Wedding plans. God, please tell me she hadn’t still been working on those. I had told her to halt all planning for that ill-fated possibility six months ago, when my gut had first told me the wedding might not ever become a reality.

I spoke rapidly into the phone, but my words went unheard, nothing but silence in my ear. She had hung up. I pulled the phone from my ear and gawked at it. I don’t know why I was surprised. My mother, the queen of independence, wasn’t the type to drag out conversations, especially when she had supper on the stove. I locked the phone screen, trying to work through what had just happened. Luke. At my parents’ house. Anger boiled with quick fury in my blood, and I stood, whirling around and yanking the heavy door open, stomping into the kitchen a bit dramatically, embracing the anger that flowed with greedy speed throughout me.

Brad turned at my entrance, his plate empty, his eyes locking on his phone and following it as I swung my arms emphatically. “You won’t believe this shit!” He stood, snagging his phone from my hand and pocketing it, as he grabbed his plate and took it to the sink.

“They aren’t happy about the engagement?”

“I didn’t even get that far! Luke is staying at my parents’ house!” His blank look returned my infuriated one. “Luke! My ex-fiancé!

He set down his plate, the sound echoing in the empty kitchen. I expected fire, an outrage to match my own, nostrils flaring, hands clenched, a dramatic show of he-man strength. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “I know you’ve told me about Luke, but refresh my memory.” He walked back to the table, sliding out a chair and sitting down, his face calm and peaceful across from my furious one.

I blew out a long breath, flexing my hands in front of me. “Dated eighteen months, engaged for twelve of those. I ended it about a month or two before you and I met.”

“Nice guy?”

Was extremely nice. Quiet, kinda lazy. But when we broke up he went batshit stalker on me—showing up at work and the house, power-calling my cell. That’s why I moved in with the guys and quit my other job. I started my internship at CDB, changed my number, and haven’t seen him since.” I rolled my neck and blew out a breath, willing my heart to slow down. I glanced at him, scowling at his calm expression.

He met my look with an easy confidence, shrugging nonchalantly. “What is it you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. Wave your arms about. Scream. Charge up there and forcibly remove him!”

He chuckled at me across the table. “Julia. This relationship between you and him needs to be ended by you. Anything I say to him won’t resonate. You spent a significant amount of your lives together.” He reached over, dragging my chair across the stone floor until it touched his, his strong hands pulling me onto his lap. I sat, in a child’s position, curled on his lap, his big arms engulfing me, his breath on my hair. “I’ve had you for three weeks, and the thought of losing you is unbearable. He had you so much longer than that. I don’t blame him one bit for going crazy without you. You need to be kind and gentle, but firm, with him.”

I growled against his chest. “I was kind and gentle and firm—when I broke up with him almost three months ago!”

“And drunk.”

I winced. “Yes, and I was drunk. But we’ve talked since, while I’ve been sober, and I’ve told him the same thing.”

He leaned back, tilting up my chin until my eyes met his. “Why don’t we go up to your parents’? I will support you in any way that I can, but the conversation between you two needs to be in private. He’s already lost you; his pride doesn’t need to suffer, as well.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “He’s not a wounded puppy. He’s an invader in my childhood home, sleeping on my sheets, and probably going through my shit. I’ve made my feelings crystal clear by my complete avoidance of him. He’s not hanging out at my parents’ house thinking we are ‘on a break’ – he has run out of places to stalk me and is hoping my dear ol’ mom and dad will give him a clue as to how he can track me down.”

He grinned, a devilish smirk that made me want to yank down his zipper and suck his cock. “You just evaded the Magiano family. Your ex-boyfriend is hardly cause for panic.”

I frowned. “You are way too relaxed about this.”

He leaned forward, kissing me swiftly, his hands moving as my mouth opened to his, strong fingers circling then gripping my waist, twisting my body until I had no choice but to lift one leg over and straddle him. My worries were lost in his kiss—a soothing connection that turned sexual in a moment, his hands moving brusquely over the top of my shirt, yanking it out of my dress pants and sliding his hands underneath the fabric, the warmth of his touch causing my breath to hitch. I ground against him, feeling him respond underneath me, as he squeezed my breasts, his thumb teasing my nipples through the fabric of my bra.

By the time he laid me back, tugged off my dress pants, and wrapped my thighs around his head, it was decided. He was coming home with me, but I was on my own with Luke. Damn my weak resolve.

Chapter 9

We left Friday night, hitting the interstate at six. I called Mom on the way, keeping the conversation brief. I didn’t mention the hulk of a man at my side, or my reason for coming. I didn’t want to give Luke any benefit of preparation. Then I called Olivia remembering two hours out of town that we had made plans for Saturday night—dinner and a movie—a mini-celebration of my new engagement. Olivia wasn’t happy, but understood, her irritation turning to indignation at my mention of Luke’s presence. With her blessing to kick ass in hand, I closed the phone and settled into the passenger seat.

I grew up in a town small enough to be close-knit, but large enough to have a Wal-Mart. Located in an unassuming corner of Georgia, too far from any airport, it typically took me seven hours, but Brad’s car ate up the drive in six. The drive went almost too quickly for my taste, and my mind was still processing possible outcomes by the time we pulled down the quiet suburban street that had sheltered my upbringing.

It was a half hour after midnight when Brad brought the car to a slow stop next to our mailbox and slid it into park. I leaned over, kissing him gently on the lips. “I’ll call you in a bit. You’ll find a hotel?”

