A/N: Hey, just wanna start this out by saying a big thank you to all of my wonderful friends in the Mutuals Discord for helping me get back into writing. This and the millions of other projects still left on the back burner wouldn't be possible without you guys kicking my ass back into high gear.

Now, with Reprise, I need to give a fair warning that this story isn't exactly for everyone. Some of the topics it touches on (Divorce and Abandonment to name a few) are definitely heavy in nature, thus I do not recommend reading unless you're in the right state of mind to do so. TWs, whenever appropriate, will always be listed at the top of each chapter for you as the reader to take into consideration. That being said, read at your own risk.

I would also love to mention that the fanfic Icicles, by roseabellaaa, was a huge inspiration for this fic! I highly recommend taking a look at it if you haven't done so already!

For this chapter I recommend keeping the song Sea of Love by Cat Power handy!

tw: mentions of divorce, drowning, and abandonment

I: i'll drown when i see you.

He has this dream every night. Of rough, ragged currents sweeping him off his feet, sending him back and into the black waters. It weighs him down, shoving him back and forth in between waves. This ocean, it is violent and unforgiving. Whatever he went running into the storm ravaged sea for—his body still screaming with the need to save it and not himself—is most likely gone. Nothing can survive this.

Not even himself.

But he fights, still furiously swimming and feeling. He knows he'll die, but whatever time he has left must be used to save whatever his heart is pulling him towards. He swims, he claws, he searches. Lightning flashes through the sky, illuminating the dark waters around him, and—for just the briefest moment—he sees it.

A silhouette. Something small, something fragile. Round and frilled out in the middle; like a jellyfish. Except, it isn't a jellyfish. Another brief burst of light illuminates her tiny twin tails writhing in the currents as if they were seaweed. His heart jolts.

Cutting through the water, quicker than the lightning up ahead, he wraps an arm around her and pulls her close. The warmth radiating from her tiny form reminds him to kick up towards the surface.

But the ocean is not one to give up easily. It's a cold, dark, and very lonely thing. And she, this little girl, may very well be the only warmth left in the whole world.

Reaching up and wrapping an icy hand around Luke's ankle, the ocean suddenly yanks him down. Luke struggles against it, but the ocean is a beast far stronger than he will ever be. His lungs ache, his mind grows weary, and his grip loosens for a split second.

A split second is all the ocean needs.

Without warning, the ocean rips away the only good thing Luke has ever known.

He screams, and carbon in his lung releases as a tidal wave of bubbles.

He reaches, he claws, he searches.

But she's gone.

"No!"

In a cold sweat, Luke shoots upright. His hands fly forward, groping to find something but only managing fistfuls of air. He looks around, eyes wide while he hungrily gasps for breath. Four blue walls, two blue curtains drawn in, one sleepy dog—it's his room.

Oh. It was just another dream.

"Christ..." Luke falls back into his bed, fingers twitching with the energy left over from the imagined struggle. He's still stuck with the remnants of a fight or flight response, however it only takes the warm tongue of his bedmate to make the rest fade away. His attention turns to his furry companion of 6 years, dear sweet Bailey.

"Sorry, did I wake you up...?" He smiles as Bailey pushes her snout just underneath his hand. She whines, and he immediately moves to pet her soft head. Bailey's blue eyes glisten with an almost human look of concern. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Just another bad dream."

Bailey whines louder.

"Aww, I promise, girl, everythin's okay!" Luke throws the covers off and pushes himself upright again. He narrows his eyes down at her. "That, or maybe you're just whinin' because you're hungry. You want breakfast?"

He doesn't have to ask twice. Bailey perks up, tail wagging quick as she barks and bounds off of the bed. Before he knows it, she's skidding out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

"Alright then. Breakfast time it is." Luke chuckles and pushes himself out of bed. The wooden floor is cold underneath his feet and it squeaks as he trudges about the room. He subconsciously gravitates to the dresser out of sheer habit. "Shirt, pants, socks—"

Wait.

