Chapter Three
Alaina
I didn’t want to believe it. Any of it. When I first met Lucas, he was the surgeon responsible for my grandmother’s tumor removal. That was it. He was handsome, sure. And I saw the way he looked me over, but I was used to that.
From the time I was a teenager, men had always given me a second glance. It was nothing new and nothing that seemed to be going away any time soon.
When my grandmother passed away, I was surprised to receive flowers at work from Lucas, but I assumed they were technically from the hospital. Then, a few weeks later, he called me to check in and see how I was getting on. Not well, if I were being honest, and though I tried to pretend everything was fine, he seemed to see right through it.
He was like that, you know? He could read right into whatever you said, cutting through to your true feelings. He was impulsive and ill-tempered, but he was also the kind of man who went all out on our anniversary without having to be reminded.
He was the kind of person who, when we left to go anywhere, asked how long I thought it would take. He was always in a hurry, though we had no real place to be. When we went shopping, he went straight to the places we needed to be. He wasn’t a browser. I’d never seen him do anything leisurely. He moved with intent, acted with passion. So, he loved with both.
I couldn’t think of him without recalling the good times—the ones in the beginning. For our first date, he’d taken me axe throwing. He took one look at my combat boots and black clothing and thought, “I’ll bet she loves to throw weapons.” I remember laughing at how well he knew me when we pulled up to the date. I pretended the whole night that it was my first time, and I let Lucas show me up. He loved to seem stronger than he was. He always wanted to be in control.
After that first date, our dates mostly consisted of eating takeout on my floor, watching old horror films, and laughing our asses off at the bad special effects. We’d never finished a single film, always ending the night with food on the floor and our clothes strewn about while we made love wherever we were. We rarely made it to the bed—didn’t need to.
He understood a side of me that no one else did, and he tapped into it. He broke down my walls, walls that had been built by a terrible relationship with my own father and even worse relationships with men in general. Lucas was different, I thought. When he’d looked at me, it was as if nothing else mattered.
I thought nothing else had.
Now, though, knowing that he had loved other women in the same way—I wasn’t sure where that left me. I wasn’t his wife yet. Wasn’t ever going to be now. In fact, given that he had a wife, it seemed impossible that I would’ve ever been.
Did it make me regret my decisions? No.
Did it make me worry that the truth might come out? More than ever.
There were two others involved now, two others who’d be determined to know the truth, maybe even more than the police.
I placed a careful hand over my belly, over the small bump we had formed there.
“No one can take you away from me, little one,” I promised the bump, the only piece of Lucas I had left. No matter what I found out about him in the future, no matter what had happened in our past, he loved me enough to plan a future with me, to propose, and to celebrate the news of my pregnancy. Our love was different. I had to believe that. Even if it was built on lies, when he told me he loved me, I had to believe he meant it. If not, everything I’d done had been for nothing. Two years of my life wasted. I wouldn’t allow myself to believe that. Lucas loved me, and he loved our child. At least, that was the story I was going to spin.
Chapter Four
Naomi
The first time I met Lucas, I was ready to die. It sounds dramatic, I know, and I guess it is. But he saved me.
Okay, as it turns out—as he would inform me later—it wasn’t the first time we met. I didn’t remember him before then, I still don’t understand how, but we actually went to the same university and even had a few of the same classes. He was three years ahead of me.
But, as it stands, according to my own memory, the first time I met the man with whom I meant to spend my life, I was planning to end it.
I mean, I wasn’t standing on a bridge or anything. I wasn’t that close. But I’d made the decision. I think most people believe suicide is an impulse. That you have a bad day and make a bad decision. But that’s not the case. At least, it wasn’t for me.
I’d become obsessed with death. I’d done the research, hoarded the pills. It would be painless from all that I’d read. I’d written letters to my parents and my older sister. I’d picked the day and the time that it would be done.
But Lucas approached me one day as he was jogging through the park. I’d gone there to clear my head. I was just two days away from my death, and the fear had begun to creep in.
I swear somehow he knew my plan, though he’d deny it to this day if he was still around to do that. He walked up to me, him with his coal-black hair and dark eyes, me with my ratty hair tied back into a bun because I couldn’t bring myself to brush it anymore. He was beautiful where I was plain; he was articulate where words failed me; he was charming while I remained awkward. I was not the type of girl he should’ve been coming up to. I was convinced he must’ve been waiting for someone else. When he sat, I stood. Like a teeter-totter, as his butt hit the bench, mine was up.
“I’m sorry.” I heard his apology, and then he was standing too. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
I looked back at him then, and he smiled. Oh, I remember his smile. Warmth all the way up to his eyes.
“Y-you didn’t…disturb me.” I hadn’t heard my own voice in so long it felt foreign. No one expected to hear me talk, so I didn’t have any use for it. My parents were in Rome, and my professors didn’t push any harder to hear from those of us who didn’t raise our hands. I was allowed to maintain my silence, but finally, someone was asking me to speak.
“I’m Lucas,” he said, reaching out his hand.
“Naomi,” I told him my name. “Nice run?” I asked because I could think of nothing else to say.
He nodded, pulling the remaining earbud from his ear. “It’s a beautiful day for one.” He looked back toward the bench. “Were you…waiting for someone?”
I shook my head. “No. I was just…” I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. What the heck was I trying to think of anyway?
“Would you like to join me?” He seemed to understand that I wasn’t planning to finish that thought.
“Oh,” I glanced down at my jeans. “I’m not really dressed for it.” I waved my hand casually to let him know I was fine.
“We can walk,” he said. “I’m in no hurry.”
I smiled then, and the expression felt strange to my facial muscles. I still don’t know what it was about me that made him come to where I was that day, but I was so thankful he did. As a surgeon, my husband saved countless lives every day at work, but he’d tell me he was always the proudest of the only life he ever saved without a scalpel. Mine.