He grinned at me. “From the looks of my GPS, this town doesn’t seem big enough to get lost in. I’ll be close by. Call me when you’re ready.”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the upcoming battle. Then I opened the door and stepped out.

♥♥♥

It’d been almost a year since I’d been home. Maybe longer. Long enough that I didn’t recognize the new planters on the steps, overflowing with blooms, Mom’s green thumb at work. The planters had, no doubt, been Dad’s handiwork, that item on the ‘to do’ list finally attended to. I also noted new white curtains in the window above the kitchen sink. Wonder when Mom made those? My childhood home was small, a square block of brick, built in the fifties, back when rooflines and architectural features weren’t deemed aesthetically important. But I can’t help but love its imperfections. I can’t help but think, whenever I step down this cracked drive, that I should come home more. I have so many memories inside these walls. So many moments that shaped my growth, in good ways and bad. I walked down the drive, noticing Luke’s truck, and stepped onto the first step of the porch, my eyes adjusting to the dark, seeing the front door stoop and the man who, at almost one in the morning, leaned against it. Luke.

Looks were never Luke’s problem. His looks were what drew me to him, his looks were what kept me around during the slow times, and his looks had almost made me reconsider my decision to leave him. Thick, blond hair that always misbehaved perfectly, a strong jaw, full lips, and pale blue eyes that had always held a hint of anguish. He stood, his hands tucked in the pockets of his faded jeans, a baby blue polo pulled tight over his broad, muscular chest. He said nothing as I wound my way along the entry sidewalk and came to a stop in front of him. Just watched me, his face tight and eyes tortured. He pulled off ‘tortured’ better than anyone else I knew. And, just like that, the familiar weight of guilt settled around my heart and squeezed.

He had, simply put, not been good enough for me. My over-confident ego had decided I needed someone better—someone more successful, responsible, intelligent. It had been the right choice. But that didn’t mean that my heart didn’t break a little when I looked at him. Because he had truly, head over heels, loved me. And probably still did. I never worried about Luke looking at another girl, or had any doubt of his feelings for me. I had been his entire world. He stepped forward slightly, hands coming out of his pockets, and I held up a hand. “Luke. Stop. Please sit down.”

I wasn’t surprised he was awake. Wasn’t surprised that he was on the porch, waiting for my arrival. It was why I had had Brad bring me straight here. I knew Luke would be there, ready, hopeful. But validation of that fact, his weight against the porch, where it had probably been for hours? It made it harder. Added another stone to my mountain of guilt.

He obeyed, sinking into the closest rocking chair, his eyes never leaving mine—light blue prisms of hope. I sank into the rocker next to him and propped a foot up on the railing, closing my eyes and trying to sort through the churning wave of emotions. Of course he obeyed. He had always behaved, always tried to please my ever-increasing demands. I had been the alpha, he the submissive.

“What are you doing here, Luke?” I turned to look at him—a mistake—the raw look in his eyes nearly tearing me into two.

“I couldn’t find you anywhere. I need you, Jules; I’m lost without you.” He reached out, grasping my arm, his strong fingers caressing the skin before he pulled it, leaning into me. I resisted, dragging my arm away and leaned back in the chair.

Need. Yes, he had always needed me. To wake him up in the mornings, so he wouldn’t miss work. To remind him to renew his car insurance, file taxes, pay his parking tickets. He needed me to cover his rent when his cash was low, pick him up from the bar when he had drunk too much, and hold him in my arms when he was feeling insecure. He had needed me way too much. It was one of the things that made the guilt that much heavier. I wondered, still worried, how he functioned without me.

And it was crazy. I had a new fiancé, another life, but still the pull of guilt almost washed me closer to him. Almost made me weak enough to say things other than what I needed to say. It was why I had cut all contact two months prior. The guilt at leaving him ... it was too hard for me to be firm. Firm seemed to equal ‘cruel.’ But that was needed. Especially when the game had gotten to this unthinkable stage.

I sighed, trying to form words that would hit home gently. “Luke. It’s over. I have avoided you for a reason. You being here at my parents’ house— it’s invasive. You have to move on. You have to forget about me.”

“I’ll be better. I’ll try harder. I won’t go out anymore or skip work or—”

“Luke.” I stood and faced him, my eyes sharp. Be strong. Be firm. “You don’t need to change for me. You need to find a girl who loves you just as you are. Stop thinking about a way to get me back. I’m not ever coming back. Ever. I need you to realize that.”

“Is this about that guy? The one who dropped you off?” He looked wounded, slumping back in the chair, a bare foot coming up and hitting the porch rail. The glimpse of his foot—it struck some latent chord in me, some reservoir of anger, resentment. He had stayed here a week. Gotten comfortable enough in my childhood home to walk around barefoot. Prey on my uninformed parents.

“No. It’s about you and me. There was no one else who caused our breakup to happen.”

Were my words strong enough? Cruel enough? I wasn’t sure, the look in his eyes unchanged. Needy. Wanting. Desperate. I needed to find the aggressor role that I used to so easily command. The one that I had lost mastery of in my new relationship with Brad. I swallowed. Tried again. “Please go inside and pack. I need you to leave. I will pay for you to stay in a hotel for the night, but in the morning you need to head back home. If you ever cared for me, I need you to leave me alone. Move on with your life. I won’t—I can’t—come back to you. We are done.”