Narrowing his eyes, he looks over his shoulder at the analogue clock. In bold red, the clock screams Tuesday, June 7th, 7:14 AM. His hands slowly drift away from the dresser handles. His Tuesday shift isn't until noon.

Pulling himself away, he takes his route out of the room and down the hall Bailey skidded down. His fingers skim the walls as he goes, feeling the familiar cracks in the ugly beige paint that lines the old walls; always telling himself that he'll repaint them a kinder yellow. Yellow was a good color, right? Calming, or something like that? He figures any color would be better than the one covering the walls now.

He turns the corner and—

"Gah!"

Sunlight fills the living room in a near excessive manner and blinds him instantly when he enters the living room. His room, compared to this, is a pitch black cave.

"Bailey, remind me to close the blinds before bed!" He calls and Bailey responds with an excited bark. Cringing away from the light, he cuts the corner quick and enters the kitchen.

Here it's a little better. His house—and every house in the neighborhood—faces towards the rising sun. So, the living room becomes a bath of light in the morning, the kitchen in the evening. In theory it's a good deal, but it's a shame that he isn't exactly a morning person.

He heads towards the pantry and pulls out the bag of dog food he's fed her for the longest while. Pouring out the usual into the Aussie's bowl, he can't help but catch her eager pacing just by his leg. That always tugs a grin from his lips. He moves across the room and sets the food down by her water bowl. Bailey doesn't waste any time with wolfing it down.

Now that he's a little more awake, he spares the kitchen clock a better glance.

7:25 AM.

Damn, he really is up early. He normally doesn't have this much time to spare before work, though Bailey always wakes him up around 9. Still, even then he was pushing it to make sure she was well taken care of before he had to head out. Today, he's sitting pretty with at least three hours to spare.

Luke's eyes dart back towards the living room. He isn't hungry, at least not at the moment. Something else is crying for his attention—he can feel it in his fingertips.Moving past Bailey, Luke moves back into the living room. He squints for a few seconds, feeling his way around the nearest couch until his eyes adjust. He feels the smooth mahogany of his acoustic brush against his hands before they fully do.

With a grin, Luke carefully takes it up from it's stand, seating himself on the nearest couch. This one is new. Well, new-er. He has an older one on a stand in his bedroom and an even older one in the guest room. That one—gathering dust in a room he never visits—is pushing 16 years since he first got it. It wasn't his first, but it was a gift from his mother.

He flinches and quickly pulls his mind out of the guest room, locking that part off with a mental key. Don't go in there. Don't look think about the guitar. Don't think about before.

Instead of focusing on the past, Luke pushes himself to focus on the 'now'. He brushes his finger pads against the steel strings, listening to them shiver underneath his touch. His thumb snags on the fattest string and plucks a warm, resonating note out of it. Doing the same for the rest, he makes sure they're all in tune. It's a skill he's acquired over the last 25 years of playing, a perk of sticking to this hobby for so long.

He's been told by close friends—AKA Nick—to make a career out of it, but the humble side of him always says that he isn't that good. And, quite frankly, it isn't just the humble part of him that's talking. It's all of him.

He plucks the thinnest string and cringes when the note shrills off tune. Too loose. Nimble fingers reach upwards to adjust it.

He has a nice voice, sure, but he knows he sounds exactly like every other Nashville born Bill lingering for too long on the local Country radio station. Besides, he's getting old. Nick argues that 36 isn't old, but Luke feels like he's well past his prime. The world wants young and new. Not... middle aged and redundant.

Once the string hums a bright, clear tune, he moves his hand down the neck towards their default positions. His thumb strums downwards.

He knows which song he wants to play first, it's the same one he plays right after he has those dream; every single time.

First he hums.

Then he sings.

"Come with me... My love. To the sea, the sea of love..."

The chords play him just as much as he plays them. They tug at his heart strings and calm the cold, lonely ocean inside of his head. In his arms is an old, warm weight. He remembers singing this to soothe someone else, but now he sings it to comfort himself.

"I wanna tell you... How much I love you."

