Lucas

Turning my face toward the burning sun, I take a minute to sit with the discomfort. The feel of the scorching rays radiating on my overheated skin is damn near unbearable, but no less than I deserve. Running the back of my hand over my brow, I mop off the sweat and look around. After three torturous days of this, thankfully, it’s almost finished. The once grungy-looking wood is bright and clean, and the parts I’ve already stained make our back deck look almost new.

Tossing the roller back into the pan, I reach for my water bottle and down what remains. It’s hot. Unseasonably so, even for the first day of July. After a full day of working in the heat and high humidity, my stained grey t-shirt is soaked through and stuck to me like a second skin. It’s an uncomfortable sensation, so I reach around to pull it off and then throw the offending fabric over toward the corner of the deck by the back door.

Leaning on one hand, I reach for the paint pan, pulling it down so I can continue with the section underneath. It’s arduous work but part of my self-imposed punishment for having embarrassed my parents on the one day of the year when so many of our neighbors were here.

“Lucas, honey. Have you been out here all day again?” Mom’s voice startles me, but I don’t let it show. That she’s home early means she came to check up on me.

“Yep.” Grabbing the roller, I dip it through the brown solution before continuing to roll the stain over the planks. The way the wood beneath grows dark and shiny under the oily moisture is satisfying and soothes that part of me that demands perfection in everything I do. This is especially needed now that I’m struggling to cope with the poor decisions I’ve made of late.

“Okay. That’s it.” The sound of her small heels clacking against the wood speaks to her determination. The distinctive crinkling of plastic being ripped from the extra paint roller I brought earlier makes her intentions clear.

Swallowing back a groan, I drop my roller into the pan and sit up on my heels. “Stop Mom. You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, really?” She drops to her knees next to me with the athletic grace of an elementary school teacher who’s used to the position. When I notice the forest green pencil skirt that is the only barrier protecting her knees from the rough wood, I cringe.

“Mom! Dad’s going to kill me if he sees you out here like that. Go back inside.” 

“Then I suggest we get through this conversation quickly. Hmm?” With skill, I didn’t know she had, she coats the deck with the dark solution. “Now come on,” she coaxes with a smile. “Get to work.”

With a heavy sigh, I take up my position and do as she asks. For a few minutes, the two of us work in tandem, moving through the small section in record time. Her presence, though disconcerting at first, alleviates some of the emptiness I’ve felt in my chest. The shame spiral I’ve been on since that horrible day pushed me into an exile of sorts, where I’ve resisted the lifeline of love and connection I so desperately crave from my family. After everything, the last thing I deserve is comfort and acceptance, especially from them. At least not yet. Not until I’ve done enough to make up for my mistakes.

“How much longer are you planning to punish yourself?”

Surprised by her question, I slow the motion of the roller while I try to come up with a response. The truth is unclear. My list of offenses at this point is too numerous to count. From falling in love with Embree. To hurting Becca. To my insistence that Embree and I remain friends, only to lash out at her when Parker asked her out. And then my biggest grievance of all, the fight. Losing control like that in front of all my friends, family, and neighbors. I’ll never forget the look of disappointment on my parent’s faces, and I’ll never forgive myself for making them feel that way.

“I don’t know.” The anger that’s overwhelmed me the past week boils under my skin, pushing my movements into longer, more determined strokes. I must fucking finish this. Regardless of how tired I am and how hot it is, I will not stop until I make things right.

“Lucas.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her stop. When I don’t respond she steels her voice and demands, “Lucas, stop and look at me.” It takes everything I have to swallow back the emotion clogging up my throat as I force my gaze to hers. “After this, it’s done. Do you hear me? It ends here, with the deck.”

When my head shakes in disagreement, she puts a hand up and counts on her fingers. “First the garage. Then the shed. The deck. The sidewalks. Not to mention 6 days of locking yourself away in your room at night, after spending the daylight hours punishing yourself with heat and manual labor. My dear boy, the punishment does not fit the crime, so it ends now.”

“You don’t understand, Mom, I screwed up. I embarrassed you and Dad in front of all our friends. I punched one of my best friends and hurt Embree in the process…”

“You. Made. A. Mistake.” Her firm tone leaves no room for rebuttal. “You were angry. It’s a normal human emotion which sometimes turns even the best among us into jerks,” she ends with a kind smile.

Tossing her roller into the pan, she twists and reaches for my face. “Big feelings are hard for everyone, Lucas. Just like being overwhelmed by them and losing control sometimes is as inevitable as getting wet during a rainstorm. Your dad and I, we’re not angry with you, nor are we disappointed. What we are is worried because you are much too hard on yourself, my sweet boy. Everyone deserves a little grace when they make a mistake, and that definitely includes you. So please, stop punishing yourself. If you can’t do it for you, then do it for me.”

