Dad says, "Thought we'd swap trucks for a while. Mine's got the bench seat in case Lane needs to have her leg elevated."

"So thoughtful," she says, going over to him. She tries to kiss his cheek, but he's too tall and Dad laughs, bends at the knees so she can give him what she wants.

"Good luck," he tells her. To me, he says, "Drive safe. Precious cargo."

The rehab facility is more like a five-star hotel, and Laney doesn't stop looking around, touching everything she can reach. Alfie and Roger-the two male doctors in their mid-forties who are a.s.signed to us are also the owners of the place, and they a.s.sure us that Laney will be a priority with them. Thank you, Kennedys' f.u.c.k You money.

The entire appointment is them telling us about Laney's injuries, going through X-rays and other scans, and then telling us what their plan is. There are two bullets still inside Lane, one near her hip, one in her thigh. They were able to remove the one in her abdomen (goodbye spleen) and the one near her knee, but it's the aftermath of that last one which will need the most help. The bullet clipped her kneecap, tore through her ACL. "Do we work on it like we would any other ACL injury?" I ask.

"Yes and no," Alfie says. "It's going to take a lot longer to rebuild the muscles."

"Are you familiar with ACL injuries?" Roger asks me.

I tell them, "My buddy tore his last year. He runs long distance so he was out a while."

"You run track, too?" Alfie asks.

"I used to. In high school." In another life.

"You joining the team in college?" he asks.

I look over at the X-rays. "So a lot of wading in water initially, getting it used to subtle movement, right?"

"Right," Roger says. "Do you have access to a pool?"

"We have a lake," I tell them. "But the wounds are still healing, so I don't know about lake water. In the meantime, we can use the facilities here?"

"Doctor Lucas Preston," Laney announces, and the real doctors laugh. Smarta.s.s Laney.

In the car on the way home, Laney thanks me for asking all the right questions and knowing what to say. She admits it was all a little overwhelming for her. It was overwhelming for me, too, but while she's focused on life getting back to normal, I'm just as focused on fixing her.

"Are you looking forward to the tryouts this afternoon, Coach Lucas?" she asks.

"Yeah, it should be good," I tell her. "You want me to take you home, or you want to come watch?"

"I want to come. Leo's going to hang with me."

I watch her from the corner of my eye as she sends a text on her phone, a smile tugging on her lips. "I never really noticed how close you and Leo were."

She nods, her smile growing when a response comes through.

"Is that him you're messaging?"

"Yep."

"Did you guys... I mean not that it matters, but did you ever consider... you know?"

"Dating him?" she asks, all Casual Laney like.

"Yeah."

"Only to make you jealous. We had it all planned out, but then it got to the part where we had to kiss in front of you, and the thought alone was awkward enough so we vetoed that idea real quick."

"You had a plan?"

She nods, giggles. "I was so desperate for you to notice me standing on the sidelines, waiting for you."

"Funny," I say. "I always felt like you were the star player and I was up in the nose bleeds."

"You know what we are?" she asks, settling her hand on my leg.

I lift her hand, kiss her wrist. "We're idiots."

"The worst kind." She removes her seatbelt just long enough to sit in the middle. She rests her head on my shoulder, says, "Lachy's going to have a blast with all his friends and his big brothers coaching his team. It's going to be fun."

It's not fun. Not at all.

Lachlan introduces me to his friends as his best friend. He introduces Cameron as his bestest friend. Traitor.

I'm quick to realize that coaching The Misfits will be nothing like I thought. It'll just be watching over a bunch of seven to eight-year-olds and making sure they don't f.u.c.king kill each other.

After three weeks of rehab and appointments and cooking and cleaning and taking care of Laney without s.e.xing her, The Misfits are born, and the name doesn't do them justice.

"Quit eating crayons on the field, Bug Eyes!" Cameron yells, wearing the same uniform as the team-white and red and blue, the colors of the Preston Construction's logo.

"Stop peeing in your mitt!" Lincoln shouts.

"Yeah," says Liam. "Stop peeing in your mitt!"

The back of the twins' jerseys says: Twin 1 and Twin 2. Cam's says: Best Coach. Mine says: Bestest Coach. Laney designed them. Clearly, I ordered them.

Chapter Thirty-Nine.

LUCAS.

"Is that everything on the list?" Logan asks Laney, walking toward the checkout at the grocery store.

Lane sits in a wheelchair while I push her around. She hates the chair but the crutches are starting to bruise her armpits, and we both knew we'd be in the store a long time. She wanted to make The Misfits snacks for their game later in the afternoon, and when Laney makes anything, it has to be perfect and slightly over the top. I told her sliced oranges and water was the norm. She's baking them cookies.

"I think so," she says, her gaze shifting from the cart to her list, tick, tick, ticking off items.

"I can come back if you've forgotten anything," I say, because I know how important it is for her to do this. It's not as if she has a lot of anything else going on, and I can tell she's starting to go stir-crazy.

Logan starts loading the items from the cart while I get out Dad's company credit card-part of his sponsorship deal. That's when we hear two women ahead of us gossiping about that Kennedy kid and the builder's daughter and The Night the Town Turned Red and Blue and Black. I look down at Laney, but she's looking down at her hands. "That poor Kennedy kid," one of them says, "he must've been so lost to do something so horrible."

