Night Shifts Black (7 page)

“Nope.”

“Um, ok. Thanks.”

“Do you think he has
to go to counseling now because of us?” I ask after he disappears.

“He’s at least insisted
on a raise,” Luke responds, and I grin.

We’re back.

“So has my boy here
told you about his other passion?” Casey asks.

“You mean, besides
music?”

Casey nods, and Luke
rolls his eyes.

“It’s not a passion.”

“You have eight of
them.”

“I like them.”

“Exactly. It’s a
passion.”

“And
it
is what?” I grunt, interrupting their
argument.

“Bikes,” Casey
explains.

“Bikes? Like bike
bikes, or motorbikes?”

Casey laughs. “Motorbikes?
I love this girl. Where did you find her? She’s like my grandma in the body of
a cute college chick.”

I give him a mock
glare. “I’m sorry, but maybe if you used more adjectives I wouldn’t have to ask
so many stupid questions.”

“Adjectives? Sorry, hon,
the writing part was his thing, not mine.”

“That’s obvious,” I
tease.

“Luke is awesome with
adjectives,” Casey continues.

“He is. One of the
best.”

Luke smiles and shakes
his head. “Wow, thanks, guys,” he says dryly.

“He also sucks at
taking compliments,” Casey adds.

“How’s that possible?
Isn’t a love of being worshipped part of the superstar thing?”

“It’s supposed to be.”

“Just let me know if
you need me to weigh in on anything about myself,” Luke interjects, and I smile
over at him. He returns it, igniting another flutter inside me at the private
connection. “Actually, I’ll make it even easier for you to talk about me, and
hit the restrooms. I’ll be back.”

He pushes away from
the table, and we quiet as he takes off in the direction of the corridor to the
bathrooms.

We watch him go.

“He’s not good, is
he?” Casey asks, the mood instantly settling. His tone is so subdued that I’m
not sure he’s even talking to me.

I don’t answer at
first and my gaze instinctively shifts to the chair. “No, he’s not,” I say finally.

Casey shakes his head
and sighs, lost in thought. “You know, I’ve barely seen or spoken to him in
months. Last night, today, it’s the first time I’ve really spent time with him
in a while. He’s not the person I knew. Not even close.”

“And I can’t even
imagine him being the person you knew.”

“We both know two completely
different people.”

He’s right, and I’m
surprised by his insight. Despite his easy smile and playful demeanor, he’s no
idiot either. I’m not surprised they were close in another life.

“It appears so.”

He quiets for a moment
and picks at his napkin. “He wasn’t a good person, Callie. It wasn’t all his
fault, he had a lot going against him, but he wasn’t.”

I swallow, not sure
how to respond. I don’t like hearing that, but I’m not surprised for some
reason. I look up and notice Casey watching me. He wants good news.

“I think he might be
now.”

Casey nods and seems
to relax a little. “I think he might be, too. I really do…If he recovers.”

I’m disturbed by his
qualification. It’s probably all over my face.

“If?”

“He’s not good,
Callie. Luke’s been like a brother for over ten years, and I’m telling you,
he’s not good.”

His words tear at me,
grinding at my heart. Maybe it’s because I thought I was making a bigger
difference than I am. Maybe my naiveté turned breakfast club into more than it
is. Maybe I care about him way more than I should. Whatever the reason, I’m
suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of the chair and the hidden monstrosity I
can’t begin to fight. How can I help him recover if I don’t even know what’s
killing him?

“People are drawn to
him. They always have been. It’s hard to stay grounded when you’re adored. It
was harder for him than most because I don’t think he’s wired to be adored. He
didn’t know how to deal with it, and it all happened so fast for us once it hit.”

I’m watching the
shadow of the corridor now, absorbing Casey’s words as best I can, which isn’t
very well.

“Is that why he left?
He couldn’t handle it anymore?”

Casey doesn’t respond
at first, and I know that’s not why. But he’s not going to give away any more
of his friend’s secrets. I actually respect him a lot for that.

“You seem like a cool
person and it’s obvious you care about him. All I’m saying is don’t fall for
him. Please.” Casey is actually pleading with me now.

“Are you worried about
me or him?” I ask.

“Both. He can’t be
worshipped right now. He needs an anchor not a dreamer.”

His statement hits me
hard. I want to be an anchor, but I’m suddenly terrified that I’m not. What if
I’m a dreamer?