When a tear rolls down her face, I have to look away. That I’ve made my mother cry is yet another infraction to add to my growing list of sins. However, if this is what she wants, if this is what I have to do to take that sad look from her eyes, I’ll do it. For the woman whom I love more than any other in this life, there is nothing I wouldn’t do.

“Okay, Mom.”

“Thank you,” her voice is full of relief as she pulls my face down so she can kiss me on the forehead like she used to do when I was little. “Thank you. Now, I’ll let you finish, but after this, promise me it’s done. Tomorrow’s a new day. A fresh start.”

Resigned, I nod. The worry lines around her eyes show she’s still concerned, but I’m grateful when she stands. With one last smile, she turns away from me, reaching down for the sweat-soaked t-shirt I’d discarded earlier, before making her way back into the house.

For a couple more hours, I immerse myself in the work. Taking my time, for once not out of a desire to do the job right, but to prolong the last bit of self-punishment. When the back door opens, I don’t bother looking up to see who’s there, but I brace myself to go yet another round with whichever of my parents is checking up on me now. From the long whistle behind me, I’m surprised to discover that it’s Ben.

“You’ve been busy.” I turn my head in time to see him look over the deck. Spinning around in a slow circle, his gaze scans over the immaculate walkways, the freshly painted shed, the deck again, and then back to me. “Well, aren’t you the little martyr?” He smirks.

“Go to hell,” I bite back the curse words I want to say, given I don’t know if my parents are within hearing distance. “What do you want? I’m grounded.”

“No, you’re not. Momma Holt called me about an hour ago begging I come over to help dig you out from… whatever this is.”

Of course, she called him. For if there’s anyone who can annoy me out of the mess inside my head, it’s fucking Ben. The guy is like a bull in a china shop.

“This is the last section, so either go back inside or get off the deck.”

“Rude,” he scoffs under his breath, but he slides the back door open so he can perch himself inside the threshold. “Deck looks good.”

“Mm-hmm.” I slather the roller into the solution and turn my body, preparing to end where Ben stands.

“So, umm, the bonfire is tomorrow night.”

“Subtle.” Fucking asshole.

“Hey, I find ignoring the elephant in the room to be an enormous waste of time. Well…” he drops off and kicks at my feet like he’s expecting me to respond.

“What is it you want me to say?”

“What is it I want you to…” he parrots me in disbelief. “I want to know what you’re planning to do about it,” he looks behind him to check if the coast is clear and then he whispers, “fucker.”

“Nothing. That’s what. I’m not going.”

“You’re not going?” he shakes his head incredulously.

“No.” I toss the roller into the pan and sit back on my heels so I can glare at him. “Now drop it.” Taking advantage of his stunned silence, I grab the pan and the rest of my tools and place them carefully on the mat next to his feet. “Now move. I have to get in there.”

Reluctantly, he moves back and allows me room to kneel just inside the door. Dipping the roller into the pan one last time, I take great care to not let him see how unsettled I am with my decision. I haven’t seen, much less talked, to Embree or Parker since last weekend. After what I did to both of them, showing up at the bonfire like nothing is wrong seems like a dick move. Plus, to be honest, I’m not that great of an actor to begin with, so acting like nothing is wrong, well, fuck that.

“So you’re giving her up? Just like that?”

At his words, my breath catches, and a sharp pain stabs under my sternum. Is that what I’m doing? Giving her up and walking away like she doesn’t belong with me?

Fuck.

With the last stroke completed, I set the roller back on the pan and drop my head. Giving her up would be the right thing to do. It would set us both on the simple path, where she and I could remain friends, and all our problems would be solved.

“It’s better this way.”

“Is it? Because from where I stand, you look miserable, dude. And she…” When he pauses, my eyes instantly snap up to his. “She’s so fricken sad Lucas. I saw her yesterday for the first time. She took a job at the diner, probably to avoid all of us, much in the same way that you are. But man,” the look in his eyes as he shakes his head shoots pangs of regret through my chest.

“It’s palpable. You can feel her heartbreak as plainly as you can see it. It’s why I’m sorry, I disagree. This platonic distance you’re so desperate to hold on to isn’t working. Not for you. And most definitely not for her.”

“What choice do I have, Ben?” Angry, I rise to a stand, facing my friend as I desperately cling to the hope he has an answer because I sure as fuck don’t.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he confirms what I already know. “That’s just it, Lucas. If you don’t at least try, whatever choice you have will be taken away and made for you. It’s time you man the hell up. If you want the girl, then go get her. If not, quit your fucking sulking and let her move the hell on.”