Something Lovely (Bishop Family Book 9) Page 5

  "The mud room," he said. "Your dad showed them to me earlier. We threw a little bit. He said I could use them anytime."

  "Where'd you go?" I asked.

  "When?"

  "You said you just got back," I said.

  "Oh, I went with Jo and your brother. We went by your other brother's house and then over to Wes and Jo's place."

  "Daniel?" I asked.

  "Owen."

  "Daniel came by, too, though. He brought Kip over to see Wes and Jo. They only stayed a little while since it was almost Kip's bedtime. Courtney wasn't feeling well."

  I nodded. "She thought she'd get better after the first trimester, but this one's rough on her."

  "That's what Daniel said," Luke agreed. "He said they think it's a girl this time because she feels so different."

  "I thought you weren't gonna get to meet everybody till tomorrow night," I said, feeling like I had missed out on something.

  He shrugged. "It was kind of a spur of the moment thing for us to go over there," he said. "I think they just couldn’t wait to see Wes. Your little nephews are really cute," he added. He touched his cheek. "I think I still have baby food on my face from where one of them kissed me."

  He stood at the line and faced the target, letting one of the knives fly through the air. His form and release was so delicate and gentle that I actually leaned forward a few inches as I watched it fly, trying to help the knife make it through the air and into the target.

  "You're so gentle," I said.

  "Gentle?" he asked, glancing at me.

  "The way you throw," I clarified. "It's just so slow and soft."

  "I'm just trying not to wake anybody up," he said.

  "You won't," I said. "The bedrooms are on the other side of the house."

  Luke let another knife go. Again, in that same slow, delicate manner.

  "Can you not do it?" I asked.

  "Do what?"

  "Throw it harder."

  He shot me an amused smile. "Yes, I can throw it harder."

  "Do it," I said.

  He nonchalantly turned toward the target, and without another word, he began to release the knives—all eight of them. Thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap… they flew through the air, one after another with speed and precision. He reared back and then followed through with the same overhand technique he had been using before, only this time, the motion was more intense. His movements were sharp and defined, but he still seemed somehow relaxed. I watched him, thinking I wished I could throw like that. They whizzed through the air and solidly found their home in the target. Thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap. He finished the last of the set and turned to smile at me.

  "Is that what you mean?" he asked.

  I nodded wide-eyed, feeling speechless.

  "You're gonna freeze out here," he said, noticing the way I was standing in a bundled-up position.

  "You're gonna freeze too."

  He shook his head. "I'm not cold."

  "I'm not either," I said.

  He grinned at me and lifted his eyebrows sardonically. I was obviously cold. I was standing like a person who was cold. My shoulders were lifted up several inches, almost touching my ears, and my hands were clasped in front of my face.

  "Are you coming in?" I asked.

  "I wasn't, but I can," he said.

  "Okay." I nodded and headed into the house, knowing he'd follow me.

  "I thought you'd be exhausted by now," I said once he retrieved the knives from the target and made his way into the house. We stood by the door, and both of us worked on taking off our winter gear. I reached out, locking the deadbolt.

  "I should probably try to go to bed," he said. "I just didn’t feel tired when they dropped me off. I slept some on the plane."

  I set my coat, hat, and gloves on a nearby chair. Luke set my dad's knives on the catchall before shrugging out of his coat. He took his shoes off and left them by the door before pulling off his beanie. He had a short-ish haircut, and his thick, dark hair didn't seem to be affected at all by the removal of the hat. He ran his hand through it and gave it a shake just in case.

  "How about you?" he asked. "Aren't you tired? I thought you had school tomorrow."

  "I do, but my first class isn't until eleven."

  He nodded, glancing toward the hallway as if assuming that we were going to head that direction.

  "You wanna hang out for a few minutes before we hit the sack?" I asked.

  "Sure," he said. He followed me to the couch.

