“I love you,” she whispered instead, and the words wrapped around his chest and squeezed hard.

No one had said those words to him in a long, long time.

“Say that again,” he whispered, just to make sure he’d heard right, and she laughed, and the sound was even better than her words.

She could do that—flip a switch like that. She’d be laughing with her friends on the green, eating an ice cream cone, and she’d see him walking to the hardware store, and her eyes would change from that slightly knowing, sly smile to unguarded and soft and full of so much that he could drown in it. Or the reverse, too—one July night they were lying on a blanket in the backyard of her house, just holding hands, and Lucas was trying to figure out a way to tell her he loved her, because of course he did, and of course she knew it. But the actual words...they were harder.

Just say it, his brain instructed. Don’t be such an ass. She tells you five times a day. You’re gonna blow this, you know.

But the words stayed locked.

Colleen rolled on top of him, looking at him, and there it was, that soft, gentle gaze that seemed to know every event that had torn off a chunk of his heart—his mom’s slurring voice as her ability to speak died little by little, his father’s arrest, the phone call that came from the prison at 2:36 a.m., asking if he was the son of Daniel Wakeman Campbell—every jealous thought he’d ever had about Bryce, every lonely minute spent trying to be invisible...Colleen’s love erased them all.

But all he could do was look at her, touch her face, and hope she knew.

She smiled just a little, almost as if she was answering his question. “I’m starving,” she said, and her smile grew in a flash, and his was born. Because yeah, it felt as if he had never smiled until her.

Her family liked him well enough—except for her father, which was understandable. Pete O’Rourke tolerated him, though, and Lucas appreciated it. Her mom exclaimed over his manners and always made a lot of noise when she was coming down the hall, giving them a warning to keep it clean. Connor watched him at school, and then seemed to mellow, realizing that Lucas wasn’t some player out to break his sister’s heart.

In late August, she drove him to Chicago, ten hours of them holding hands and barely talking, and dropped him off at the university, took an unnecessarily long time to unpack his meager belongings and walked around campus with him.

Then it was time for her to leave.

“I’ll call you in an hour,” he said, kissing her for the hundredth time.

“Nah,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m already over you. It was a passing thing, like a virus.”

He waited.

“Fine,” she said. “I love you.”

“Say it again.”

“Say it again,” she grumbled. “Not that you’ve ever said it once, mind you.”

He kissed her, feeling as if he was saying goodbye to the brightest, best thing that life had ever granted him, and Colleen wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against him. “I love you, too,” she said, and her back hitched with a sob.

“Adiós, mía.”

“God, I love when you speak Spanish. So hot.”

Then she got into her car and drove off, tossing him a cheery salute that contradicted the tears that gleamed on her cheeks.

He stood there until her car turned the corner. Kept standing there until she pulled up again, because he’d known somehow that she’d drive around the block to see if he’d left. She got out of the car, laughing, and jumped into his arms again. “Go to your dorm, idiot,” she said. “Call me in an hour.”

So his plan became more complicated. Stay in college, make good grades, get a job that earned a lot of money, take care of Steph and the girls...and marry Colleen.

For three and a half years, it worked. Whenever possible, in between working as a security guard at a gleaming skyscraper downtown, between fixing Stephanie’s car/furnace/pipes and the occasional stint babysitting the girls, working summers for a construction company, keeping his GPA over 3.7, he saw Colleen. He’d hitchhike back to Manningsport when he could, or kick his roommate out for the weekend when Colleen came to Chicago. They called, emailed, instant-messaged, took advantage of whatever form of communication available to them.

She was still his. He was still hers. He wasn’t sure why she kept him, but she did.

And then, one weekend when he had scored a plane fare that let him fly to Buffalo-Niagara for seventy-nine dollars, the shit hit the fan.