He's loved so many, he's lost so many. The thing with love is that it never truly has an end. For him, at least, it never does. He's always left loving people who leave too soon, spending his days wishing he could tell them just how much they were loved. He wishes he had more time with so many people. He wishes he had more time with her—

He plucks the wrong note, the sound souring the atmosphere. Stumbling on the words, it's not long before the whole song falls apart mid sentence. The music fades, the comfort fades, and suddenly it's quiet. Luke rests his head back against the couch, sighing deeply. Maybe today just isn't his day.Before he can sink further in his sulk, he hears his phone ring loudly from the kitchen counter. God, who's calling him this early? Placing the guitar back on the stand, Luke makes a sprint into the kitchen to answer it.

"Hello?"

No one answers.

Luke makes a face and looks down towards the tiling.

"Who is this?"

Still, no one answers.

Luke contemplates hanging up, but—just when he moves to take the phone from his ear—someone speaks.

"H-Hey, uh..."

Her voice, though soft, is like an iron fist; balled up tight, swinging deep into his gut. His breath hitches in his throat with shock. With the wind knocked out of him, Luke finds himself gripping onto the counter for dear life.

"Thought you'd never hear from me again, huh?" A chuckle escapes her, though it sounds more sad than amused. "Hah, That's okay. I thought the same thing about you, I guess?"

She's right. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever consider that he'd hear from her again. The last time they spoke, Luke dismally thought it was final. Granted, he was never sad for her absence, but something else instead. All those years ago, she stole something precious from him.

His jaw tightens and he closes his eyes.

"What do you want?" It comes out harsher than he intends, gruff and curt.

He can tell he's taken her back with his response, because she nervously laughs again to defuse the tension. That was always her first go to. "God, come on Luke, don't be like that—"

"Jane."

She falls quiet.

"Y'know, you got a lot of nerve callin' me." He grips the counter a little harder.

"I know," Jane admits flatly. "I know that I've done... a lot of shitty stuff in the past. But I need... I need you to listen to me."

Eyes wide, Luke let's out an incredulous laugh.

"Listen to you?!" He exclaims. "Listen. To. You? Of all fuckin' people—the one person who single handedly fucked over my life?"

"I didn't—"

"No! Just—Stop!"

Falling silent, Luke feels the ocean's icy grip begin to ghost around his ankle—maybe even his heart. He feels cold.

"You took everythin' from me, Jane," he grits out. "I don't want to hear whatever it is you have to say. Fuck you and go fuck yourself."

"I get it!" She explodes. "I get it, alright, you're still mad, and you have every right to be! I'm sorry!" Frustration creeps it's way into every word she spits out. "You don't want my excuses, so I won't bother giving it to you." On the other end of the call, papers crinkle. "But I need you to swallow your anger with me down for just... three fucking minutes!"

"Why?!"

"Two words," She breathes as though she's cocking a pistol and aiming right for his heart. "The kids."

She's fired the shot.

Time stops. Everything in the world stops, and all Luke can hear is the sound of his heartbeat. Jane's known for casting lines filled with only the best bait. When they were together, that's all their conversations were. Sharp words softened by promises that seemed to good to be true (and they were always too good to be true).

Luke should be smart enough to know this is just another bait reeling him in to get hurt—but he isn't. Despite his best interest, Luke finds himself hooked on like a hungry fish.

"Fine," he mutters bitterly, the back of his head beginning to buzz like a nest of wasps. "Three minutes, that's all I'm givin' you."

"Good, first off—"

Something loud sounds over the call, cutting her off before she can continue. Jane yelps and suddenly—for the briefest moment—Luke hears another voice.

"Mom, you okay?"

Suddenly, his arms are heavy again with the warm weight of the world. He closes his eyes so tightly, trying to erase the sound from his head. It's not her, it probably isn't—but who else would call Jane 'mom'?

"I'm fine! I'm fucking fine!" Jane yells away from the phone. "Go back to your room!"

He hears the door shut and Jane releases a shaky sigh.

"What just happened?" He asks cautiously.

