  "Is she going to be okay?" Luke's voice breaks, and I press my lips together. "Maybe we should call the hospital."

  "We'll be there soon, bro. Just hang on." Ross squeezes my hand and I hold on for dear life, thankful for the support.

  I feel like I'm living inside a dream. One second, I'm talking to my sister, making up for everything that's happened and the next my mom is telling me...I don't know what she's telling me. I don't know anything anymore.

  When we arrive at the hospital we're ushered to the maternity ward waiting area. Mom is sitting on one of the chairs, fidgeting, her knee bobbing up and down as she watches Dad pace back and forth in front of her. The moment she sees me, she jumps up, engulfing me in her arms.

  "What happened?" I ask. "Is it the baby? Is she okay?"

  Mom just shakes her head, whimpering like she's unable to even form words.

  "They're still running tests." Dad's voice booms behind me. "We won't know anything for a while."

  "Where is she?" I rip myself away from Mom's fierce embrace to face him.

  "In the O.R. Emergency C-section. It's the only way to save the baby."

  "But she's only six months!"

  Dad runs a hand over his partially bald head, and lets out a ragged sigh. "The heart rate was dropping, they had to get her out. It's up to god now."

  "Where's my son?" In my own distress I've completely forgotten about Luke. He is standing right behind me, Mom throwing eye-daggers at the back of his head.

  Dad clears his throat. "Safe. With a family friend."

  "I'd like to see him," Luke says.

  "Well, he's likely sleeping, son. It's probably better to focus on one thing at a time."

  Luke doesn't respond, but trains his gaze on Roscoe, who's caught the horrified attention of Mom. Her eyes rake up and down his body, lingering on his bare inked arms and array of silver rings on his fingers. When their gazes meet, she looks away quickly searching to Dad for support.

  "You boys oughta go on home until we know more." Dad nods toward the exit and I cringe. "We'll call you."

  Luke's eyes go so wide I'm afraid he's about to explode. "Like hell! That's my wife in there. There's no way I'm just walking out of here. And if you don't mind, I'd like to know exactly where my son is. Who exactly this friend is that's keeping him safe. 'Cause to be honest, I can't imagine a son being safer with anyone but his father."

  Mom scoffs and Roscoe reaches for Luke, but he shakes him off.

  "I'm not going anywhere, until I'm just as clear about what's going on as all of you."

  When his gaze meets mine, it isn't friendly. Like he thinks I'm standing against him. So I gather my wits, throw aside my fears and take his hand.

  "You're right," I say. "You have just as much right to be here as any of us. Let's go sit down." I glance over at Roscoe. "I'm sure Ray's fine. First thing in the morning I'll make sure he gets here. Let's just...let's just wait to see what the doctor has to say."

  It seems to appease him, though only a little. He lets go of my hand and is silent—arms crossed as he glares in my parents' direction.

  I make my way over to the seats and ease down, Roscoe at my side. But Luke stands post in the hallway, opposite my father.

  "He ever met them before tonight?" Roscoe whispers.

  I nod. "Once when we were dating. Then just after they got married he went over for dinner. But it didn't go well."

  "No shit."

  I sigh, a shiver running through me as I glance around.

  Despite the normal hospital temperature, it's cozy compared to what I remember, but maybe that's because we're in the maternity ward. Instead of white, plain and sterile, it's almost inviting. If it weren't for the situation at hand, it just might be.

  In the hallway is a woman much further along than Shannon. She paces slowly, gripping the wall every once in a while and bending over to let out a soft moan. The man walking alongside her rubs the small of her back. Across from us is another woman who looks like she's ready to pop. She's rubbing her belly, eyes closed as she takes deep breaths. The guy beside her holds her hand, whispering something in her ear that makes her smile, despite obvious pain.

  When I look up, I notice Luke is watching them too. With a whole different type of pain washing over his face.

  Roscoe links his fingers with mine, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the top of my hand. My gaze quickly drops to the unexpected affection. When I look up at him, he smiles and I see something I've never seen before. Just a guy. Behind the tattoos, piercings, and jovial air, he's just a regular guy. As regular as any other one in here. He almost fits right in.

  "This sucks ass."

  Until he says that.

  I laugh, but it quickly fades when I catch Mom watching us and the memory of why I'm here in the first place takes over.

  "Yeah," I murmur. "It does."

  I don't know how much time passes, but when Roscoe shakes me awake, a doctor is walking into the waiting room.

  "Mr. Black?"

  Luke pushes off the wall and Roscoe stands to his feet.

  "Lucas Black?" the doctor asks.

  Luke nods.

  "Your wife made it out of surgery." His voice drops and I jump to my feet, scrambling to hear what else he has to say. "...but your daughter is doing well, despite the circumstances. We've managed to stabilize her. She's in the NICU right now awaiting further tests. But so far it looks like anything she may have b
een exposed to in utero hasn't negatively affected her. She's got a bit of an uphill battle, but she's a very lucky little girl."

  "And Shannon?" Luke runs his fingers through his hair.

  The doctor remains neutral. "She's out of surgery. Not yet conscious due to encephalitis. We're doing our best to stabilize her and, to be honest, might have had a better chance a few hours ago—"

  "What the hell is that? Encephalitis?"

  "It's inflammation of the brain tissue, usually caused by a viral infection."

  "What infection?" He's got a threatening look in his eyes and Roscoe tenses up beside me.

  "We don't know, Mr. Black. We're still running tests."

  "What the hell is taking so long? She's been here for hours."

  "Your wife was more concerned with the child," the doctor explains. "She wanted to make sure your daughter was all right. And she is. Which is wonderful. So now we can focus on Shannon." He rests a hand on Luke's shoulder, and even though I expect him to push it off, all he does is step back, staring at the floor.

  "Is she going to be all right?" he asks.

  "We're not sure," is the last thing the doctor says before Luke backs down, defeated, and Mom and Dad converge with more questions.

  Shannon

  "How's Ray?"

  Luke perks up by my side when I squeeze his hand. His eyes go wide and he glances around, but I squeeze again to get his attention.

  "It's okay," I say. "I've had enough doctors poking at me for one day."

  He doesn't say a thing, he just stares at me, his eyes wide with anticipation. I don't want him to ask if I'm okay, because I'm pretty sure I'm not, but at the same time I don't want him to worry, so I just keep talking.

  "How is he?"

  "With a family friend," he replies.

  Dave. I can see it written all over his face. The moments leading up to the time I passed out, to when I insisted they save my baby, to now, is pretty much a blur. But I do remember the last person I was with.