Preston Brothers: Lucas Part 3

"About what? Her spending the summer with us or her kicking your a.s.s?"

"Neither."

Lies.

All lies.

I set my alarm and woke up early the next morning. It was barely light out, and the twins weren't even up yet. Slowly, and as quietly as possible, I made my way downstairs and to the kitchen where I left a note for whoever would find it.

Gone for a run.

Won't leave our property.

Don't drink all the milk, Logan.

- Lucas.

And with that, I slipped on my sneakers by the front door, tied them extra tight, and I ran. I ran and I ran and I ran until my legs burned worse than my lungs and by the time I was back at the house, my t-s.h.i.+rt was covered in sweat and the rest of my family were all sitting around the kitchen table.

"Did you speak to Lois's dad?" I huffed out, taking my seat opposite Lucy.

"Good morning to you, too." Mom ruffled my sweaty hair and poured me the few drops of milk leftover in the carton.

I glared at Logan, who gave me a s.h.i.+t-eating grin. He was such a douche.

I pushed the gla.s.s of milk away and opted for water instead. "So, is she coming?" I asked Mom.

"Why so eager?" she teased.

"I want to race her again."

"Right. Well, it's early and Brian doesn't start work until tomorrow, but I'll call later today."

"Call now."

"Luke."

"Please?"

She looked at her watch. "I'll wait another hour, okay?"

"Fine."

"Luke and Laney, sitting in a tree..." Logan sang.

"Shut up!"

"Enough," Dad warned.

"May I please be excused?" Leo asked, already standing with his bowl and gla.s.s in his hand.

Dad nodded, and a moment later, Leo set the bowl in the sink and took his gla.s.s with him to wherever he was going. The twins-age four-spoke to each other in a language that was part English, part something they'd made up. Logan ate as if there was a compet.i.tion to see who could eat the loudest and messiest. See? Douche.

Lucy was... sigh. Lucy was a mess, milk stains down her top from being too busy reading to concentrate on eating. She dropped her spoon an inch from the bowl and reached out in search of her juice, knocking over a pile of napkins and salt and pepper shakers on the way. I rolled my eyes and picked up her gla.s.s and physically placed it in her hand.

Mom set a plate of bacon, eggs and toast in front of me, squeezing my shoulder as she did-a silent acknowledgment that she'd seen what I'd done and even though Lucy was too zoned out, Mom noticed and she appreciated it.

The thing about Lucy, though a little kooky, is that she's my only sister. Our only sister. And it was an unspoken oath between us Preston boys that we all look out for her. Even if it meant handing her a gla.s.s or moving a toy out of the way while she walked around the house, nose in a book, so that she wouldn't trip over it. Some of our friends called her a princess, and maybe they were right, and if that made my mother a queen, so be it. I'd seen the way Dad had treated the two women in the family-different to the boys-and growing up I knew it had to mean something, I just wasn't sure what. Yet.

I ate my breakfast slowly, so slowly it was almost a ch.o.r.e, and I kept my eye on the clock. Seconds ticked by, turned into minutes and by the time my body had finally stopped sweating, only fifteen minutes had pa.s.sed. I sighed loudly, annoyed.

Mom must have noticed because she said, "If you're that desperate, you could call her yourself."

Logan chimed, "Who? You're giiirlfriend?"

"Shut. Up!"

"Lucas," Dad warned. Then added, "Shut up, Logan."

I stood up. "I'm going for a run."

"Again?" Mom sighed. "Luke, your stomach hasn't settled yet."

"I'll be okay."

"Wait five minutes."

I sat back down.

Each ticking of the second hand on the clock felt like torture. I didn't know why I wanted to run so bad. Why I felt it necessary to beat Lois in a race, but my eleven-year-old brain said that I absolutely had to. So as soon as five minutes pa.s.sed, I shot to my feet and a few seconds later, I was out the door. I didn't run far. Our parents had set up boundaries on our land that we all had to stick to so that if anything happened, they wouldn't have to search far for us. But still, I ran to one border, then to the next, and the next, and the next, again and again, until the burning set in and man, I must've really wanted to impress her. I mean beat her.

Dad's car was gone when I got back to the house and Mom was sitting on the porch, cordless phone to her ear. "Sure, Brian, it's no problem at all."

I stopped in my tracks, my eyebrows raised as I tried to catch my breath. "What did he say?" I mouthed.

Mom raised a hand between us.

I stomped my foot. "What did he say?" I asked again.

"Okay, I'll see both you and Lois Lane tomorrow morning."

I pressed my lips together to hide my smile.

As soon as she hung up, she looked over at me and grinned from ear-to-ear, her eyes bright against the sun and her long dark hair flying with the wind. Up until I met Laney, I swear my mother was the prettiest woman I'd ever seen. Well, her and Mila Kunis. "So she's coming over tomorrow for a date," she teased. Again. "Oh my... Lucas Preston, what are you going to wear? Maybe that ugly sweater your aunt Leslee bought you for Christmas? Or maybe that hideous plaid suit she got you for your birthday. Maybe I'll just dig out that picture of you as a baby when you decided to go digging around your p.o.o.py diaper and eat-"

"Ma, stop!" I yelled, but I was laughing.

Because of all the qualities I love about my mother, being a smarta.s.s is one I miss most.

Chapter Three.

LUCAS.

