Soldier's Choice (10 page)

Understanding flooded her friend’s face. “This isn’t just about your art.”

“I can’t do it, Syd.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “He wants to be friends. I’m trying, but…I love him.”

The words hung in the air, impossible to take back. She’d never admitted it before—not even to herself. Now she realized it was true…she loved him. She’d always loved him. And it was five years too late to do anything but nurse her broken heart.

She folded her arms on the table and dropped her head into them, willing herself not to cry in the middle of the stupid diner. After a minute, she felt a comforting hand on her back. “He’s not beyond you,” Sydney said. “
You’re
too good for
him
.”

It was too much. She burst into tears.

Dimly, she was aware of Syd pushing a chair closer to her, sitting with an arm around her shoulders. She cried until she couldn’t breathe, until she would sure her lungs would burst in her chest and she’d just drop dead. At least it wouldn’t hurt as much as this. She should’ve just ignored him that first day at the bakery. That way she’d never have known what she was missing.

At last her internal storm blew itself out, and she managed to breathe again. Without lifting her head, she muttered, “Thanks, darling. Can I have some napkins?”

Syd thrust a bunch in her hand, and she mopped her face awkwardly before raising her head for a cautious glance around. “How much of a spectacle did I just make? Scale of one to ten.”

“Two. Maybe three.” Sydney gave her a quick squeeze. “Don’t worry. Everyone’s still too busy talking about Cam punching Boyd Lowell in the face to worry about outbursts in the diner.”

“Well, thank your fiancé for being a bigger fool than me.” She hitched a watery smile. “So where’s my pie?”

Sydney laughed. “I think you scared Holly away. I’ll wave her down.”

“Good, because I want seconds now.”

Luka relaxed, determined to enjoy hanging out with Syd. And pie. She knew it was still going to hurt for awhile, but she certainly didn’t have to make it worse by pretending she was okay with “just friends.” It had to be all or nothing—and he’d made it clear they couldn’t have it all.

So she’d give him nothing.

Chapter 10

On Monday morning, Reese reported to the job site expecting a cool reception from the Dawson boys. But what he got was downright frigid.

None of them spoke to him, except to give him terse instructions on what to do. They gave him the heaviest, most labor-intensive jobs, even making up drudge work when the hard stuff ran out. Mark especially seemed intent on running him into the ground.

By lunchtime he was ready to go beg the S&S to hire him. Sixteen bucks an hour wasn’t worth this abuse.

The brothers sat at the table next to the trailer. There were four chairs, but they’d made it clear he wasn’t welcome to join them by folding the empty one and shoving it inside the office. Reese figured he had two choices. Put up with the slave treatment for however long they decided it needed to last, which could be forever—or confront them now and get the shit kicked out of him, or get fired, or both.

He decided to go with the confrontation.

They looked up as he approached, three identical green-eyed glares burning into him. If they came after him, he’d focus on Mark. Jonah was the biggest, so that would make him slower, and Reese could take a lot of punishment before he went down. Gage was too eager to pose a threat.

But Mark was the leader…and the best strategy was always to take out the leader first.

Reese stopped at the table and caught Mark’s gaze. “Sorry to interrupt your little war council here,” he said. “But I’d like to lodge a formal complaint with management about the working conditions.”

One by one, the Dawson boys stood—Jonah first, then Gage, and finally Mark. “Management isn’t interested in your complaints,” Mark said. “This isn’t business. It’s personal.”

“So it’s about Luka, then.”

Jonah made a low, threatening sound, but Mark stopped him with a gesture. “As a matter of fact, it is,” he said. “And since you know that, I’m guessing we’re justified in showing you what happens when you fuck with a Dawson.”

The choice of words made Reese cringe, and he hoped they hadn’t noticed it. “You all go ahead and try,” he said, striking a defensive posture. “But I’m not sorry that I love your sister.”

Saying that out loud was like a blow to the gut. For an instant he actually felt his father’s fists, heard the snap of the belt and that horrible, sneering voice.
Love’s a goddamned disease. But I’ve got the cure for that.
Well, damn it, he wasn’t cured. Five years gone, and he loved her more than ever. No matter what he had to do to protect her from his own dark side, he couldn’t deny that.

Mark folded his arms. “Come again?”

