Page 91 of August Lane
“Because I was a drunk who wanted to keep drinking. And I couldn’t be that with you.”
She closed her eyes like it hurt to look at him. This was his worst fear. This was her in all his nightmares. “I wouldn’t have—”
“I never wanted to be like her,” Luke interrupted. “But that’s exactly what happened.” August’s eyes flew open, and he knew she understood him. She’d just poured his mother into her car.
“That’s not true.”
“I’ve been sober five years, but I’ll always have a disorder. I’m still tempted to drink when things get hard. But accepting that changed my life.” He took her hand in his. Her fingers were long, tapered, and delicate. He ran a thumb over her knuckles, pausing at each bone.
“I’d never put my hands on you,” he said softly. “I’d die first. But there’s lots of ways to break a person. I couldn’t risk it.”
She stared at their hands. “I would have helped you.”
“I didn’t want help. Drinking was the only thing that made my life bearable, and I chose it over you every time. Once I was in recovery, I’d been gone so long I figured it was best to stay away.”
She pulled her hand back. “You were wrong.”
“I know that now. And I’m so sorry.”
A long moment passed before she spoke again. “What made you decide to get sober?”
He had stories. Everyone in recovery had them, things the average person would find horrifying. They always underestimated someone’s rock bottom because they couldn’t see down that far. They had reasonable limits. But the Snake wasn’t reasonable. It only cared about the next drink.
“I was at this bar in Memphis, and this guy recognized me. Big dude, way bigger than me. He started hassling me, asking where I’d been all these years.” Luke had ordered a beer in the middle of the guy’s verbal assault. He’d been on autopilot, dodging the sight of an empty glass. “Something he said set me off, and to this day, I don’t remember whatit was, but I hit him. Then I was on the floor getting the shit kicked out of me.”
Luke remembered staring at the ceiling, thinking,I can take it. I’ve lived through worse.But for the first time, he also thought,What if I don’t?“Dying like my father was comforting to me—that’s how fucked up I was. It felt like I was following in his footsteps.”
Luke had kept his eyes lowered as he spoke, but now he looked at her, drank her in just in case this was the last time they were close like this. If she ran from him after tonight, he wouldn’t blame her. “Then I thought about you. Because I always think about you, even when I shouldn’t. I didn’t want it to be all you knew about me. His death. Your song. None of it mine. I shoved that guy off me and got out of there. Checked into rehab the next day.”
She didn’t speak for a while. The pond was quiet, too, no croaking frogs or buzzing insects. Everything held its breath.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I knew you had a problem, and I never said anything. I never got you help.”
Luke was stunned. “We were teenagers,” he said, even though it felt impossible they were ever that young.
“Still. I promised to take care of you.”
At that moment, Luke realized something that made him want to hold her so badly that he had to lock his muscles to remain still. This woman, fierce and loyal with the biggest heart he’d ever seen, would never reveal his lie. She’d throw her future away to keep a thirteen-year-old promise because the only way she knew how to love was through sacrifice.
But no one had ever sacrificed anything for her.
August dug something out of her pocket and offered it to him. “I wrote it at work. Thought it might be the start of something.”
She didn’t wait for him to read it. He watched her climb into her car and didn’t look at the note until she was gone.
Summer nights were the coldest / I’ll regret those forever / ’Cause now you look like every moment / that could have been better
Luke reread the words. Then he texted Charlotte’s publicity manager, asking for a phone number. It didn’t take long to get a response:Bitch nearly ruined Charlotte’s career, but you do you.
Luke made the phone call with his stomach in knots.
“This is Emma Fisher.”
“Ms. Fisher? Luke Randall. I want to pitch you a story about August Lane.”
She laughed. “I think everyone else beat me to it.”
“Not this one.” He placed August’s note on the ground to keep her words in front of him. “It’s about who really wrote ‘Another Love Song.’”
