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Purple Hearts(105)

Author:Tess Wakefield

I pointed to the text on my phone. “There might not even be a band to go on tour. Because I lied. I’m a fraud, too.”

He searched for words, eyes narrowed in confusion, leaning toward me. “You’re just going to give yourself in?”

“I’m not giving myself in,” I snapped. “But I am being honest about what’s happening here.”

“All right, be honest, then,” Toby said, smacking the table. “Be fucking honest.”

I threw my hands up. “What? What do you want me to say?”

“You’re in love with him!” Toby yelled, his eyebrows raised.

Nora had arrived between us, holding a small teapot. She bit her lip, and set it down gently.

Toby let out his breath slowly. His face turned softer, sadder. He tucked his hair behind his ears, and leaned back. “You’re freaking out because you are. I always knew that you were,” he said. “All that time. I just tried to ignore it.”

All the breath was knocked out of me. I couldn’t say yes, but I couldn’t say no, either. And the person who was most relevant to that sentiment was completely out of reach.

Suddenly, I was so tired I could barely hold my head up. I picked up the teapot, and poured some steaming water into my cup. I could feel Toby’s gaze on me. I looked at his sweet, sad eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, and meant it.

His jaw was still clenched. “I can’t fucking believe this,” he said. “I need a drink.”

Nora came between Toby and me, and put her arms around our shoulders. “First, we’re going to get food for Cassie. Then we’re going to The Handle Bar. But no matter what happens, this band is going to get through this. We’re going to be sad together, and we’re going to celebrate together.”

“We’re going to do both?” I asked, trying not to cry.

“Both,” she said.

Luke

I sat in another room about half the size of my cell, a room with metal walls and nothing in it but a table and two chairs. When the door opened, I kept my eyes on my cuffed hands. I smelled motor oil and salt, sunflower seeds. I looked up.

“Well,” Dad said, sitting down across from me, one limb at a time. “You’re not supposed to have visitors.”

“No, sir.”

“But I told them I was former CID and I would likely be posting bail, and they let me through. They do this sham marriage shit too much anyway. Waste of money.”

We had the same sitting method, I’d noticed. Both of our injuries were on the right-hand side. “You don’t have to post bail. I just wanted—”

Dad waved his hand, his face stern.

I stopped. “Thank you.”

“Jake contacted Cassie, as you requested.”

I felt something burst inside me at the sound of her name. “What did she—?” I began.

He held up a hand. “But we told her not to come until she has to.”

“Yes, sir. So they didn’t arrest her.”

“No. Not yet, at least.”

“Fucking Johnno.” I bit down on my tongue, tasting blood.

He folded his hands, waiting for an explanation. Too long of a story. It was always too long of a story. Nothing simple. Nothing good.

He squinted at me, thick brows knit together, perplexed. Puzzled as to how I could have possibly originated in his household, I imagined. From his DNA. “Do you know what disappointment feels like, son?”

“Yes, sir.” Every day.

“No, I often wonder if you do. I don’t think you ever did. Because if you did, I believe you wouldn’t inflict as much of it on the people in your life.”

He was going to get up and walk away, again. He was going to wash his hands of me for a second time. I couldn’t let that happen.

“I do know,” I said. “And I am disappointed. I made a mistake.”

“One mistake isn’t the problem, Luke. It’s that you set yourself up for a life where doing something like this is acceptable. When your life is a series of mistakes, mistakes are no longer mistakes. They’re just your life.”

“Dad,” I said, my hands balled in fists. I need you.

“I thought you’d changed.”

“I have. I’m talking to Jake. I’m going to meetings.” I thought of the life on the ground I’d chosen, the consequences. I had nothing to lose. “Mom’s death really messed me up, Dad.” I took a breath. “And I’ve missed you. I love you.”

He cleared his throat, putting his hands in his pockets. “You’ll get a dishonorable discharge, I expect.”