Oliver and Ransom were at the hospital with the twins. Ally and Avery had sped here from New York as soon as they heard the news and were apparently here for the duration. The girls, Mom and Dad’s late-in-life children, were currently not working—their Broadway show had just closed—which meant they had plenty of time to spend with Luke, sobbing at his bedside, holding his hand, tik tokking and snapping it to their social media accounts. Fawning over him, which he would’ve wanted, for sure.
Ollie had yet to reach his tolerance level with them, but it was his turn. I’d spent the last couple nights with them. Our parents had flown in yesterday, and Mom was managing Luke’s sponge baths, while Dad made sure my sisters didn’t post all the details online. All in all, Mom’s job was easier.
After several days, Luke laid still. Barely breathing. Hooked to machines that did all his body’s work. I had a thousand new powers and yet, I couldn’t do a damned thing to save him. Couldn’t convince Jax to do it either. It was a bone of contention between us. Although, he was wavering. And before I celebrated, I had to be sure it was what Luke would want. That even if he wasn’t the same bright and beautiful man he once was, he would still be happy. And I didn’t have the power of foresight to know for sure.
I couldn’t tell the future, but I could remember every minute of our past.
The party was for the happiest six year old in all the land. Luke was on one side of me, Ollie stood with his usual sulk face on the other side. Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, my Aunt Shirl, cousin Bree, and my Uncle Will were all standing at the opposite side of the picnic table in the backyard waiting for me to blow out the candle.
I was six and thought they should keep singing the birthday song, so I was mid-meltdown. Luke, who was always so much cooler than Ollie, leaned in. “If you don’t blow it out, Hailey, I’m gonna do it.” I didn’t move because I was in the middle of a spectacular melting down. “Better hurry.” He puffed his cheeks. “Last chance.” And then he blew out my candles. All six of them.
The meltdown rolled on, more so when Luke picked up a corner piece of cake and icing with his bare hand and smushed it in my face. Mom laughed. Grandma gasped. Dad grabbed the camera, and Luke and I covered each other in cake before chasing Ollie around the yard. We were a team, and if we were both going to wear the icing, so was he.
It was the last birthday year Mom stood across the table from us. From then on, she stood close by and swooped in to grab it up before a single crumb could be tossed by one of us.
The images in my head flashed. Most of my best memories included Luke. He’d been my best friend since I was born. That wouldn’t ever change.
“Hails, sit.” He pointed to a chair and when I sat, he breathed out, slow, swiped his fingertip over his eyebrow. “I have to tell you something and I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”
“Are you dying?” I’d just watched a movie where a guy sat his sister down much like we were and he told her he had cancer.
“No.” he shook his head, his brow pinched. He was fifteen now. Practically a grown up. Would be driving soon and we wouldn’t have to beg Ollie for rides everywhere. But if he was dying… “Look at me, Hails.” I turned my head and met his gaze. “I’m not dying.”
I nodded. “Okay. Then why the drama?”
“I’m dramatic. It’s who I am.”
I nodded. Yes, he was. If he’d been a woman, he would’ve been a drama queen. I wondered for a second what they called guys like him.
“I’m gay, Hailey.”
I looked at him and grinned. “Fine. You can have the basketball team, but I get football. They have better butts.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “That’s it? You’re not surprised?”
“Luke, you’re my best friend. I’ve known probably longer than you have.”
He pursed his lips and cocked out one hip which meant he was mulling something over. “Think I should tell Ollie?”
“He won’t care. Ollie only cares about Ollie.” I stood and hugged him. “Thank you for telling me, officially. And I’m very happy for you.”
The thought of losing him was unbearable.
Luke was a man who was confident in who he was. He was kind. A wonderful man on all fronts—professional, familial, person to person—he was always upbeat, good in every way.
“I’m nervous, Hails.”
I put down the sheers, and spun the barstool he was sitting on to face me. “This guy—”
“Brent.” Names were so important to Luke.
“Brent is so lucky to be your first date.” I smoothed an errant strand of hair. “You’re the whole package, Luke. You’re handsome, witty, smart. If you weren’t my brother and if you didn’t like boys, I would date you.”
He looked me up and down. “And if you had a penis, and you weren’t my sister, I would probably let you wash my car.”