  I sat cross-legged in the corner and he chose a spot next to me, leaving a few feet of space between us. He still had on that same Bishop Motorcycles sweatshirt, and I smiled absentmindedly, thinking I wanted one like it.

  Seeing it reminded me of something… "What's up with your dad not wanting you to work at the dealership?"

  Luke let out a little humorless laugh, shaking his head. "You noticed that, huh?"

  I nodded, but otherwise stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

  He lifted one shoulder, seeming maybe a little reluctant to explain. "My, uh, biological parents. They were… uh… not… really… I don't know. They weren't really great people, I guess."

  I felt a little heartbroken by his tone and sincerity, and I wanted to tell him that he didn't have to continue. I really didn't know what this had to do with his dad not liking motorcycles.

  "You don't need to tell me if—"

  "No, it's okay, I'm just trying to figure out how to say it. It's something I've thought of, but no one's ever really asked me, so I've never said it out loud. Plus, I don't want to come across as offensive since your family works with motorcycles and everything. It's not that my dad has anything against them, it's just that…" He took a breath, searching for the right words. "My birth parents were kind of… I don't know how to say this other than… trashy," he said. "They didn't choose to give me up for adoption, I was taken from them. There were definitely drugs involved. Meth, I think, and other things. They had both been in-and-out of jail for different things. Anyway, there was a big incident right after I was born—a bust or whatever, and the state just took me away from them and found a better home for me."

  My heart pounded as he spoke. His raw honesty was touching, and I imagined him as a helpless little baby being born into those less-than-ideal circumstances. I had to resist the urge to reach out and touch his arm—to try to comfort him, or at least let him know I didn't judge him.

  "Have you ever seen or talked to them?" I asked.

  He nodded, glancing at the hallway to make sure no one was listening to us. "Not in person, but I've seen pictures. I know my real mom's name, so I looked her up on Facebook like five or six years ago. Longer than that, actually. It was back before we moved to London."

  "What'd you find?"

  He shrugged. "Everything I dreaded. A life I'm glad I escaped. It's just a completely different circumstance than the one I'm in with the Wrights. She's got other kids. I think I might have two brothers. That was pretty crazy, seeing a picture of them—especially since they kinda look like me."

  "Did you talk to her?"

  He shook his head. "I just looked at her profile for a few minutes. I pretty much regretted doing it. My parents didn't even know I searched her out. They still don't know. It kind of freaked me out, honestly. I was so relieved and happy that my life had turned out differently than what I saw in those pictures. I just turned off the computer and vowed never to look at Facebook again." He gave me a little smile. "If there is some good that came from it, it's that I can understand what my dad's so afraid of. It makes me a lot more patient with him."

  Chapter 7

  "What do you mean by that?" I asked, staring at the side of Luke's face. "Why do you have to be patient with him?"

  He sighed. "I don't want to offend you because your family's so deep into motorcycles and everything, but I think… I guess just part of me thinks that's why my dad's so weird about my work… why he wants me to pick something else to do."

  "Why?
Because he thinks motorcycles are trashy?"

  Luke glanced at me with a self-deprecating smile, shaking his head a little like he wasn't getting things across in the right way. "See? That's what I was afraid of. I don't want you to think that he—"

  "I don't think anything," I said. "I'm just trying to figure out what you're saying. Do you think your dad doesn't want you to work at the shop because he's afraid you'll turn out like your birthparents?"

  "When you put it like that, it makes it seem like he's really rude or judgmental, and it's not like that. He's a good person. And I don't even really know if that's what he thinks. I'm just saying… he and my mom pretty much rescued me from that situation. It makes sense to me that he wouldn't want me to go back to that kind of life… that he would want to do anything he could to prevent me from turning out like them. Don't get me wrong. Obviously, I know there's nothing wrong with motorcycles, otherwise I wouldn't be so passionate about them. They've just got a certain… air of rebellion, I guess, that surrounds them, and in the back of my mind, I feel like maybe that's why Dad's so reluctant to see me take that path. I mean, he's gotten better now that Jo's with Wes and he knows about your family business and sees that you're so successful. But he would still really like to see me go to college and probably choose a different career."

