For Lucy

I just wanted to watch a game with my dad. How did the guy, who rarely said more than “yes, dear” and “okay, dear” turn into Dr. Phil?

“I’m deliriously happy for her, Dad. Really. If she’s moving on, that means she’s no longer feeling like the world is over. That’s good for her. That’s good for Lucy. Why wouldn’t I be happy about that?”

“I’m proud of you, Emmett. You’ve always accepted responsibility. You’ve always put Lucy and Tatum first. I know a lot of men who would have drunk themselves to death had they experienced what you did.”

Bless his Dr. Phil heart. Really. My dad tried to say and do the right thing around me. But I wasn’t so sure the right thing to say was that any other man would have drunk himself to death, so kudos to me for not ending my life.

The crazy part? After years of taking the blame, working so hard to convince Lucy that it was actually my fault, not just a coverup, I started to believe it. I had days of feeling guilty for Austin’s death. The lie became my truth.

Chapter Twenty-Three

NOW

Tatum: You need to come now. Lucy is in the middle of therapy and she’s having a moment.

I stare at Tatum’s text. A moment? Did she have a setback? Tatum usually refers to Lucy’s “moments” as times when she has an emotional breakdown.

Emmett: On my way.

I jump out of my truck and jog into the physical therapy building, feeling an uneasy sense of urgency. Usually when Lucy has a breakdown, Tatum does too.

Sure enough, when I round the corner from the waiting room to the large open area filled with therapy tables and equipment, Tatum’s wiping tears from her face.

“What happened? Where is she?”

Tatum nods behind me.

I glance over my shoulder at Lucy walking toward me with nothing more than a single cane for balance.

“No need to load up my wheelchair anymore.” Lucy beams … she fucking beams. I’ve never seen her smile so big.

If Austin’s death was the deepest depths of Hell, this is the absolute infinite height of Heaven.

“Chad said I’ve been ready to walk on my own for weeks; it’s just been a lack of confidence holding me back. But yesterday at the skating park, I met this cute guy and he asked me out. Dad … he asked me out, and I was in my wheelchair. No way am I going out on a date in a wheelchair.”

Oh fuck … that smile. It wasn’t about simply ditching the wheelchair; it was about a guy. And our conversation comes back to haunt me.

“If I can walk, I can have sex.”

Tatum will kill me.

“Luce …” I shake my head. “I’m speechless.”

When a hand touches mine, I glance down. It’s Tatum squeezing it. Tears in her eyes. And that “our baby is walking” look on her face.

My life is a mess. A complete shit show, but no one person knows all of it. Lucy knows things that Tatum doesn’t know. Tatum knows things that Lucy doesn’t know. And I’m the keeper of all the secrets. It’s not a great job.

“Can we go shopping? Please? I want some new jeans since I’ve lost so much weight in my legs. Nothing I have fits me right.”

“Of course we can go shopping.” Tatum releases my hand and hugs Lucy.

“I guess I’ll head back to work.”

“No! We have to celebrate. Cake pops after I find new jeans. Maybe Josh can come. Is he working?” Lucy asks Tatum.

Tatum shoots me a wary look, and I return a tight smile. “Um … I think he’s working, but I can call him.”

“Yes! Call him.” Lucy takes off toward the exit with nothing but her cane and a new lease on life.

“Does she know about the engagement?” I ask.

Tatum’s thumbs slide over the screen of her phone, and then she curls her dark hair behind her right ear and holds the phone up to it. “Nope.” She gives me a slightly panicked look. “Hey, sorry to bother you, but Lucy had a good day at therapy, and she was wondering if you could meet us later for her favorite cake pops?”

After a few seconds, her nose wrinkles. “Well, yes, us means me, Lucy, and her dad.”

Her dad.

I don’t have a name anymore. Emmett could be Tatum’s friend or her dirty lover. Josh would never choose to be in the same room as Emmett, but maybe he’ll deal with Lucy’s dad for fifteen to twenty minutes of cake pops and celebrating Lucy no longer needing a wheelchair.

“No, I was going to tell her tonight. Maybe it’s a good time to tell her. Yeah … okay. I’ll text you when we’re done getting her new jeans. See you soon. Love you too.”

“Everything good with your fiancé?” I ask.

“Everything is fine.” She heads toward the door like everything is not fine.