“Excuse me?”

“They love each other. You said loved. Love doesn’t die just because one heart stops beating. When you love someone, you have the same heartbeat and it’s still there, just not as strong. So no. There’s no loved. Dad still loves her.”

She stares at me a long moment, longer than I’m comfortable with. Then she looks away, tries to hide her emotions. “Like you love Lois?”

“Lois is my heart, ma’am.”

She sighs, picks at imaginary lint on her Fuck You money dress. “You’re lucky.”

I’m lucky? My girlfriend’s been shot multiples times and I may be going to prison. Fuck you, again, ma’am.

She adds, “I’ve never known a love like that. I met Lance in high school. He was a lot like Cooper. Popular and handsome and driven.”

I don’t care.

“The first time Lance laid a hand on me I was seventeen. I didn’t have friends or family to run to, so when he said he was sorry and that it wouldn’t happen again, I believed him. Through the rest of high school and college, it kept happening. Then I found out I was pregnant and I thought it would change things. We got married and had Cooper and for a while, it was perfect.”

I still don’t care.

“Cooper was four the first time Lance hit me in front of him. He ran away, up to his room, and locked himself in his closet. He was so scared, so petrified, and when he saw me and the damage his father had done, he started wailing. I should’ve protected him from it. I should’ve left Lance, but he was always there, a constant reminder that without him, I’d have nothing. Even if I left, he’d fight for custody of Cooper and I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let him control our son. But without me realizing, he did it anyway. He wanted to mold Cooper into him, and he succeeded. He put so much pressure on that boy… and Cooper—he didn’t know any better. That’s what love was to him.” She looks away, wipes her eyes, and continues, “I knew about Cooper’s amphetamine addiction and I didn’t do anything about it, and when Lois called me from the hospital, my worst fears came true. Lance had created an identical version of him.”

“Did she tell you what happened… at the hospital?”

She doesn’t answer me, instead, she says, “Cooper loved Lois so much and when she wanted to leave him, he lost his way. He wasn’t himself that night, Lucas, you have to understand.”

“No.”

“No?” she asks.

“No. I don’t ‘have to understand.’ I’ve sat here and listened to what you’ve had to say, and it’s not good enough and it’s not going to change anything. He was still there, he pulled the trigger, four times, and she’s lying in a hospital bed minus a spleen with two bullets still inside her and you want to see justice. You want me behind bars because I did something someone should’ve done to your husband a long time ago. If you came here to try and make peace with yourself, I hope it helped. But there’s no peace for me, and there’s definitely none for Lois.”

She nods, removes her sunglasses so she can wipe her tears. I don’t miss the scars, the darkness and swelling around her eyes, and for a moment, I feel for her.

Really.

Truly.

She asks, “Do you regret what you did?”

I think about the answer long and hard. “Every time I close my eyes, I see Laney. I see her lying on the ground in her blood-stained dress, and I didn’t realize it at the time—I thought she was clutching her chest, clutching for breath, but she was holding on to this necklace my mother left her. I keep going back to that moment, and I try to come up with all these different scenarios. Try to think of other ways I could’ve handled it, and I can’t. I just can’t.” I take a breath, look down at my hands, picture her blood on them. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever regret what I did, but I regret hurting you in the process.” I look up at her, meet her gaze. “I have five little brothers, Mrs. Kennedy. The youngest one’s seven, and for some reason, he looks at me like I’m some kind of hero, and now it’s up to my other brothers to try to explain why his hero is going to prison.” I stand up, face her. “I’m sorry that you had to experience all that you’ve been through, ma’am. And if my mom were alive, she’d want me to open up my home to you, somewhere safe you can go if you get scared. And so the offer is there if you need it. But the excuses have to stop. For you, for Cooper, for Lois.”

Then I head back to the hospital, make my way to Lane’s room. I ignore the stupid flowers and stupid gifts and stupid police protection just outside Cooper’s room and prepare myself to face-off with the detectives, but just before I open the door, my phone rings.

It’s Chapel Hill.

UNC.

They’ve pulled my scholarship.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

LUCAS

There’s this nightmare I have, only it doesn’t just happen at night. It happens every time I close my eyes. I’m on my knees and she’s in her periwinkle dress, limp in my arms. She offers me those eyes and that’s when I get handcuffed, dragged away, and then I’m in a jail cell, bright orange jumpsuit, and in the middle of my cell is a giant hole in the ground, six feet deep, and in my dream, I always tell myself not to look because I know what’s in there, who’s in there. Still, I look, and there’s Lane, her arms crossed at her chest, and those eyes are closed and covered with crochet flowers.

“That’s a little morbid, Luke,” Laney said after I told her about the nightmare, the visions.

It’s now been six days and twelve hours since the incident that’s been dubbed The Night the Town Turned Red, Blue and Black. Three days since Cooper left his hospital room with a few broken ribs, a busted jaw and some bruising that won’t be going away any time soon. But, at least he’s not there, meaning I can see Laney whenever I want. It’s also three days until my trial. My lawyers say I’m lucky I’m not being charged with attempted murder, but given the evidence (Logan’s video) and the circumstances, Cooper with a gun (premeditated) and me with my anger, it would be easier for the Kennedys to get what they want on the assault and battery charges alone. The Kennedys had requested a different judge, someone who will see the facts, aka someone who accepts their Fuck You money. Their request was granted, so there are no doubts I’m going away. The question is for how long.

I watch Garray’s car come up our driveway, then focus on Lachlan running around the front yard in his underwear, the sprinklers on, and I wish his laughter had the same effect as Laney’s—that it shifted reality—just an inch. Because I don’t want to be sitting on the porch steps looking at my baby brother and taking in the sight and sound of him, not knowing how long it’ll be until I see this again, and I’m numb and I’m tired. So fucking tired.

Garray steps out of his car with a bunch of flowers and stops in front of me, assesses me. Without a word, he sits next to me, places the flowers between us. “I don’t even know what to say,” he mumbles.

“There’s not a lot you can say.”