“I said I love Luka, and I’m not sorry for that.” It wasn’t any easier saying it the second time. “I am sorry for hurting her, though. That was never my intention. In fact, I’m trying to make up for that now.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s not working,” Gage said. “I think we should hurt him anyway.”

“Hold on. I want to hear this.” Mark gave him a long, speculative look. “How are you making it up to her?”

“Actually, I was going to ask you guys to help me with that.” He took his phone out—slowly, in case they decided to interpret it as a threatening move—and pulled up the conversation with Brett. “A buddy of mine lives in Greenway, and his mother owns an art gallery there. I forget the name of it…something about a subway, maybe?”

“MoJo Station,” Jonah said.

Everyone stared at him.

“What?” Jonah shrugged. “Luka said it’s the only one that doesn’t suck.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” Reese held the phone out to Mark. “Anyway, they want to show her work. I was hoping you could help me get some of it, so I can bring it out there and surprise her.”

“Wait a minute,” Mark said. “She actually told you about her paintings?”

He nodded. “I kind of found out accidentally, back in high school. But she showed me her newest stuff the other day, and…well, she’s damned good. Amazing, really. I think she deserves to hear that from a complete stranger, someone who knows art, so maybe then—”

“She’ll believe it,” Mark muttered.

“Exactly.”

Mark stared at the screen for long moments, and scrolled through the entire conversation more than once. At last, he smirked and handed the phone back. “Sorry, boys,” he said. “Looks like the beating is cancelled for today.”

“Aww,
man
,” Gage said through a wide grin. “I was really in the mood for a fight, too. Go back to being an asshole, will you?”

“If you want a fight, I’ve got one for you.” Mark rabbit-punched his arm. “Grab that other chair for Reese.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

As Gage headed for the trailer, Mark said, “Swing by the house tonight around six. Luka’s got some wedding thing with Sydney, and yesterday she threw all her paintings out.”

Reese’s jaw dropped. “She did
what?
”

“Well, she boxed them up and tried to throw them away. Then she told me to get them out of her sight, so I put them in my room.” He grinned. “It’s perfect. She’ll never even know they’re gone.”

For the first time that day, Reese managed a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “Maybe we can really pull this off.”

And when it was over, he could start trying to deal with a life that didn’t include Luka. She was better off without him.

* * * *

Luka pulled up in front of the Davis house promptly at six. The driveway was already stuffed with vehicles, and the windows were filled with light and motion. This was going to be some pre-wedding party.

She got out and rang the doorbell. It wasn’t long before Marnie Davis answered the door. Syd’s mother was beaming, and it looked suspiciously like she’d been crying—the happy kind of tears. “Luka!” she gushed, pulling her into a bear hug. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Hey, Mama Davis,” she said with a laugh. “It’s been like a week.”

“Well, we’ve just been so busy around here that it seems like forever.” She smiled and ushered her inside, closing the door behind her. “Come on in,” she said. “Sydney’s been watching for you, but she got distracted a few minutes ago.”

Luka followed her toward the living room, where most of the noise was coming from. “So what do you think about this development with Cam?” she said.

“Oh, I’m thrilled.” Marnie waved a hand in the air, like she was shouting hallelujah. “Don’t even get me started on those rotten Lowells, but I can’t say how happy I am that she’s not moving to New York City.” She gave a dramatic shudder.

“Me, too.” Luka had been crushed when Syd told her that Tommy had a job way up there. She really had to work at pretending she was happy for her—and she’d been not-so-secretly relieved when it was over.

Twenty or so females of varying ages occupied the living room. Luka knew a few of them from school, and a few more were Sydney’s cousins. Most looked familiar, but so did everyone in Covendale. They all sat or stood where they could see the big-screen television showing what looked like a really old home video. Something outdoors, with a lot of people milling around and mugging at the camera. Then the shot cut to a girl in a white wedding dress, getting ready to toss the bouquet.

She recognized the bride.

“I knew you were crying,” she said, nudging Marnie. “That’s your wedding.”

Marnie grinned. “Yes, Bill managed to transfer the old tape onto a DVD and had it cleaned up. You’re all just lucky we didn’t put the honeymoon videos on here.”

“What, we don’t get to see the sexy times?”