Because he hadn’t been sure he could get the time off from work, he hadn’t told Colleen he was coming. Figured it’d be fun to surprise her; she was going to Ithaca College, not wanting to be too far from home, from her elderly grandfather, specifically. Connor was at the Culinary Institute, which was a few hours’ drive, and Faith was all the way in Virginia. Colleen put on a cheery front, but Lucas knew she was lonely. She’d told him she’d be home this weekend, and the stars had fallen into alignment with that flight.

He stopped for a cup of coffee at an airport kiosk, tore open two sugar packets, glanced up and saw a familiar figure.

Colleen’s father was kissing someone who was definitely not Colleen’s mother. Who was, in fact, a redhead dressed in a tiny white dress that just cleared her (admittedly great) ass and who wore high heeled shoes and was wrapped around Pete O’Rourke.

Both of them had suitcases.

Both appeared to be doing a tonsil swab of the other with their tongues.

Mr. O’Rourke broke the kiss, looked up with the smug expression of exactly what he was: an older man with a very hot, much younger girlfriend. Then he saw Lucas. He froze for a second, and—horribly—smiled. “Lucas. How are you, son?”

He’d never called Lucas that before, that was for damn sure.

He took the hot chick’s hand and towed her over to where Lucas was standing, sugar packets still not emptied into the coffee. “This is Gail,” he said.

“Hi there,” she purred.

She was a knockout, Lucas would give her that. Long red hair, creamy skin, and a look in her green eyes that said she knew it.

Lucas didn’t say anything.

“Gail, babe, give us a second,” Pete said, and Gail gave both men a sultry look and cruised away, ass swinging in a blatant advertisement. Pete folded his arms. “So this is awkward,” he said. He gave Lucas a fake smile, his eyes completely uninvolved, like a snake’s.

“Yes,” Lucas said.

“I think it’s obvious what’s going on here, so I won’t bother saying it’s not what it seems. It’s exactly what it seems. But it would obviously hurt my family—Colleen especially—to hear about this.”

He kept talking. More of the same. I’m not terribly proud of it...Colleen’s mother...haven’t been right for a while...just happened...wouldn’t understand.

He made Lucas’s skin crawl. The kind of man who thought he was smarter than everyone else, who endured conversation from his wife. Slick, that was the word.

But Lucas knew how much Colleen loved him. She was a daddy’s girl, but not in a bad way. Just in maybe a typical way, a girl who thought her father was the smartest, funniest, greatest guy around. Steph had felt the same way about their dad. And yeah, with Colleen, Lucas would admit, Pete was okay.

“So I hope I can count on your discretion, son. No reason for anyone to get hurt here.”

Lucas gave him a long look. “I’m not your son,” he said.

Mr. O’Rourke’s eyes narrowed. “True enough. Well, you probably have to get going. I gather you’re visiting my daughter.”

Lucas didn’t bother answering. Glanced over at Gail, who was putting on lipstick to the fascination of a security guard, then back at Pete. Without another word, he hefted up his backpack and walked away.

When he arrived in Manningsport a few hours later, he stopped at the Black Cat, the scummy little bar where Colleen occasionally filled in. Her face lit up when she saw him, and he smiled as she launched herself into his arms.

“I was just thinking about you!” she exclaimed, her eyes bright. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Spaniard. Kiss me! Do it!”

He obeyed, and the unclean feeling from the airport faded.

Colleen took him home for a late dinner, and they sat at the kitchen table. Jeanette cut him a slab of cake before helping herself to one, and said how Pete was in Mexico...a conference for commercial property owners.

“You didn’t want to go?” he asked carefully.

“Oh, well,” Mrs. O’Rourke said, waving her hand demurely. “Pete said it wouldn’t be any fun. Just a hotel with a lot of drunk people.”

“Dad hates those things. Wouldn’t want to drag Mom there and make her suffer, too,” Colleen said.

Yeah. What a champ.