"Something… fell." She says, suddenly sounding decades older. Worn and exhausted. "I'm pulling out documents right now, and…" Her voice trails off. "Fuck it. Look, I know you hate me, but I know you don't hate them. I mean… You'd still want them, right?"

"What kind of question is that?!"

"I'm just making sure!" She snaps. "Okay, I need you to promise me something. I know you haven't seen them in God knows how long—"

12 years, he painfully reminds himself.

"But… You're my last resort, Luke. If anything happens—and I know it will—I need you to promise me that you'll take them in."

"What're you talkin' about? Jane what's—"

"Luke, just fucking promise!"

He swallows hard and looks down.

"Okay," he promises. "I'll take them, whenever. But… Jane, what is goin' on?"

"Jane?"

Another loud noise clamours somewhere outside of the room and the voice from before calls for Jane again.

"Shit," she hisses out. "I have to go. I know it's not making sense now, but you have to trust me when I say everything is already taken care of. I'll send you more details later, just know that Beverly will—"

"Mom!"

Before she can continue—before Luke can question her further—the call drops. He sets his phone down and feels his legs go weak. Leaning his weight against the counter, Luke slowly slides down to the floor. Sitting there, his hands find their way to his face, leg sprawling out along the tiling.

Somewhere, far off and distant, thunder echoes. A storm is brewing, but it's not just the one in his head.

Despite all efforts not to do so, Luke thinks about Jane's call the rest of the day and nothing else. He thinks about how sudden it was, coming out of the blue 12 years after the divorce, with no apparent reason reason as to why Jane's just now offering up custody for their kids. Every now and then, his eyes dart back to his phone, waiting for something—anything to clear things up for him. He wants answers—no—needs answers.

Because, this? None of this was adding up. The last they spoke, on that fateful day in court, Jane had made her stance clear; she wanted nothing of him and he would have nothing to do with the kids. Maybe people change, but Jane isn't the most malleable person.

His mind soon wonders to his kids. If this arrangement ever comes to fruition, that means he really would be seeing them again someday. God, what must they think of him now? Do they know that he never wanted to leave them? Do they know that he still loves them—still thinks about them every moment of the day? Do they know he even exists?

Luke fidgets restlessly in his corner office space. Every now and then, he fumbles with his phone. No new messages, no new calls. Every vibration is a false alarm that only makes the tension in his head even more worse. Wound up like a twisted rubber band, bursting with nervous energy.

An eternity passes, and the clock strikes 8 PM. Without wasting any time, Luke cleans his desk space, clocks out, and makes his way out in a hurry. Just as he leaves the building, dashes across the stormy parking lot, and enters his car—he gets the message that he's been waiting for.

Unknown Sender: "Sorry, something came up earlier and I had to hang up. The legal issues have all been cleaned up. Perks of having a Yale graduate lawyer for a Mom, huh?"

He grimaces as the mention of Jane's mother. A lot of people talk big about monster in-laws. He thinks slyly that she's the mother of them all.

"So I have partial custody of Beverly and Riley now?"

Unknown Sender: "Well, yes and no."

Luke swallows the lump building in his throat. "Elaborate?"

Unknown Sender: "I could only grant custody of Riley over to you."

Unknown Sender: "I don't have any control over Beverly."

Unknown Sender: "She's, well, emancipated."

Emancipated. The car starts—lights flickering a bit before the engine stutters to life. Luke can only stare forward. Palms sweaty, he pulses his grip around the steering wheel. Does this mean that he'll only see Riley? If so, why had Jane mentioned Beverly earlier? His stomach clenches with unease as the phone goes off again.

Unknown Sender: "The bright side of this; you can't separate Bev and Riley. If worse comes to worse, she'll be coming down with him anyways."

Unknown Sender: "I doubt she'd be excited to live with you, but you can handle that when it happens."

Ouch. Acting almost on a split second decision, Luke shoots her the big question that's been biting at him all day.

"After all of this time, why are you doing this now?"