“I understand,” I reply.
I wish I could say more, he’s expecting a promise, but I don’t want to be a
liar on top of everything else.

Luke is on his way
back now. He doesn’t look nearly as broken as we just made him out to be. In
fact, he looks so normal rounding the corner, rubbing his hands on his jeans to
clear those last drops of water the paper towel always misses. For a brief
moment, I wonder if we’ve misread him.

We quiet as he
approaches, but I’m not sure how to pretend we weren’t talking about him when
I’m still reeling from the conversation. He seems to sense our tension, despite
our weak attempts to hide it with fake smiles. He’s too perceptive to believe
fake smiles.

“So did I miss
anything good?” he asks. We’re being tested, but I have no idea how to pass.

“Nope. In fact we
learned you know a lot more about yourself than we do, apparently.”

I’m rewarded with a
slight smile, but I don’t think I did as well as I’d hoped.

“Well, since we’re
sharing, I learned the third sink in the men’s room doesn’t work.”

The arrival of our
food prevents what was poised to be a very boring, and awkward, conversation. I
eye my French toast in anticipation, giving it way more credit than it deserves
out of gratitude for saving this encounter.

“I like the powdered
sugar. Nice touch,” Casey comments.

I nod. “It’s not too
much, but just enough to add a hint of sweetness.”

“Exactly. With the
syrup, it would have been too sweet if they used any more.”

“It’s incredible, huh,
that powdered sugar. They must have invested a lot of hours perfecting this particular
application. Do you think they commissioned a full research study or just went
with the classic focus group?” Luke asks, and then I catch the amusement
seeping into his expression. He’s mocking us, glancing back and forth between Casey’s
forced admiration and my forced enthusiasm.

I can’t help but smile
in return.

“You were talking
about me, weren’t you,” he reasons. “Of course you were.”

“We care about you,” Casey
responds.

“What did he tell
you?” Luke asks me.

I can’t tell if he’s
defensive, curious, angry, or intending to elaborate.

“C’mon, man. Nothing,”
Casey interjects.

I nod. “Seriously,
Luke. Nothing. You have a good friend here.”

“Right…”

We all quiet again and
pretend our French toast is a fascinating mystery.

“You know, just once
it would be nice if people stopped treating me like a mental patient,” Luke
spits suddenly.

Casey grunts. “Then
maybe you should stop acting like one,” he mutters.

I glance at him,
startled, as Luke’s eyes narrow.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t
remember asking you to stop in and check up on me. I don’t want you guys
dropping in on me because I don’t need a nurse.”

Now, Casey is getting
riled. “Check up on you? I’m not checking up on you! You’re my best friend, my
brother! And I thought I was yours. Sorry if I’m supposed to be ok with you
just disappearing from my life, but I’m not!”

“You know what? This
was obviously a mistake.”

“What? Becoming human
again for five minutes?” Casey hisses. He leans forward with a fire I can feel
across the table. “Look, I get it. You had a rough road. But it’s time to get
back up and move on. You think you’re the only one who’s suffering? You think
yours was the only life ruined? You know that’s not fair, and if anyone can
understand this, it’s me.

“And anyway, what
about the other guys, huh? What about your band, your
friends
? What about our dreams and lives that got all messed up
when you walked away and left us with a shell of what we could’ve been? Do you
ever think about that? You think we want to be playing nightclubs and opening
for singing competition winners when we were booking stadiums a year ago? The
Calisto Festival? God, what a joke.” He draws in a breath and tosses his napkin
on the table. “At some point suffering gets old and is just selfish. Call me
when you’re ready to be friends again.”

With that, Casey
pushes his chair back and storms from the table. I don’t watch his exit because
I’m too worried about Luke. He’s staring again, the blank look on his face that
tells me he’s far away from this place. I’m not sure if I should say something
to try to draw him out of it, or if returning him to the present will only make
things worse.

“It’s hard to argue
that, isn’t it?” he asks suddenly, surprising me. I glance over, expecting a
vacant monologue, but he’s watching me. I’m not sure what the right answer is.
I don’t even understand the question.

“What’s hard to
argue?”

“That I ruined
everything.”

“You mean the band?
Their careers?”

“No, I mean everything.”

He pushes back from
the table and slaps some bills down on the table. Actually, he slaps a lot of
bills on the table.

“That’s what I do,
Callie. I ruin things.”

Now, I really don’t
know what to say. I don’t know how to counter something I know nothing about.