My eyes went wide. “Did you really just insult the girl cutting your hair?” I spun him away. “Bad move, if you ask me.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sooooo sorry.” When he tried to turn to face me, I put a hand on each side of his head and made him hold still. “I’m sorry, Hailey.”
“Mm-hmm.”
This was his first date and he was going to look amazing. I just needed him to hold still.
I couldn’t lose him. Not now. We had centuries of life left to live. Mistakes to make.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Luke wound my hair around the iron and held it. But he looked at me in the lighted mirror.
“Of course I’m sure.”
“He wears a pocket protector, Hails. Does he wear it during sex, too?”
I smiled at him. If that was Luke’s biggest complaint, I’d done all right. “Of course, he does. The question is, why don’t you?”
Luke chuckled, then his face pinched and he hid his mouth behind his fist. “I thought I was your guy. It's you and me against the world.”
I nodded and turned to face him. “Of course it is, but you’ve spent years dating pretty boys and having a life outside of our family while I spent Saturday nights at home with Mom and Dad.” He shrugged and looked at his fingernails. “I want to get laid, too, Luke.”
“Fine, but I’m your bowling partner. Not him.”
“You got it. If ever I go bowling”—I’d gone years without even trying it—“you’re my guy.”
“That’s all I ask.”
And then a few years later…
I held it together as long as I could and drove the hours to get to Luke, where the hugs would be sincere and the coffee horrible, where he would be angry with me, let me cry and never once say the words, “Buck up.”
When I walked into his place—a cute two bedroom condo in the center of the city—he opened his arms and I fell into them. “Want me to kill him for you?”
I shook my head.
“Want me to run over his foot? You know pain, a little maiming, but he gets to live to torment you another day?” His offers would only get more outrageous until I put a stop to it.
“He got rid of his pocket protector and bought a red Beemer with a convertible top.” I was whining.
“That bastard.”
I didn’t want Luke to hate Howie.
“Should we do wine or coffee?”
I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “Wine.” He kissed the top of my head and pulled me into the kitchen. “Why would he leave me, Luke? Do I have bad breath?”
He discounted all of my concerns. No B.O., or pit stains, no stench of any sort, no confusing behavior, no inept conversations, no parking or speeding tickets. No reason to explain why Howie didn’t love me anymore. I hadn’t yet admitted to myself that I didn’t really love him, either. We’d grown apart. He’d just been the first to figure it out.
“Can I stay here for a while?”
He hugged me. “You can stay here as long as you like.” He nodded. “I promise to be insulted when you leave.”
“Good.” I could use someone being insulted at the idea of losing me.
And I’d been there for his big moments.
I looked out the window of Luke’s condo. The limo was here. We were only driving a few blocks, but appearance was everything on a day like today. He’d seen to all the small details and agonized over all the big ones.
Everything was perfect.
Except Luke. He had a giant ketchup stain down the front of his shirt. “Luke? Did you eat that hotdog after I specifically told you not to?”
He huffed and puffed and I flashed on a three little pigs moment from the cartoon, but then refocused as he stomped his feet. “Help me, Hails! I don’t have another white shirt.”
Until today, the day he’d insisted I rush out to the boutique and buy him a ruffled, white shirt the likes of which would’ve been suitable for any pirate or a performance by Prince, Luke only wore colors. He refused to wear any garment—black or white—that could’ve been argued as the lack of color.
“Your suit jacket is purple?” And Prince-spangled. He had an image he wanted to project.
He was red-faced and dark eyed. Tears were a very real possibility.
I checked my watch. “Okay. I have twenty minutes to get to the boutique and get back here, get you dressed and get you to the gallery before the crowd is scheduled to arrive.” It could be done. If I could fly, but for Luke, I would make it happen.
I walked out the back door to where my car was parked and called ahead as I drove to the Ruffled Man boutique. The owner met me at the door with the shirt already bagged and my receipt inside. I had five minutes to get back.
I dialed Luke. “Get in the limo. Go to the gallery. Don’t get out. I’ll slip you the shirt, you get dressed in the car before anyone sees, then the rest of the night, you sing the praises of your wonderful sister, without whom this night wouldn’t be possible.”
“I love you Hails. This night aside. You’re the one person I know I can count on no matter what. You’re my heart.”
I didn’t give a damn about the council or their edicts. My brother would not die.