Before Jane can write back, Luke turns his phone on silent and sets it face down in the passenger's seat. He'll never get home to Bailey if he sits here all night asking questions. Pulling out and making his way down the road, Luke remains unbearably tense.

I doubt she'd be excited to live with you.

Just like the song, Luke feels Jane's words working their way into his heart. They play him just like the chords did, and they do even more than that. Jane's sly comment picks his spirits up and slams his very being right into the floor. He shatters as if he's glass and the tendons of his heart yelp like snapping guitar strings. Part of him wonders if Jane always intends to be as cruel as she is. As insensitive and uncaring of how others feel. Then again, she's most likely right. Beverly probably thinks the worst of him, and that perception was entirely out of his control. Knowing that kills him.

Gripping his steering wheel a little tighter, Luke diverts his focus back onto the road.

He's driving down a less than busy street, listening through the noise of the radio as heavy rain bears down on his windshield. But, that's not all he's listening to. Eyebrows furrowed, he turns down the music and listens intently.

What the fuck?

A subtle whine ebbs in through the front of the cars. Lights inside of his car flicker again and dim.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It's probably nothin', he tells himself, but—if it is somethin'—God, please—just let me get home, to my dog, in one piece—

As though out of spite, his car slows to a dying chug. With what little control he has left, he pulls the car onto the side of the road, into a ditch filled with gravel and grass.

"Fuckin'—Fuck!" Luke slams his face into the wheel, the car horn blaring briefly as he yells in frustration. Pulling his head away, he glances at his phone out of the corner of his eye. Nick. He has to call Nick.

When he picks his phone up, the first thing he notices is the long ended list of messages he's received from Jane in the span of a few minutes. Woah. Luke sucks in a breath, and swipes out of it to find Nick's contact. Right now, he needs to focus on getting help. He can read it over in depth later.

Once he finds Nick's number, Luke calls him.

The phone rings and it doesn't take long for him to get an answer.

"What's up, man?" Before Luke can talk, Nick adds, "Please tell me your car isn't actin' up again."

Luke bites his lip guiltily. "Hah… uh…" He looks at the dimming lights on his dashboard. "I swear, it wasn't my fault this time, Nick—"

"Jesus, Fuck," Nick groans over the phone. "Man, it's late. Why do you always break your car when I'm tryna sleep?"

"Late?" Luke echoes in disbelief. "Since when is 8 PM late for you?"

"Ever since I've been pullin' extra shifts at the shop to get an actual Paternity Leave," Nick replies.

Luke mentally slaps himself upside the head. Duh, how could he forget that?

"Shit, that's right. I'm sorry, man," Luke rubs his neck guiltily.

"Sure you are." Nick sighs—not sounding the least bit mad—and Luke hears the brief sound of keys jingling. "Tell me where you are, I'll come by and grab you with the tow truck."

Luke grins and gives him as many details as he can make out from the dark, rain warped view. "God, you're a lifesaver, Nick."

"You're damn right I am!" Nick manages a chuckle. "Honestly, Luke, you should've majored in mechanics and not Art whatever. Maybe then you wouldn't be constantly dependin' on me to save you from your god awful car."

"At least I actually went to college, asshole." Luke snorts and looks down. His smile fades and he fiddled with his seatbelt. "Actually… Nick, when you get here, I need to talk with you."

"About?"

Luke bites his lip. "Nothin' too bad. Just… focus on the road for now. It's rainin' cats and dogs out there, just be safe."

"Alright, I will," Nick replies. "But… You okay, man?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just… I need to sort some things out."

Scrit, scrit, click.

Another X is written on the calendar. The red pen clicks closed and gets shoved into her back pocket. She eyes the calendar nervously. Friday, June 10th. Day three of Mom going AWOL. She always keeps count of how long her mother stays out. You never know when you'll have to file a missing person's report. Though—to her mother's credit—she's never been gone long enough for it to happen.

Beverly shouldn't be worrying about this. Sometimes, her mother leaves for weeks at a time. She did it once, on a summer vacation a few years back. Three days isn't enough to worry. But she does; because this time is different.