  I stared at the side of his face. His profile was so different from Derek's. He was just different than Derek in general. I could see things in him that weren't just physical—I could see character. He was honest and vulnerable yet, at the same time, resolute and unyielding.

  I experienced a lot of conflicting emotions in that moment. At the surface, I felt guilty for ever bringing up the fact that Luke looked different from his family. I was really embarrassed that I had pointed it out earlier, especially now that I knew there were deeper emotions tied to the subject.

  But something deeper inside me admired him. I remembered the way he had handled his dad earlier—the way he patiently deflected his dad's comments without seeming irritated or defensive.

  "I think it's amazing that you're following your dream," I said. "That takes courage."

  He smiled without looking at me. "Thank you," he said. "I've thought about just going to college and doing something else, just to please him, reassure him, but that just doesn't seem right. It's not me. I could probably choose to do something fairly close, you know, some kind of mechanical engineering or something, but I wouldn't be happy settling for doing something I don't love, and then I'd ultimately be mad at him about it."

  "I think it's amazing that you know that," I said.

  He shrugged. "I don't know if it's amazing, but it's just where I'm at. It doesn't seem like an option for me to give up on something I love. You're surrounded by people who do that, though. Your boyfriend, your parents, grandparents, siblings… you guys are all dream-chasers."

  I sighed, feeling like that was just about the sweetest compliment ever. "Do you think your dad will eventually stop giving you a hard time about it?"

  "I honestly don't feel like what he does now is giving me a hard time. He's much better than he used to be."

  "So, what do you want to do? Work at the dealership?"

  "I'm gonna be a designer," he said. "Not that I want to ever stop working in the repair shop, because I don't. I truly do love taking a machine that’s broken and making it run again. It makes me happy to do that. But I do want to design and build some new machines. I'm gonna start by winning that contest your dad was talking about."

  "Don't you have to come here for that?" I asked. "You know, work at the headquarters?"

  Luke shook his head. "Everything's digital nowadays. I could design anywhere."

  "Your sister would love it if you moved here, though," I said. "But I guess your parents wouldn't, or your girlfriend."

  "Speaking of girlfriend," he said. "What are you gonna do next month when Derek leaves?"

  I shrugged. "Miss him, I guess."

  "I thought maybe you'd travel with him."

  "I'm here till May, at least. That's when I graduate. I guess I thought I'd just figure it out after that. He'll be in Cleveland by then. He talks like he wants me to move up there with him, but that'll mean moving into his house, and I'm not sure. Even if I was ready to move in with him, there are other things to consider. The players don't take their significant others on every trip. I'd be staying in Cleveland quite a bit by myself, which would be weird since I don't know anyone there."

  "I bet the other wives and girlfriends are in the same boat. I'm sure you can get to know some of them."

  "That's what Derek said." I shrugged. "I don't know. It's weird to think about moving in with him. It's weird thinking about having him gone for so long, too. Both things are weird. Both options seem bad. I'm just kind of putting off thinking about it."

  Luke took in a long, deep breath, one that signaled that he was about to wrap up the conversation. He scooted to the edge of the couch stretching by lifting his arms upward. "I better get some sleep," he said.

  "I better, too," I agreed.

  He stood up and extended a hand, offering to help me up. I took his assistance even though I was perfectly capable of standing on my own. He clasped his big hand around mine and pulled me to my feet. He was smiling at me as he did it, and I returned his smile, feeling like I was cheating on Derek just for letting Luke help me up off the couch. Maybe it was because his hand wrapped around mine gave me a tingling sensation in my stomach. I broke contact with him as soon as the thought crossed my mind. I would no longer be able to touch this guy. No more physical contact. Something was wrong if he could cause me to have butterflies just from helping me stand up.

