He stops massaging my legs, lies down beside me and kisses me once. “And what did she say to that?”

“She convinced me to go home, to not hold back my feelings anymore, to let you love me and to love you back. And now we do. We love hard, love fierce, and love right. And we’re learning, Luke. Always learning.”

Chapter Forty

LOIS

I’m finally off the crutches (yay)!

But I’m still doing rehab (boo)!

And I’m still limping around (bigger boo)!

The therapists at the rehab clinic say that it may always be the case, at least a slight limp, because of exactly where the bullet went through my knee. But my hip is better—I shouldn’t feel any long-term damage from that. Also, I’m seeing a different type of therapist once a week. Well, Luke and I see her together. It kind of happened by accident. Logan and I were in the store, and a woman stopped him in front of the cereal aisle and asked him how he was doing, said she hadn’t seen him in a while. Swear, I thought Logan was going through some weird milf phase, and I almost shouted “Pedophile Alert!” It turns out she was his therapist. At least, that’s how he introduced Lily to me, his gaze lowered, cheeks red. He was embarrassed, I could tell. He told me later that after the shooting, he had seen her quite a bit. I didn’t know that it had affected him as much as it did, and we spent most of the afternoon talking about it. “It helps to talk,” he said. “Even if nothing feels resolved, getting it out there makes a huge difference.”

I asked for her number, made an appointment to see her the following week. At first, it was to show that Logan had nothing to feel embarrassed about, but he was right, getting it out there helps so much. “I’ve been having these dreams,” I told Lily in the first session, Luke next to me, holding my hand. “They aren’t morbid like Luke’s, but they’re not really dreams, either. They’re more like visions. Like flashbacks.”

“Of the shooting?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Of the things he did to me before that.”

Luke squeezed my hand tighter, not out of comfort, but from anger.

I told Lily, a sob caught in my throat, “I have trouble understanding how it is I let myself get into that situation. I’ve always thought of myself as a confident person, strong-willed and determined.” I let the tears fall, and Luke put his arms around me, kissed my temple. “I don’t know how I became so weak around him. How I let him do those things, how I let it—”

“It’s not your fault,” Luke cut in.

Lily raised her hand, smiled at him. “It’s extremely important for Lois to get this out.” And it was. It was exactly what Logan said. Talking helps. So I told her more about how I felt, not so much about the beatings or the shooting, but how I felt about me. Luke listened, and he learned. Always learning. And at the end, I said, “And I think it’s important for Lucas to be here so he can hear it all, so he can deal with his feelings about what happened. I worry that he’ll carry that anger, that fear, for longer than necessary. And I want us to help each other deal with those feelings.”

Lily looked at Luke, then at me, back to him. He sighed. “I try hard not to show my anger to Lane—Lois— because I don’t want her to think she’s done anything wrong, but at the same time, my anger is justified. That asshole did horrible things to someone I love, multiple times, and I’m not going to apologize for the way he makes me feel.”

It took three sessions for Lucas to understand that by me talking about it, it didn’t mean that I blamed myself. I just wanted closure. For me. So I could move on and not second-guess everything I said, everything I did, especially when it came to our relationship—which, Lucas and I agreed—was the most important thing to both of us. “And sexing,” Lucas quipped. Lily didn’t find it as funny as I did, but… she didn’t know him the way I do. No one does.

When we got home that night, he spent two hours showing me how he thought I should be treated. He was so careful with my body, so gentle with his touch, so open with his adoration both physically and emotionally. I cried when his lips skimmed my scars, when he whispered my name, when he told me he loved me, when he let me experience the pleasure of his mouth, of his fingers, of his determination to love me right. And when I was done, he lay beside me, kissed away my tears, and I thought of Dad’s words all those years ago:

“You impress people with your mind. With your kind heart and humble attitude. And while you’re a beautiful girl, your looks or the way you dress shouldn’t be the reason people are impressed by you. And when you’re older and boys start to notice you, I want you to remember that. Because if it’s only your looks they’re attracted to, then they’re not the one for you, Lo. You can do better. You will do better.”

I took Luke’s face in my hands, kissed him until I could no longer breathe. “You’re the one for me, Lucas Preston.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” It’s the third time he’s asked in the past five minutes. Today’s the first day he’ll be working with his dad. It’s also the first day classes start at UNC. He was able to defer a semester due to our circumstances (and also a little pull from Vivian), and it’s the first time he’s leaving me alone for more than an hour.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Babe.”

“I wouldn’t go if Dad didn’t need me.”

“I want you to go. I want you to have more in your life than just sitting at home and taking care of me,” I tell him, bagging his lunch at the kitchen counter of our apartment. As soon as I was able to climb the stairs without trouble, we moved back in, and I moved in—officially. Dad comes by every second day, like clockwork. I see him more now than I did when I lived at home.

Luke wraps his arms around my waist, kisses my neck. “But I like doing that.”

I turn in his arms, look up at him. “And I love you for it.”

“What are you doing today?”

“Hanging with Leo. He’s taking Vivian and me to that craft store in Charlotte. She can’t stop knitting now that she knows how to do it.”

Luke’s gaze narrows as he steps back, eyes me from head to toe. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”

I giggle. “No. But is it working?”

“Is this what you’re wearing?”

I look down at my dress. Back up at him. “Yeah. Why?”

“It’s a little too cute to be wasted on Leo, don’t you think?”

God, he does crazy things to my heart… and other places, a little lower. I pull down the collar of his Preston Construction work shirt, kiss his collarbone, bite it gently.

He moans, cups my ass, squeezes it—not so gently—and I squirm under his touch.

“I know you want me, Lane. Just ask for it.”

I do. “Shut up.”

He shifts my dress to my hips, lifts me onto the counter, then raises an eyebrow. “So?”

I shake my head, press my lips tight, and he chuckles, nuzzles my neck, kisses me there, soft and slow.