“Oh, I have no plan to do that, believe me.” Not when I had, in fact, climbed down and off the ladder. Stretching my legs, I set both feet on the floor and got out of bed. “So, are you coming, then? To Dad’s?”
“I…” He trailed off, which was indication enough that I was about to be let down.
“Please, Olly. I have something I want to tell you. Both of you. And Dad misses you. I’ve been covering for you for weeks and I’m running out of excuses. Please, come.”
He sighed. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
Ah, progress, I hoped. “I’ll text you the train timetable, yeah? We can meet at the station.”
“Yeah,” he answered, the earlier hope flaring up in my chest. “I… love you, Bean.”
Bean. It had been ages since he’d called me that. “I love you, too, Olly.”
And with those parting words I set to get ready and go confess the truth to the man who had worked multiple jobs to give my brother and me a good life after he’d been left on his own with us. The man who had raised us, alone, after our mother had taken off and left us behind. The man who had put me through college with the sweat of his brow and a determination of steel. The man to whom I owed the financial security my engineering degree had given me until recently. Until that day six months ago when I took a leap of faith to change my life. My career.
Oh boy.
How did one tell such a man that I had decided to quit the stable, well-paid position he—and I—had worked so hard for, only to chase dreams that were nothing more than ink on paper?
How did one tell a man who had sacrificed so much that I had exchanged an established career with amazing prospects for one that wasn’t guaranteed?
I didn’t have the slightest idea. And that was exactly why I’d let that secret sit on my shoulders for months.
But that ended today.
I kept repeating that mantra as I went through the motions of getting ready. I threw on the first thing I could pull out of my suitcase: a pair of light blue jeans and an oversized burgundy sweater. And like pretty much every morning, I unsuccessfully tried to tame the mess of dark curls on my head and settled for tying them loosely on top of my head.
Once I made my way out, I settled on a plan of action.
First, I’d get Dad’s favorite sausage rolls from O’Brien’s, a bakery here in Brooklyn, only a few minutes away from Lina’s place. I’d wait for him to bite into the savory fried goodness and, boom, I’d drop the bomb.
It was a good plan.
At least, I was trying to convince myself of that as I entered the bakery, placed my order, and made my way out with Dad’s bribe. That was probably why, when I stepped onto the sidewalk, I almost tripped when my gaze fell into the window of the diner across the street.
I did a double take. Then, a third. I probably stared for about a good full minute.
But how could I not, when Lucas was sitting there, in the window of the diner, hair an unruly mess, and lean and strong arms crossed over his chest. That mouth I’d seen mostly grinning, hung open as his head rested on the back of the seat and I could tell he had on the same clothes he had been wearing last night.
But I had to be wrong. That couldn’t be Lucas.
He couldn’t be sleeping in that diner, in front of a mug and an empty plate. He was supposed to be in a hotel. Unless…
That thought was left unfinished as my two feet carried me across the street and into the diner, this big, pressing question bouncing off the walls of my head. Had he spent the night here? And if so, why? Why hadn’t he gone to a hotel?
I crossed the threshold and walked up to him, the warm bag of pastries still dangling from my fingers.
I took him in up close, the bags under his eyes and the impossibly wrinkled clothes. The start of what looked like… drool falling out of the corner of his mouth.
“Lucas,” I whispered.
He didn’t move. Didn’t even hear me.
I cleared my throat and leaned down a little. “Lucas,” I repeated.
Guilt tangled with worry in my stomach, making me want to shake him awake so I could demand answers and apologize a few hundred times. All at once. Because someone didn’t just sleep at a diner unless necessary and I shouldn’t have let him leave so easily last night.
Tentatively, I reached out, my free hand landing softly on his shoulder. “Hey.” I shook him lightly, trying not to focus on how warm and solid he felt through his sweatshirt. “Lucas, wake up.”
And… Still nothing. God, he slept like the dead.