Paper Hearts

27

That night, Luke remained by my bedside, his constant presence making me a bit uncomfortable and unable to sleep. We made small talk for a while, but after what seemed like ages, I'd exhausted all means of conversation, and all I really wanted to do was go to bed. But Luke Callaway had made the strange assumption that I wanted to stay up.

"You like muffins, right?" He asked, flipping through an outdated magazine and showing me a recipe. "This one looks easy; maybe you could try it out. Or I could. Or...we both could, I don't know, it was just a suggestion."

He began to look panicked then, and cleared his throat, flipping a few pages forward, his voice tight as he exclaimed,

"Hey! The dog in this ad looks just like Marvin! Isn't that something?"

I was beginning to worry for him-I'd never heard Luke Callaway talk like a sixty-year-old woman before, but he was now, and it was unnerving.

"Luke," I said, after he'd just gone off on a spiel about the aforementioned ad, "You know you don't have to entertain me or anything, right? I mean...I'm okay."

"I know you are," he said then, quietly, as he set the magazine aside. "But I still-I don't know, this whole situation drives me nuts. To see you like this, in a hospital bed, with bandages and bruised ribs and knowing you could have-"

His voice caught, and he shrank back into submission, shaking his head and looking up quickly. I felt a pang of sympathy; I'd never seen him so vulnerable before.

"You could have died." He said finally, and I could have sworn he was shaking. "You could have died."

"But I didn't," I pointed out, desperate to erase the worry that overtook his features. "I'll be out of here by morning, and we can go along, and everything will be okay again."

"Will it?"

At this, I couldn't help but frown.

"What do you mean? You're always telling me everything will be okay, Luke, how is this any different?"

He got up from the chair, moving swiftly to the bed, sitting beside me with his back against the rickety headboard, lips just barely brushing my ear as he spoke.

"It's different," he breathed, "Because I don't think we're fake anymore."

________

The words rang through my head long after I had left the hospital, hours after we'd dropped off the totaled truck to an auto shop, and even after the Callaways dropped Rachael and I off at my house (Dad had to get to the office early).

As soon as their minivan disappeared down the road, with Luke in tow, Rachael threw an arm around my shoulder.

"You okay, hon?" She asked me, pulling a sympathetic face. "I know that was pretty rough."

"Fine," I said, and I wanted to kick myself for sounding so breathy and nervous. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Let's go, then," she said, and I followed her inside, biting my lip and hearing the words again in my mind as I did so.

I don't think we're fake anymore.

I could only hope it was true.

________

The next day, despite Dad's protests, I went to school. The doctor said I'd had enough time to recuperate, and as long as I was careful, I would be fine. Luke swung by to pick me up in his parents' minivan, which I honestly preffered to the truck, but he was still mourning over the loss of the aforementioned vehicle, so I didn't say anything.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Hemmings?" He asked, and I laughed, setting my stuff in the backseat.

"Yeah," I said, my stomach twisting into nervous knots. "I mean, how hard could it be? It's school."

He shot me a glance and started up the car without another word.

"So," he said, his eyes fixated on the road before us, intense and unwavering. "The wedding."

"We leave tomorrow," I told him, with a small smile. "Can you believe it? A whole week, in Florida, starting tomorrow. 9 A.M. flight."

At this, his brows knit together, and he cleared his throat.

"I-are you sure you still want to do this? I mean, you were just in the hospital-"

"Luke, you said that exact same thing this morning when I asked you to drive me here. Yes, I still want to do this. Of course I do."

He released a breath, and I just looked at him, waiting.

Eventually, he muttered, "You sure?"

"Stop repeating yourself, Callaway; I'm fine."

And we fell back into silence, until he pulled into the Grayson High parking lot, letting me out with a smile.

"Have a good day, Victoria," he said. "Don't miss me too much while I'm gone."

"Have fun at the Grey," I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "And don't inflate your ego too much. You'll need it for the wedding."

"Damn straight."

I grinned in spite of myself, collecting my things and beginning to close the door, but then his hand caught mine, and he pulled me back into the car-I felt a flicker of confusion cross my face, but the intense focus in his own caused my breath to catch in my throat, and I forgot whatever I was going to say, because suddenly he was kissing me, and I hadn't asked for it or instigated it and he was kissing me and I felt alive, electrified, somehow free in the enclosed space of the car.

And then we broke apart, and I just looked at him, but he smiled that same old quirky smile.

"Hang in there, Hemmings. Only one more day until Florida."

And with that, he drove off, and I was left in the parking lot-giddy and smiling and almost positive that we were anything but fake.