  "Thanks," I said stiffly. "For the talk," I added out of sheer nerves.

  He smiled. "Thank you," he said. "I hope you don't think negatively about my dad. He's really a good—"

  "I like your dad," I said. "I can completely understand why he would be wary. I mean not that he should be, but I can see what you mean. I think he's just trying to protect you or whatever."

  Luke nodded. "Night," he said.

  "Night."

  I expected him to walk with me down the hall, but instead, he headed toward the back door.

  "Where are you going?" I asked.

  "To get my coat and shoes, and put your dad's knives away."

  "You can just leave the knives there," I said. "We can put them up in the morning."

  "I hate to do that," he said. He hesitated, staring at me with a look of concern. "Wait, are you scared? Did you need me to walk you to your room or something?"

  I smiled. He genuinely thought I might be scared to cross the house by myself. "Yes," I said, nodding and wearing a reluctant expression, even though I was not scared at all and had lived in a house by myself for the last two years. He was just so sweet that I couldn’t resist playing with him.

  "Well, walk with me to put your dad's knives up," he said. "I'm not leaving them out. He's gonna know it was me who used them."

  "I'm just messing with you," I said. "I'm not scared. Go ahead and put Dad's knives up. I’m going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

  He nodded. "Sounds good."

  He had already taken a step or two away from me, so there was a little gap between us. I knew we were taking off in different directions. I had already decided not to touch him again, but in those brief seconds of awkward hesitation, I did the unthinkable. I lunged toward him, and gave him a hug. I have no idea why I did it. It was almost involuntary. I blame the fact that I had been raised in a hugging family.

  "Night," I repeated, patting him on the back.

  Luke was stiff at first when he caught me in his arms, but he quickly relaxed and squeezed me back. "Night, Ivy," he said.

  In those split seconds, my face was right up against his chest. He smelled masculine and clean. This combined with the familiar logo on his sweatshirt gave me more of those undesired sensations. Plus, I could feel his muscular build. I let go of him quickly, stepping back.
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br />   "I'm sorry. We're just huggers. My whole family. My mom probably already hugged you a bunch. We all do it. You're gonna get lots of them while you're here."

  "I hear they're good for you," he said smiling at me from over his shoulder as he walked toward the door to retrieve my dad's knives.

  "Yep, that's what I hear, too," I said casually.

  Dork, dork, triple dork. What in the world? We're all huggers? What was wrong with me? This was not at all what was supposed to be happening.

  I went straight to my room, closed the door, and sat on my bed.

  I had a sinking, guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I almost felt as if I was woozy or seasick. Until Derek, I hadn't really found a guy who gave me the desire to make a commitment. And now, here I was, only a few months into this committed relationship, and I felt undeniably drawn to another man.

  God, help my wandering thoughts.

  God, help my wandering eyes.

  Give me the strength to ignore Luke.

  Blind me to his looks.

  Help me to be unattracted to him.

  Then, as they often do, my own thoughts interrupted my prayers. I started thinking things like: You're not married, Ivy. There's no need to ask for forgiveness or feel guilty for looking at Luke.

  The thought of looking at Luke sent an image across my mind. I recalled the sight of him throwing those knives into the target—the way he quickly and expertly sent them sailing through the air one after another.

  I squeezed my eyes shut tight, begging myself to stop imagining him. I was committed to Derek, and it was just plain unacceptable for me to entertain thoughts of another man.

  God, help me to know what's right.

  Give me strength to honor my commitments.

  Then, I thought of something that would give me strength—the sight of Derek. I grabbed my phone and began typing his name into the search engine.

  I only had to type his first name, and there he was—Derek Holbrook—number one on the list of Dereks, followed by Derek Carr and Derek Jeter.

  I clicked on his name, and his Wikipedia page came up, along with several photos—all baseball mugshots with Derek wearing his Indians cap.