All weekend long, it throbbed like a rotten tooth, and every once in a while, he’d reach out and touch the thought. Framed how he’d bring it up to Colleen. Hey, mía, I ran into your dad and his lover at the airport or Hey, Colleen, how are things with your parents? or This conference of your dad’s, Colleen—it’s no conference.

A hundred times over the weekend, he started to tell her, and stopped. It wasn’t his place. Maybe it would blow over. Maybe Pete and Jeanette O’Rourke had an arrangement, an open marriage, whatever.

Colleen drove him to the airport Sunday night, waited with him as she always did, every minute together precious. She lay with her head on his lap, her long black hair glistening under the lights, a smile on her face, eyes closed.

She looked so happy.

“Things are good with your family?” he finally asked.

“Oh, yeah,” she said without opening her eyes. “You know. Connor’s perfect, Mom’s discovered scrapbooking, and Dad...Dad’s been working a lot.”

Now was the moment.

But the smile on her face...he couldn’t. Stroked her hair instead.

“Hey, I have a summer job lined up,” she said, practically purring under his hand. “Nurse’s assistant at Rushing Creek. Kind of great, don’t you think?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“So that’ll be great. I can work there, take care of Gramp, sock some money away, finish school, and then we can get married and have twelve beautiful children.” She smiled more fully and opened her eyes. “Speaking of that...”

Lucas stopped breathing.

“Speaking of what?” he croaked.

“Kids. Marriage. Eternal love and death do us part. Wanna get married this summer?”

“Are you pregnant?” he managed.

She bolted up. “What? No! Oh, I get it. Sorry. Wow, look at your face. Are you having a heart attack?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, babe. Not pregnant. I mean, come on. We use two kinds of birth control.” She paused. “But you do want to get married, right?”

He was still digging out of the avalanche of terror. “Uh, sure, mía. Someday, yeah.” He took a deep breath and looked at her face. Shit. Wrong answer. “What?”

She shrugged. Never a good sign.

“What, Colleen?”

“I thought you wanted to get married. To me, specifically.”

This was, unfortunately, one of the few parts of their relationship that stuck a little. Her picture of the future, and his.

To her, there was nothing at all scary or strange about getting married young. Why not? They loved each other. (True.) She wanted to live in Manningsport, preferably down the street from Connor, and have a bunch of kids.

And so did he. Mostly.

Except for the Manningsport thing. He was a Southie. His sister lived in Chicago, not to mention his nieces, and Steph always needed something, whether it was babysitting, or extra money, or a flat tire changed. She was his true family, as opposed to Bryce and Joe and Didi. He hadn’t even called them to let them know he was in Manningsport this weekend, not wanting anything to take away from his time with Colleen.

Marriage, sure. Just not now.

Lucas wanted to get through law school, having decided that was the best way to make a decent living. Colleen wasn’t materialistic, but Lucas would kill himself before having her live in some shitty little apartment the way Stephanie did, bartending nights while he was in law school. She deserved better than that, and until he could give it to her, they weren’t doing anything. He wanted health insurance and sunny rooms and a yard and a dog.

He wanted to provide for his family, and he wasn’t going to have one until he could give them a good life. He wasn’t ever going to be in the same straits his father had been in. Ever.

“Well, this silence doesn’t give me much to go on, does it?” Colleen said, pulling her legs up onto the chair and wrapping her arms around them. She rested her chin on her knees and sighed.

“You know what I want,” he said.

“Yes, I do.”

“It’s you.”

That got a little smile.

“Just not yet, mía.”

“You have this image of me,” she said, “as needing a nice car and three acres and a membership at the country club.” Her voice wavered a little. “And all I want is for us to be together.”

“Attention passengers,” came the voice over the PA. “We’ll now begin boarding for American Flight 227 for Chicago.”

“Crap,” Colleen whispered. “We should have these talks earlier in the weekend next time.”

He kissed her, tasting the salt of her tears. “I’ll miss you,” he said. “I’ll call you when I land.”

“I love you.”