I clench my jaw, my fist. I start to speak, but Logan beats me to it. "That poor Kennedy kid tried to kill my brother's girlfriend, his best friend, our sister from another mister, lady!" he shouts. I should tell him to stop. I don't. He adds, "Now hurry up and buy your super-sized tampons and twelve-inch d.i.l.d.o and shove them up your a.s.s!"

Swear, the look on her face is worth listening to her bulls.h.i.t. She looks first at Logan, then to me. She ignores Lane sitting in the wheelchair, the aftermath of that poor Kennedy kid. "You Preston punks!" she scolds, aghast. I smile up at her, insist I pay for her groceries. Kill her with kindness and her guilt. Once her bags are packed and in her arms, Logan calls her a wh.o.r.e and Laney finds her voice. "Have a phenomenal f.u.c.k you day, b.i.t.c.hes."

Logan cackles, high-fives her. I tell her she just earned a handy, and she high-fives me, too. And that's what life is like in our small town: The poor Kennedy kid, the builder's daughter, and the Preston punks-the topic of all gossip. But gossip is like dust, floating in the air, temporarily marring the things it lands on. It's not forever. It's not us.

"Hey," Cameron says, stepping beside me as I keep an eye on the game.

"First base is that way!" I yell, pointing to the base. "You're running to third! Come on, boys!"

"Yeah! Come on, boys!" Lachlan shouts, hitting the ground with a bat. "Remember, righty tighty, lefty loosey!"

"That doesn't even make sense," Lincoln tells him.

Cam shakes his head, lowers his voice. "It's true, though. Lucy's definitely not tight anymore."

"Dude!" I turn to him. "That's so wrong."

He shrugs. "So I was just walking past Bug Eyes and Freckle Face and Snot Eater's moms-"

"You really need to learn the kids' names, man."

He scoffs. "It's hard enough for me to remember all your names. I think I'm doing pretty well."

I go back to watching the "game."

He says, "They were talking about Kennedy's mom."

I ignore the twisting in my gut at the mention of his name. "What about her?"

"Apparently she's here."

I face him. "Where?"

He points to Lane sitting in the stands wearing the team jersey. She mentioned she felt left out so I ordered her one. The back of hers says: Lucas Preston's. Sitting next to her is a woman I hadn't seen since before Lane left the hospital.

"Snot Eater's mom said they've been sitting together, laughing and talking for half an hour. Is it her?" Cam asks.

"It's her," I confirm.

"What the h.e.l.l is she doing here?"

"I have no idea."

The umpire calls the game, and Cam and I both whisper, "Thank f.u.c.k." Then we gather our s.h.i.t, gather the kids who belong to us. He takes the gear and my brothers to the minivan while I make my way toward Lane. She stays seated, Mrs. Kennedy stands. "Hi, Lucas," she says, her voice soft. "Your team definitely has... potential."

"I don't know if potential is the right word," I tell her, but I'm looking at Lane who's looking down at her hands. "Mrs. Kennedy, you mind if I have a minute with my girl?"

"Sure," Mrs. Kennedy says. "I'll be down by the dugout."

I wait until she's no longer within hearing distance to sit next to Lane. "That was a little rude, Luke," she tells me.

"What is she doing here? Is she giving you a hard time?"

"No." She scoffs, shakes her head. "She's not like that."

"So what did she want?"

"She wanted to thank me. And you."

"For what?"

Laney faces me for the first time since I sat down. "For giving her the courage to leave her husband. She gave him the divorce papers a couple of weeks ago, and he signed off on it. He's leaving her the house and leaving town."

I nod slowly, look over at Mrs. Kennedy standing by the dugout, wringing her hands as she watches us. "I'm happy for her."

"Me too," Lane says, then taps on my arm. When I look back at her, she's frowning. "She doesn't have anyone, Luke. Her son's in-"

"I know where he is, Lane."

"And now her husband's gone and I'm her only real friend."

"You consider her a friend?"

Her gaze drops. "You know, when I spent that week in the hospital in Charlotte, she wasn't just there to pay the bill. She stayed by my side the entire time. She never left. Not once."

I sigh, take her hand in mine. "Babe, I want to like her. Really, I do. And I've tried," I tell her truthfully. "But she knew what was going on with you, and she should've told someone."

She shrugs, her eyes filling with tears. She's quiet for a long moment. Then: "I should've told someone, too, Luke. But you don't understand that fear." A sob escapes her, breaks my heart. "That fear chokes you. Silences you. And I want so badly to find a way to explain that to you, but I can't. And with her-I don't need to. She knows. She's lived in that fear for so long."

I grab her crutches, hand them to her. "Come on." Then I help her down a few steps and toward a waiting Mrs. Kennedy. I say, "I'm sorry for being rude earlier, Mrs. Kennedy."

She smiles. "Vivian, please."

"Vivian." It's strange-how knowing her name, saying it, separating it from the part that darkens her-changes the way I see her almost instantly. "We're having a cookout tonight-my family and Lane's. It won't be anything fancy, burgers and hot dogs, but I'd like it if you came."

She looks between Lane and me, unable to hide her uncertainty. "Thank you for the invitation, but I'm not sure that I'd be very welcome."

"You will be," Lane a.s.sures. "Luke's family doesn't just open up their home, they open up their hearts."