"Make him."

I hang up.

Laney says, "What's going on, Luke?"

"Wait. I want everyone here."

"Am I pregnant?" she jokes.

Brian's face pales. "Don't do that," he says, and I finally find something to laugh about.

Logan enters the room, goes straight to Lane. Every other time he's come in, she's been asleep. "I'm sorry," is the first thing he says. "I should've stepped in-"

"Shut up," she cuts in. "I don't want to hear it. Not now. Not ever. You understand?"

"But-"

"Logan."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Okay." He chuckles. "You look really pretty, even in a hospital gown."

"Yeah. The pale blue really brings out the color in my eyes." She looks around the room. "Leo?" she asks me.

"I'm here," he says, stepping out from behind Dad, seeing her in the hospital for the first time. He raises a hand, refuses to look her in the eyes. "I miss you," he croaks.

Laney frowns, looks at me. "Can you give us a minute?"

We give them the minute, but the minute turns to fifteen and I'm sick of waiting. I go back in the room to see Laney holding Leo, his sobs catching in her gown. She raises a finger and I go back out, wait some more. Eventually, Leo appears, wiping at his eyes. "We're ready," he tells me.

Laney squeals when I tell her the news. "So we can be together? You're not going anywhere?" She hugs me tight, and I tell her to be careful-her st.i.tches-but she doesn't seem to care. Her hug is replaced by Dad's, Brian's, and then my brothers. Leo holds me the longest, tells me he was scared, that he didn't know what he'd do without me, and the truth is, I was scared, too, of what I would do without them.

I call in another favor from the head chef at Pino's, and he's more than happy to oblige. Everyone knows about the shooting, about Lane, and he offers to make her meals every night she's in the hospital, on the house. I pick up the food, and Lane and I have dinner on her bed, the room light dimmed, and swear it, you couldn't wipe the goofy grins off our faces if you tried. "Are you sad about not beating Lord Voldemort's record?" she asks.

"Voldemort?"

"He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named."

I shrug. I haven't even thought about it. Haven't gone on a single run since prom. "Not really. It's petty compared."

"Yeah," she says. "Besides,"-she points to herself-"You got the grand prize right here."

She's crazy.

And I love Crazy Laney.

I get home at 6:59, get Lachlan ready for bed. I asked that I be the one to tell him, so he has no idea. I get into bed with him. "Guess what?"

"You're dumb and I'm not?"

"Well, yeah." I roll my eyes. "But... I'm also not going anywhere."

"No baddy jail?"

"Nope. You're stuck with me until you're thirty, kid."

He laughs uncontrollably, the sound contagious. He jumps on the bed, and I let him. I look around his room, see his shrine dedicated to me, see the trophies, the medals. And a calm washes through me, a vision of my future. I take one more look at the trophies, say goodbye to my old life. A life that never defined me like my family does. Like Laney does.

Chapter Thirty-Eight.

LUCAS.

The minivan smells like hot dogs and stale socks, and I smile in Dad's direction because he just said, "I'm proud of you for doing this, Luke." I should do more than just smile because I'm lucky. Really, I am. And everyone's told me so. Numerous times.

The day after Mrs. Kennedy paid Lane and me a visit at the hospital, two things happened. UNC called, offered me back my scholarship. I told them I'd think about it. The biggest thing, though, was that Lane's lawyers showed up at the hospital, along with Mrs. Kennedy, and they helped guide us toward a decision that would affect Laney's future, her life.

In the back of the van, the twins fight over an iPad, Lachlan licks the window, Logan listens to gangsta rap through his giant Beats headphones and Leo reads. Everything is back to normal. Only, it's not. Because I'm on the way to my graduation ceremony, while across town, Cooper Kennedy's pleading guilty, accepting a plea bargain that puts him away for eight to ten years. The back half to be spent in minimum security where his mom will do everything she can to help heal him. He wasn't a bad person, she told us, he's just really troubled. I wanted so badly not to believe her, but he's her son. And truth is, my mother would've done the same.

I sit in a robe in the middle of a row of chairs, listening to Grace (the valedictorian) relay her speech about what a great four years high school has been, how high school is and will always be the greatest years of our lives, how excited we should all be about our future, how the rest of our lives start now. Next to me, Lois settles her head on my shoulder, excused from the alphabetized seating and name calling so I can help her up the steps and onto the stage. She didn't want to use her crutches.

Two days ago, she was released from the hospital under the doctor's advis.e.m.e.nt, not hers. That night, she and Brian also celebrated their freedom, away from the hospital, away from debt. Their "insurance" covered everything.

Names are called, one after the other, and the families cheer and they clap, and when my and Laney's names are called, we slowly make our way up the steps, shake hands with Princ.i.p.al Jenkins. The cheers intensify, all for Laney, now known by the town as The Girl Who Got Shot.

