“What about you?” He stretched his good arm over the back of the couch, resting it over me. His cold beer pressed against my shirt. “Why haven’t you settled down and made a few little Heidis?”
“Yeah.” I snorted. “Not gonna happen.”
He stilled. “Why not?”
“Gee, I wonder why not? Maybe because I grew up on the streets, for starters.”
He cocked his head. “Yeah? And?”
“And I’d make a horrible mother.”
“Because you lived on the streets,” he said dryly, the disapproval practically dripping from his words. “Riiiight.”
“I’m serious. I know nothing about parenting at all. I didn’t even have a parent.”
“Doesn’t mean you’d be bad at it.” He shook his head. “Can I ask you something you might not want me to ask?”
I stiffened. “What?”
“Why didn’t you stay in foster homes?” He shrugged. “You had to have had a few, right? You were probably a cute kid. Someone had to have wanted you.”
Years-old unshed tears stung my eyes, not because of his question, but because of how ironically wrong his words were. And he didn’t even know it. “Oh, they wanted me all right. Particularly my last foster father. He really wanted me.”
“Then why—?” He cut himself off, obviously reading the undertone to my words. Rage, like I’d never seen before, slipped into place. “Tell me his name. Tell me it right fucking now.”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t even remember anymore.” That wasn’t true. I’d never forget his name. But I didn’t need to be the reason for more blood on Lucas’s hands. “He’s probably dead by now.” He wasn’t. “Or in another state.” Nope. Still lived on Chestnut Street. “Who knows?” Me.
“I’ll find him myself, then. Don’t think I won’t. If I make it outta this alive . . .” He squeezed my thigh, totally blind to the fact that he’d just stabbed a knife through my chest with those words. “Any man who takes advantage like that—he—how old were you?”
Usually I didn’t want to talk about this, like, ever. But with Lucas . . . it didn’t feel so bad. “Thirteen.”
He let out another string of curses that lasted at least another ten seconds. Once he settled down, he threaded his hand in my hair and stared into my eyes. I couldn’t look away. “I’m sorry, Heidi. So fucking sorry.”
I swallowed hard, the closeness of the moment hitting me hard in the chest. I wasn’t sure what to do with that. “It is what it is,” I whispered, latching onto his wrist. “I got away before he got me, though. He made the mistake of warning me ahead of time.”
“You were handed a life full of shit as a kid,” he said, his voice wrapping around me and not letting go. God, I loved his Boston accent. It got a little more pronounced in quiet moments like this, and it made my insides weak. “You took all those bad things and made them something good. You’re an incredible, strong, brave woman, Heidi Greene. Don’t you ever doubt that, or your ability to be caring at the same time.”
I blinked rapidly, refusing to let tears come out. I mean, I hadn’t even cried when it had happened. Why start now? But his words, they meant something to me. “Be that as it may . . . I still wouldn’t be a good mother.”
“I disagree,” he said. He readjusted himself, setting his beer down on the table and then resting a hand on mine. “I think you’d make an excellent mother.”
I tried not to believe him, or care that he thought that, or get pulled under his spell, because in the end . . . it didn’t matter if he thought I’d make a good mom. He’d be gone from my life, and I’d be gone from his. “Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?”
“You remind me of my ma,” he said softly, his voice cracking ever so slightly. So slightly I might have imagined it, but I knew I hadn’t. “And she was the best mother I know, or will ever know.”
My heart twisted into a tight, tiny ball. There went my plan to remain unaffected. He’d smashed it all with a few soft-spoken words, as usual. Stealing my heart without my permission, time and time again. And the worst part was, he didn’t even know it. And never would. “Lucas . . .”
“Shh, sweetheart. Just . . .” He cupped my cheek and leaned close, resting his forehead on mine. “Just . . . shh.”
And then he kissed me.
He slowly leaned back on the couch, and I climbed into his lap, never breaking the kiss off. We made love slowly, tenderly. There was something extremely different about this time, and I had a feeling he felt it, too. Every healing touch, every soothing brush of his fingertips, brought us closer. Closer to what?
I had no idea. But I had an idea I’d find out soon . . .
One way or the other.
CHAPTER 21
LUCAS
The next afternoon, I stood behind the men loading the guns into the truck, my eyes on the horizon. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Scotty was watching. Waiting. Plotting.
And sooner or later, he would take another shot.