“Luke…”

“I should go. Good
luck.”

I want to stop him as
he leaves, suddenly terrified his strange ending was a final goodbye. Of course
I need to stop him. It can’t end like this. But I don’t. By the time I know what
I need to do, it’s too late.

I bite my lip instead
and stare at the table of French toast and assorted cash. I gather the bills
into a neat little pile and realize they aren’t all from this country. After
pulling out the foreign ones, I signal Darryn who quietly hands over the check
and spares me the embarrassment of a comment. I don’t even cry until after I’m
safely on the sidewalk.

∞∞∞

I don’t go back the next day. Somehow I know
Luke won’t be there, and I don’t want to subject myself to the disappointment.
I think about him constantly, however. Picturing his face, his jacket, his
expressive eyes. Wishing I was important enough for him to include me in his
life instead of me secretly including him in mine.

I debate skipping the
following day as well, but decide I’d never forgive myself if I missed him. I’m
happy Shauna is on duty when I arrive. She seems to be the most understanding
of the staff, but she hasn’t seen him. I wait outside for a few moments,
studying the crooked streams of pedestrians for any sign of Luke. Finally, I
come to terms with my futile mission and slip Shauna a note with my phone
number. She promises to send me a message if she sees Luke.

I don’t hear from her
for three days.

Day
Nine.

I push through the door in anticipation, my
eyes scanning the café for signs of Shauna or Luke. I don’t see him, but I
catch a glimpse of Shauna’s blond hair pulled back in a twist held loosely with
a clip. I ignore Ailee and the chair and my table, and practically jump into
Shauna’s line of sight. Her eyes change when she sees me and she excuses
herself from her customers.

“He was here this
morning,” she begins in a low voice.

I nod, concerned,
waiting for the report.

“Didn’t stay or
anything, just came in and gave me this.”

She pulls a small
envelope from the pocket of her uniform and hands it to me. Shocked, I stare
down at the artistic handwriting, beautiful from a distance, but actually hard
to read when I look closely. It’s clearly my name, however, and sparks of
nerves begin to flare through me.

“I texted you as soon
as I could. It was only a little over an hour ago that he was here.”

I smile and thank her,
wanting to be polite but eager to escape with my treasure. She only shrugs, and
it occurs to me that, as crazy as this whole drama seems to me, it’s probably
not the strangest thing she’s had to deal with as a restaurant server in this
city. I determine to give her a very generous tip if I ever eat here again.

For now, I nearly run
from the restaurant and drop to a bench outside, not even able to wait until I
return to my apartment to read the note. I pull the paper from the sealed
envelope and am surprised by the indentation of the script pressing through the
backside of the folded paper. There doesn’t seem to be enough text hidden
underneath to be worth the effort of this exchange, and I’m almost disappointed.
Until I open it.

Shocked, I stare at
the address for a moment, completely numb. It’s a hotel, one of the top ones in
the city, complete with a room number and the word, “anytime.”

I stare at it in
silence, trying to interpret this surprising turn and not explode from
anticipation. Somehow, I instinctively know this isn’t about sex. This isn’t an
invitation from a lonely rock star to a desperate fangirl. This is a broken man
reaching out to the only person he thinks might be willing to understand.

I move to the curb and
flag a cab. Walking would be cheaper, but much longer, and right now time is
more important than money. It’s not a far drive, and I tip the driver more than
necessary so I don’t have to wait for change.

I’ve never been in
this hotel before. Seen it, of course, with its massive columns and intricate
stonework. Its handsome valets stationed at the entrance, greeting the wealthy,
famous guests who don’t blink at the ridiculous suite rates.

It’s incredibly
obvious to all of us that I don’t belong, and it takes a moment for me to
collect the courage to ignore the doormen’s indignant stares as they’re forced
to open the vault for someone who clearly has no business going inside.

Once I’m beyond the
gatekeepers, I forget all about their snobbery as I take in the majesty of this
royal dreamland. Gold, tapestries, rich woods, velvet, art, flowers, statues,
wealth. Everywhere wealth, status, celebrity.

I’m almost surprised
Luke would choose this place, given his desire to escape everything it stands
for, until I realize, it’s not about that. He’s a flashing neon sign in Jemma’s
Café but practically anonymous here, surrounded by the subjects of the other
magazine pages and gossip websites.

I sense the disdain
around me, mostly from the hotel employees, not the guests themselves who don’t
even notice me, but try not to let it get to me.