She slowly turns and looks around her mother's room. It's barren of any clothes, any jewelry, any make up—even her prized leather jacket is gone. Anything that belonged to her is gone. The bed is still there, but the blankets are all missing. If her mom left and meant to come back, she would've left everything where it was. Maybe wrecked the room, taken some clothes. But not everything.

This time is real. This time she isn't coming back home.

"Beverlyyyyyyy!"

She snaps her attention over to the doorway, hurrying out of the room and making her way towards the staircase. "What, Riley?"

The 12 year old pokes his head over the banister to look up at her, dirty blond curls spill over his forehead while his eyes wrinkle with a devilishly grin. "I hear you ghostin' around Mom's r-room!" He calls. "Mom's gonna kill you when she gets back! No k-kids allowed in there!"

"I know the rules, Riley." Beverly starts down the stairs and shoos him back towards the living room. "And I'm not a kid. Besides, I'm just looking for… Clues."

That always sparks a light in his eyes.

"Clues?" Riley obediently hops back onto the couch, grinning wide. "C-Can I help, then? You know, I am the best detective in Lexington!"

"No, dude," Beverly sighs. "I know you're a great detective, but I need you to stay put for now."

From the corner of her eye, Beverly can see him throwing his head back and whining high. "Awww, b-but Beverly!"

"No buts!" Beverly snaps, silencing her younger brother. Riley throws her a pout. "And—for Cripes sake—don't throw your head around like that, alright? The last thing we need right now is for you to shake your brain and have another seizure."

"I wasn't even throwing m-my head around!" Riley groans. "If I can't help you, c-can I go outside?"

"You asked earlier, and what did I tell you?"

"Gawd, you never let me do anything!" He groans even louder than before and Beverly can't help but roll her eyes.

He can whine all he wants, she thinks to herself, this is for his own good.

Walking into the kitchen, Beverly looks towards the countertop. She left something important there, something that she's been holding off for the last 48 hours; too busy to consider it while she searched every inch of the house for clues. Now that it's apparent that her mother isn't coming back, she needs to start making calls. The night before she left—somewhere around there—her mother left a note on the fridge. Well, two notes.

Beverly thinks she knows where they are, but—now that she's by the countertop—she realizes quick that something is wrong. Confused, she sifts around the area, but nothing comes up. It's gone. Oh no.

"Riley?" She calls, panic etching her voice as she starts moving things around. "Where's the note?"

"Wh-What note?"

"The note!" Her searching suddenly becomes frantic. "The one Mom left! Where is it?"

"I d-don't know!" He yells back. "Didn't you have it last?"

Oh no, no, no. Cripes, he's right; she was the last one who had it. But, where is it now? She looks around in a frenzy, nearly tearing up half of the kitchen in the process.

Beverly found it—no—them the morning their mom went missing. When she woke up, the family car was gone and the living room was a nightmare. Riley's birth certificate, official documents, and even the hospital discharge papers from the night before—all scattered along the floor like the wind had blown them in. She made sure to clean up and hide all the documents before Riley had woken up, but where was her mom? Why were the papers everywhere to begin with? Nothing made sense, not until she saw the notes.

One had someone's contact information on it, written clearly in permanent marker, and the other was littered with frantic writing starting with an "I'm sorry". Beverly balled that one up before reading any further; before she realized just how dire the situation was. When she first saw them, she hadn't yet seen the empty room. She thought that this time was just like the last. A brief vacation from her kids. Part of her wishes she would've read further, but maybe it's for the best that she didn't. She doesn't know where that one is now, but that isn't what she's looking for.

She needs the note with the contact information on it.

"Beverly!"

Instinctually, she perks up from her rummaging. Riley runs into the kitchen, sliding across the hardwood due to the socks he's wearing. His hand catches along the corner of the counter and stops him from going further. He slams a paper down on the table.

"Is th-this it?" He asks, and Beverly quickly examines it. She sees the number, the name, the address—Cripes almighty, he found it!

