An Unlikely Deal (Lucas & Ava)

“All right.” He’s having a hard time deciding whether to look at me or the pot. “What is it? A tulip? Some kind of herb?”

I shake my head. “Just take care of it for two weeks. You’ll know.”

“And then I get my five minutes?”

“Absolutely.”

He studies me as though he’s looking for some kind of trick. I stare back, willing him to not see how much I’m bleeding inside. It feels like I’m cutting off my own arm, but I have to do this in order to be free to move on.

“Fine. I’ll be back at nine thirty a.m. two weeks from now.” He lifts the pot. “With this baby.”

“Okay. See you then.”

I close the door. He thinks that this is going to give him a chance to talk to me. What he doesn’t know is that it will convince him of how hopeless we are.

Once I hear his car engine start, I go up to my room and sink to the floor, arms around my legs, forehead on my knees. This…this will be the end of me and Lucas.

Hot tears soak my pants.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Lucas

I take the old pot back to my place, driving with care, th

en cradle it in my hands like it’s the most fragile and important thing in the entire world as I bring it inside. And it is.

It represents a chance…and possible redemption. I don’t know why or how she came up with this “test,” but I’m certain she expects me to fail. I’m not going to. I’ll set an alarm to remind myself to water it and take care of it to the best of my ability. Not to mention, if I need to, I’m going to ask my gardener. Scott will know—he’s a plant whisperer. Two weeks from now, something wonderful is going to sprout from the dirt and I’ll get my five minutes with Ava—a chance to show her that things are not what they seem.

However, taking care of whatever seed is in the pot isn’t all I do. I drive by Ray and Darcy’s house every so often. Actually at least twice a day. I want a glimpse of Ava, just so the vise around my chest will ease and I can breathe again.

I’m aware of the possibility that this could be a ploy to distract me so she can vanish again. But her disappearing isn’t what makes my palms and spine slick with sweat. What I’m really afraid of is that she might meet someone else…and forget all about a fucked-up damaged guy like me. Jesus, not even my own mother wants anything to do with me.

If my obsessive driving by the damned house makes me a stalker, so be it. The only people who would mock me are ones who never had someone like Ava to lose.

After a week, I notice that something isn’t right with the pot. Although I’m taking care of the seed as well as I can, nothing’s coming up through the dirt. I don’t think it’s supposed to take this long. A Google search tells me most things sprout in four or five days. And something should definitely show by the end of a week.

I have a little conference with my gardener. Scott shakes his head, agreeing that it is indeed odd. He asks me how I’ve been taking care of it and gives me a few pieces of advice. I take them all into consideration, and keep the room where I placed the pot extra warm, just in case.

Still nothing.

As the end of the two weeks approaches, panic mounts. Did I somehow do something to kill the seed, and nothing is going to sprout? Have I fucked up again?

By the last day I’m practically frantic. Scott and I have a conference. “Look,” I say. “It’s just dirt. Nothing is growing. What the fuck’s going on?”

He huffs a breath, his cheeks going poofy. “I don’t know.” He scratches the tip of his chin. “It’s really strange.”

“Maybe the soil’s bad?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then what? You think it’s my fault?”

“No. You’ve been doing everything right.” He shrugs. “Could be just a bad seed…”

“No.” I shake my head. “She wouldn’t have given me something bad on purpose. Ava isn’t like that.”

“That’s not what I meant. Sometimes seeds just don’t sprout.”