After the ceremony, I help Brian move some bags from his trunk to the minivan. Laney's moving in with me. At least temporarily. She's set on life going back to normal, which means Brian going back to work. I'll be taking her to rehab, check-ups, taking care of her. I called Lucy, asked if we could have the cabin and they use the apartment, just for the summer, to save Lane from climbing the stairs. I also asked if she and Cam could help out with the boys so I can focus on Lane. Of course, she said yes. She's a Preston.

"I stripped the sheets so we should be safe," I tell Lane, opening the cabin door for her. "And I filled the pantry, bought everything you like. I got some good recipes online, stuff even I can make. And I brought over all your craft stuff. I figure you can still use your hands so..." I drop her bag by the front door and pat down the couch for her.

"I love you, Lucas," she says, her smile heard in her words. "And I love that you've done all this for me."

"It's no problem."

"But you know what I'd really love?" She leans on her crutches, exhausted.

"Rest. Of course. I'll get the bed ready."

She laughs. "Luke."

"What?" I check over her. No blood everywhere. "What's wrong?"

"I want you to pick me up, carry me to the bedroom, and I want you to make out with me for, like, five hours straight."

I grin. "Yes, ma'am."

I run a finger between her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s, around the dressing covering her wound, down to her panties, and back up again. We made out for a total of five minutes before she wanted me to take off my t-shirt, which of course I did. Then she asked me to take off hers, then her bra, then her pants, and then we made out for another minute more before she winced in pain and I told her we should stop. So now she's lying on the bed, her leg elevated, looking up at me while I smile down at her. "The doctor said we should wait a couple of weeks, make sure everything's healed before we start s.e.xing again," she says.

"You asked him about it?"

She shakes her head lazily, worn out from the long, active day. "I think he could tell by the way we were around each other." Her words are slow, drawn out, and I can tell she's losing the fight to fake it.

"You should rest, babe. I'll go start dinner."

She nods, and less than two minutes later, she's asleep.

Once I've prepped dinner and it's in the oven, I go back in to check on her. She's sitting up in bed, and I watch from the doorway as she slowly puts her top back on. "You need any help with that?"

She shakes her head and looks up at me with those eyes, and I'm quick to go to her, to kneel at her feet, because I'm that guy.

"You need to stop doing that, Luke."

"I'm trying, babe." Honestly, I am. "But it's hard for me. You weren't there-I mean, obviously, you were, but..." I take her hands, look in her eyes. "I came so close to losing you once, to having my greatest fears come true, and I'm sorry that I'm fussing over you like this, and if the roles were reversed, I'd hate it, too. But, Lane, I f.u.c.king love you-"

She giggles, cutting me off. "You're so romantic." G.o.d, I miss her laugh.

I roll my eyes. "Sorry. I f.u.c.king love you, babe."

"Much better."

"You ready for rehab tomorrow?" I ask.

She quirks an eyebrow. "You ready for your 4:45 run?"

"Why do I have to do that?" I whine. "It's summer."

"You ran every day last summer."

"But that's because I was on the track team."

"And you'll be on the track team at UNC. Did you call them yet? Tell them you're going?"

The oven timer goes off and I exhale, relieved. "I made a chicken and cheese pasta bake."

At 4:45 the next morning, Lane's alarm goes off. Mine doesn't. She knew I wouldn't set it, so she set hers instead. Sneaky Lane.

"Have fun!" she shouts, and I roll over to my side and face her.

"You're mean."

She smiles. "Old times, baby. I want old times."

I don't recall the last time I'd gone this long without running, and it's not fun. At all. I almost give up halfway through my standard route, but I push on because I know it's important to Lane. When I get back to the cabin, I shower, make breakfast. I take it to the bedroom on a tray and she sits up, puts on her new gla.s.ses. "You're the best boyfriend ever," she says, then looks down at the food: juice, yogurt, granola and dry toast. She looks up, nose scrunched.

"You have to eat healthier. No spleen means low immune system."

She frowns. Those eyes. "But I've been eating hospital food for weeks and this is..."

"This is mine."

"Thank G.o.d!"

I get her tray from the kitchen. Coffee, Pop Tarts and a Snickers bar.

She licks her lips, looks up at me. "I swear, as soon as I'm healed, you are totally getting a handy."

"I can give myself handies, Lane. This,"-I point to her tray of sugar-"totally earned me a blowy."

"You're such a dork."

"Will you at least let me shower with you?"

"You just had a shower."

"But not with you."

"Luke..." She drops her Pop Tart on the tray. "I have to shower without the dressing and-"

"And I've seen your wounds," I tell her.

"But not lately and they're all oozy and gross."

"Did you miss the part where I told you I love you?"

She sighs. Concedes. I win.

And just FYI, fooling around in a shower is f.u.c.king rad.

When we leave for Laney's rehab, Dad and Lachlan (dressed in a police costume) are waiting outside the cabin. "What are you doing, Lachy?" I ask, holding the door open for Lane to hobble through.

Dad answers for him. "He wants to do a sweep of the property, make sure no baddies have been here."

"So cute," Lane says.

I leave the door open for him, tell him to go for it.