Even though Laney told me what was going on, she still seemed distant, still lost, and I knew she wasn't giving me everything. I tried to get more out of her, but she kept changing the subject and after a while, I had no choice but to let it go. So we spent the rest of the morning talking about anything and everything other than her feelings. I was pretty good at reading most girls, but Laney... she was something else. The truth is I didn't make too much of an effort with other girls, but I wanted to with her. She was more than a fling, more than a random attempt to pa.s.s the time. She meant a lot to me... in fact, she meant the world.

"What are your plans for the rest of the day?" she asks, her head still in the crook of my arm.

"Well, it's Sunday, so family breakfast-which I'm dragging your a.s.s to-and then..." I turn to my side so I can face her. "I was thinking of driving down to Charlotte. I hear there's this amazing craft store that-"

She sits up, her smile instant, and I know I've said the right thing. "Shut up!"

"I could use the company on the long drive."

Her eyes roll, but she's still smiling. G.o.d, her smile does something to me. "It's only an hour away."

"So... you're coming?"

"Why would you spend your last day of summer sitting bored in a craft store while I-"

"Because you're sad and-"

"Lucas..."

I take her hand and place a kiss on the center of her palm. A simple kiss. A restrained kiss. A kiss she has no idea drives me insane. "I don't like seeing you sad, Lane."

Most people hate Sundays. It's the day before the norm of the routine begins again. Work, school, whatever.

I'm not most people.

Up until a few months ago, Dad had hired a full-time nanny who lived in the garage apartment that's now mine. Dad let her go a few weeks after Leo got his license. The twins had a lot of weekend sports, and Lucy was at college, so between Leo, Dad and me, we were able to divide and conquer. Anyway, Virginia (the nanny) started Sunday family breakfasts-a way to reconnect us all so we knew what was going on with each other. Now we all cook breakfast together, even Logan. When Lucy is home from UNC, she attempts to do it all. My sister is a horrible cook, but we all grin and bear it because she's Lucy and we're her brothers and we love her. And, if not for her, we probably would've been separated years ago.

So, I like my family.

I like the one day a week that brings us all to the same room at the same time to do the same thing.

I like Sundays.

"Laney!" Lachlan practically bounces as he runs toward her, arms out waiting.

"What's up, Lachy?" Laney says, lifting him off the ground and spinning him around. "Jeez, you've gotten big!"

"I'm six!" he tells her.

"Really?" she says in mock surprise. "Another year and you'll have a beard like your daddy!" He giggles and runs away to continue setting the table.

"You're staying for breakfast I a.s.sume?" Dad asks her, kissing her on the cheek.

"If that's okay."

"Of course!" Over his shoulder, he says, "Lachlan, set up another place for Laney."

The greetings continue, one brother after another-high fives and hugs-everyone except Logan who's stuck doing the dishes. He's fifteen, and I guess in his mind he has to hate the world. Dad's completely set on the idea of Logan being the first Preston to end up in juvie or rehab. Not that Dad would ever tell him that. Laney doesn't seem fazed by his att.i.tude, though, and slowly makes her way over to him. She nudges his hip with hers and says something too quiet for me to hear. Logan glances at her then drops a spoon back in the sink. He wipes his hand on a cloth before giving her a hug. It's quick, but it's real, and for Logan, it's a pretty big deal.

"What can I do?" I ask the room.

Laney's the first and loudest to speak, "You sit down. You've had, like, three hours sleep and a long day ahead. Relax." With a smile, she moves to Dad working over the stove and reaches up to grasp his shoulders and lead him to his chair at the head of the table. "You, too, Tom. You've worked hard this week."

"And me, too?" Logan asks, eyebrows raised.

Laney laughs. "You finish those dishes."

He groans but does as she says.

A moment later, Laney's moving around the kitchen as if she lives here, opening and closing cabinets, working on the stove, pouring Lachlan's infamous Coco Pops and Froot Loop mix into a bowl with milk, flipping pancakes and plating bacon. "Eat!" she orders, so they eat. I don't. Instead, I watch her. And I find myself smiling, though I don't really know why. She places a plate of Dad's regular Sunday breakfast in front of him and says, "Dad tells me the Baldwin development is ahead of schedule."

"Thank you," he tells her. "And yes, your dad managed to get two weeks ahead."

"Something about council permits, right?"

"Right," Dad confirms, but he's looking at me. He waits until Laney's at the other end of the table, sitting down with her own plate and talking to Leo about what he's currently reading, before leaning across Lachlan and toward me. His smile reaches his eyes. "It's like having your mother back."

PAST LUCAS.

My mom used to tell me that I loved numbers, that ever since I could count, I used the skill on everything. I mean, everything. How many peas were on my plate, the steps from the front door to the fence. Obviously, as I got older and my strides got longer, the steps lessened, but still, I counted. Then I learned how to tell time. I counted that, too. How many seconds it would take for Mom's morning coffee to brew, how many times droplets of water leaked from the kitchen tap right after being shut off. The number of clicks per minute, per second, Mom's knitting needles clicked together. Two per second, just in case you're wondering. So, it's no surprise when I raced Laney, I counted. The first race, I counted my steps. The second, I counted the time.

I won both races, just so we're clear.

She was also wearing flip-flops, which I'm sure didn't help. But if it was the reason I won, I wasn't going to mention it.