I’ve just spotted the
elevator and started moving toward the welcomed escape route, when my path is
blocked by a woman in a stunning tweed business suit.

“Excuse me, ma’am. May
I help you?” she asks in a tone that indicates her “help” will most likely
involve guiding me back to the exit.

I force a smile. “I’m
here to meet a friend. Room 403.”

Her look doesn’t
remotely hide her skepticism. “I see. Well, please wait here for a moment. I
will call ahead and make sure your friend is available. I’d hate for you to
waste your time.”

I struggle to hold in
my glare, but am impatient to see Luke and don’t want to jeopardize my journey
any more than necessary.

“Of course, thank you.
You can tell Luke it’s Callie.”

It seems to surprise
her that I have a name. That I use it so freely. That I speak his with such
confidence.

She nods and thanks
me. I wait awkwardly as she crosses to the main desk and directs the polished
hostess to make the call. The girl looks over at me as well, and I almost would
have preferred their blatant disrespect to this fake deference.

She picks up the phone
and dials. Business Suit Woman waits beside her, watching me carefully, as if
afraid I’ll run into the elevator and contaminate the fourth floor with my poorness.

After a few seconds,
someone must pick up on the other end because the girl starts talking. She
looks surprised. She glances back at me and then at the other woman. She hangs
up the phone and says something to the other woman who purses her lips and
forces a tight smile. She heads back toward me, and I suck in my breath as I
await the verdict.

“Thank you for your
patience. Mr. Craven is waiting for you. Please let me know if I can be of
further assistance.”

I want to laugh at her,
but manage to reduce my penalty to a polite thank you instead. Forcing that
sentence from her mouth was punishment enough. Besides, all I can think about
is Luke, waiting for me, wanting me here. Finally, inviting me into his life.

The elevator seems to
take forever. I think maybe it’s because it’s old, but then realize it’s
probably just me and my impatience. I wish I’d taken the stairs when I notice
the other guests tipping the uniformed boy who saved them from the gross
inconvenience of having to push a button. I nearly grunt when I hand him a bill
as well, and step onto the thick, soft carpet of floor Four.

I begin scanning the
plaques on the doors to determine the numbering pattern and am surprised when I
realize I only have three choices. These aren’t rooms; they’re bigger than my
apartment.

Luke’s suite is the
furthest from the elevator, and I stand before his door for a moment, still in
disbelief that I’m here. This moment doesn’t seem real, and I think back to his
comment once about feeling like you’re living someone else’s life. Maybe this
is what he meant. Finally, my hand rises and knocks, my stomach fluttering and
heart pounding in my ears. I try to remember it’s only Luke. Rye toast, orange
marmalade, Luke.

I hear scraping at the
door and force myself to breathe. Then, it all falls away. It really is just
Luke.

Our eyes meet and his
smile brings me right back to pancakes at Jemma’s.

“You came,” he says,
and I have no idea why he’s surprised by that.

“Of course I did. Is
that an invitation to come in?”

He shakes his head,
almost embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah. Of course.” He steps aside so I can enter, and
I notice his relaxed look is incredibly sexy today. I hate that such a thought
pollutes the moment. It’s not fair to him.

“I came right from the
café. I’ve been worried about you.”

He nods and moves some
papers aside so I can sit on the couch in the living area. The suite is as
impressive from the inside as it is from the outside, but I don’t spend much
time on that fact. Instead, it occurs to me that even though he lives here, it
doesn’t look like he does. Other than the newly formed pile on the coffee table,
I don’t see any immediate evidence that this room is occupied.

“Can I get you
anything? You want a drink or something?”

He’s asking me, but I
think I’m just an excuse for him to fill his own glass. I nod to let him
complete his journey to the bar. He removes an expensive crystal glass from a
tray and grabs a bottle.

“Whiskey, ok? I can
send for wine or something if that’s better.”

I shake my head. I’ve
actually never sipped whiskey before, but I’m not here to drink and don’t want
to waste time on alcohol procurement.

“Whiskey is great,
thanks.”

I wonder if he’ll pull
out cigars next, but my smile fades when I notice how much empty space is in
the bottle. His glass is already full, and he takes a swig from it as he walks
toward me to hand me mine. I had wondered since the day we met what he did with
the other twenty-three hours, and I think I just found out. My heart breaks.

“I’m sorry for all of
this, but I’m not ready to go back there.”