She laughed. “Not right now. There are children here.”

On the screen, an incredibly young Marnie threw the bouquet over her shoulder. The camera moved to the crowd, where a girl in a bright blue dress shouldered people out of the way like a linebacker, then scrambled onto a chair and made a leaping catch, clutching the bouquet to her chest like a life preserver.

“Oh my God,” someone in the living room said. “That’s my
mom.
”

Everyone broke into peals of laughter.

As the video moved into more wandering crowd shots, Sydney popped her head over the couch and spotted Luka. She grinned and scrambled to her feet, rushing over for a hug. “Finally, the party can start,” she said. “How are you doing? I got more pie, in case we need it.”

“I’m fine. Really.” She stepped back and smiled. “Still the blushing bride,” she said. “Funny, you look a lot more radiant than you ever did with what’s-his-name.”

“I feel
so
much better.” Syd grinned and grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s run for the kitchen while no one’s looking. I’ve got stuff for Mudslides.”

“You’re on.”

They snuck out of the living room, giggling like idiots. “You remember that time we drank half a bottle of Dad’s Scotch?” Sydney said. “We were…God, like seven or eight.”

“Eight,” Luka said. “It was the weekend after my birthday. We’d been wearing those stupid paper crowns from the party all week.”

“That’s right! We were being queens and we wanted tea, but I wasn’t allowed to use the stove.” Syd smirked and shook her head. “Well, it was tea-colored.”

“Your mom freaked out so bad. It’s the only time I remember her yelling at your dad. She kept saying something about poisoning us with his Glenlivet obsession—only for the longest time I thought she said ‘Glen’s ribbit’ and your dad was obsessed with frogs.”

“Oh my God. Glen’s ribbit!”

By the time they reached the kitchen, both of them were laughing so hard they had to lean on each other to keep from falling. They calmed down a little and Luka slid into a chair at the island counter, while Syd headed for the fridge. “Can you plug the blender in?” she said as she pulled out a bottle of Kahlua.

“Got it.”

Just as Syd lined up the last of the ingredients, the basement door opened and her father poked his head out. “Oh, it’s you two,” he said. “Thought I had a couple of loons in my kitchen.”

“Nobody here but us chickens,” Sydney said. “Hey, Dad.”

Bill came in the rest of the way. “Hi, honey,” he said, leaning over to peck her cheek. Then he walked to Luka and kissed her too. “Hi, honey.”

She grinned. “Hi, Pop. How’s your frog collection?”

Syd glanced at her, and they burst out laughing again.

“Okay. I don’t want to know.” Bill smiled and circled the counter to grab a beer out of the fridge. “I’m going back to my cave. Goodnight, ladies—Sydney, don’t let your mother drink too much. I want to get lucky tonight.”

“Dad!” She grabbed a handy potholder and threw it at the closing door, then turned back with a sigh. “I swear, they’re trying to scar me for life.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Luka said. “Your mom said we could watch the honeymoon video when the kids go home.”

“Eww.” Syd made a face.

Luka fell silent for a few minutes while Sydney filled the blender and pureed the hell out of the contents. When the drinks were poured, she lifted her glass and said, “Here’s to you, Sydney my love.”

“Right back at you.” Syd clinked with her, and they drank. “Hm. Needs more chocolate.” She grabbed the bottle of syrup.

“Hey, Syd?”

“Yeah.”

She hesitated a minute, not sure how to say this. “Nobody here seems to upset about… the cast change for your wedding.”

“Lot of people aren’t.” She shrugged and stirred her drink. “But some people are. They won’t show up tonight, and maybe they won’t come to the wedding.”

“Yeah, maybe not.” Cam Thatcher’s reputation around town wasn’t exactly sterling. Worse than hers, not quite as bad as her brothers’. He’d been the angry hermit who snubbed the town for years before his fight with the Lowells. “Doesn’t that…bother you?” she said. “I mean, people are going to talk trash about you now, too.”

“Probably. But I know they’re wrong.” She smiled at nothing in particular. “I don’t care what people think,” she said. “He makes me happy.”

Must be nice.
The flash of bitterness didn’t last very long. She took another sip of her drink, and helped herself to the syrup bottle. “You’re right,” she said. “Not enough chocolate.”