“To Jemma’s?”

He nods. “Casey was
right. I don’t belong there.”

I’m not sure what he
means by that, but I’m also not sure how to ask for clarification.

He laughs bitterly to
himself. “You must think I’m a nut job.”

I watch him closely before
I respond, trying to understand the expression on his face. It’s a mix between
wry humor and self-hatred.

“It wasn’t an
insurance settlement,” I blurt suddenly.

He looks at me. Most
people would ask a question then. “What wasn’t?” “What do you mean?” but Luke
doesn’t. He knows what I’m talking about. He has secrets so he remembers mine.

I study the dark
liquid in my glass. I surprise myself by taking a giant swallow. It burns as it
goes down, and I almost gasp and cough. I force it away, not wanting Luke to
think I’m not like him, because I am in more ways than he can imagine.

I bite my lip and let
the alcohol settle, rumbling in my empty stomach, still burning. I suddenly realize
that we have hard liquor in our hands at ten in the morning. He still hasn’t
said a word, and when I glance at his face, I see that he doesn’t intend to. I
have the floor if I want it. Only
if
.

I stare back at my
drink. “The reason I’m here, my money, it wasn’t insurance. It was a different
kind of settlement.”

I meet his eyes.
They’re deep again, probing into me this time. “I was one of three employees
assaulted by the owner of the grocery store where I worked.” I look away. I’m
still not sure it’s ok to admit this part. “We didn’t have enough evidence to
prove it beyond a reasonable doubt, but we had enough to make his life
miserable with a lawsuit, so he settled.”

I feel the burn of
tears somewhere deep inside of me, rising up into the open wound that I thought
had scabbed over.

“My father was the one
who pushed for me to take the money. He said it’s the best girls like me can
hope for.” I laugh bitterly. “Of course, his daughter the ‘victim’ became his
daughter the ‘slut’ when he realized I was of legal age so the money would go
to me, not him.” I glance at Luke. “So here I am. Living off a rich guy’s money
like a prostitute.”

It was supposed to be
a joke, but he doesn’t think it’s funny. I don’t either; I just don’t know how
else to tell this story. He still doesn’t speak. In fact, I’m starting to get
concerned. I see his mind working, his eyes telling the story of his complex
thoughts, but I can’t interpret them. I wait, barely breathing, until he suddenly
closes the distance between us and removes the glass from my hand.

My pulse pounds as the
war rages in my head, conscience screaming, body pleading, but my brain already
lost the second I’d decided to enter his room. I remember Casey’s plea, echoing
in my head like an alarm I’m too tired to acknowledge.

Luke takes my hand and
traces the lines in my palm, igniting a longing that swells up and fills me
with an addictive ache that’s turning my willpower into a joke. I don’t care
anymore. If I don’t touch him back, I will probably explode. I shift and lean
into him. His arms tighten around me, and I suddenly feel safe, calm even. It’s
a strange contrast to the burning tension a moment ago. I wonder what it would
be like to sit here forever, perfectly tucked in his arms, listening to the
rhythm of his heart. Its rapid pace begins to accelerate which sends my own
blood racing again.

“I really did miss talking
you,” he says quietly. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“There was no way I
wouldn’t,” I reply. He knows what I mean, and pulls me tighter.

“I know. I’m glad you
did.”

I want to say I am,
too. I know he’s waiting to hear it, but the words don’t come out. I’m still
not sure I am. I know my heart hadn’t really given me a choice, but that
doesn’t mean my brain isn’t going to torture me for giving in. What if Casey is
right? What if I’m just filling the female role of the daily escape that
includes drinking and sex? He certainly hasn’t made any promises otherwise. Am
I right where dozens, hundreds, of other women have been before me?

I settle into him,
suddenly afraid to pull away. A hug is safe and buys us time, but we both know
this encounter is not going to end in a hug. If I pull away… It doesn’t matter.
He does.

He doesn’t fully let
go, and his hands remain around my waist. Our faces are inches from each other,
close enough that the next step isn’t optional. Our eyes meet and my body ignites.
I stare at him, knowing he’s going to kiss me. Knowing once we start there’s no
way I will stop him. I’ve wanted it for a while now, dreamt about it, maybe
even fantasized those long hours alone in my room, wondering where he was,
wondering about that chair. There’d be no stopping it. I’m still not ready, but
I don’t know how to deny myself at this point. No one is that strong.