"Yes!" She grins at her younger brother, taking the note up with an overjoyed look. "Oh man, you're a real lifesaver. For a second there I thought I was going to have to call Aunt Jaime or Nana."

Both of them shudder. Beverly can barely stomach the idea of Riley living with their Aunt—though she isn't that bad—but sending him to be with their grandmother is absolutely out of the question. Years back she informally declared that anyone from her mom's side was—and still is—strictly forbidden from ever taking grabs at Riley. It's hard for her to label a singular collection of people entirely bad, but her mother's family is all but good. They're just plain evil.

"Sooo," Riley muses. "Who's this Luke guy? Why's Mom telling you to call him?"

Beverly opens her mouth, but closes it back quick. That's right, she thinks sadly, he doesn't know. It's amazing how many things her mother could fail to explain to him. "He's… somebody."

Before Riley starts asking the big questions, she takes the note and quickly makes her way out of the kitchen.

"Somebody?" Riley trails behind her, frustration suddenly ebbing in his voice. "Wh-what do you mean 'somebody'? Beverly, who—"

"He's just a family friend!" Beverly snaps, eyes going wide when she realizes that she's lied to him. The heat of the moment got her, and it got her good. Suddenly, she's glad her back is to him. At least he can't see the shame burning into her expression as she nervously slips on her sandal.

"A family friend?" Riley echoes, disbelief in his voice.

"Yes." Oh, whoever is out there, please forgive her for lying. "He's an old family friend. He might help us, he might not. But… Just stay put for 5 minutes while I make this call, okay?"

She can feel the skepticism in Riley's eyes burning holes into her back. He knows something, Beverly realizes. Does he have an inkling as to who Luke is? Does he know?

But the subject drops after heartbeat passes. "F-Fine." He ends the conversation entirely with a dejected sigh, throwing himself back onto the couch. Guilt festers inside of her like an internal wound. Quick to run from it, Beverly takes herself outside.

Escaping the smothering atmosphere of the house, the late afternoon heat and humidity comes quick to replace it. She steps outside and closes the door behind her, gritting out a noise of discomfort. The heat wave hitting Lexington pushes the highs toward the mid-90s, though she swears it's peaking triple digits. This is why she's refusing to let Riley outside. Riley outdoor rough housing killer heat? It's an equation for disaster.

Pulling her focus from the neausating heat, she turns her attention to the contact information on the note. She hasn't seen his name before on anything besides their birth certificates. Lukas Carver. Beverly touches the surname with a bit of lonesome nostalgia.

Carver was always looked at as a bold name, too bold for her. But it's still a part of me, she'd always say with pride, I'm still Beverly Carver.

She feels the loneliness in her chest bloom into something even more gnarly and painful. That was before her name turned into a military grade bomb; one her mother loved to drop more frequently than the F-Bomb. That was also before her father's name became a weapon of mass desertion far worse than all the nuclear warheads in the world combined. If you set them both off at once, there's no guarantee the world will make it out in one piece. She's not sure she can make it out of this in one piece.

"No," she tells herself. "You have to make it through this. You have to get this call out in one piece."

Her hands shake.

"If you don't call him, Jaime and Nana will take Riley. You'll ever see him again if they do that."

Beverly feels a tear roll down her cheek. Then another. And another. She can't live without Riley, he's all she has left.

It's then she realizes that the fate of this situation lies entirely in her father's hands. Fearfully, she also realizes, that there's a 50% chance that he'll say No. She hasn't considered the likelihood that Luke has already moved on with his life, just like she's tried to. Maybe he has a new wife, or even new kids! Two new, better, cooler, less messed up kids. At this point, he doesn't need them now; maybe he never did.

Her shoulders shake and her lips curl into the ugliest shape. She closes her eyes shut tight and lets out the ugliest, most gut wrenching cry.

Beverly misses him. She misses him so much. He never even said goodbye. She should be angry, she should be furious. But she isn't. She's still hollow with the empty space he left in her life when he walked out the door that afternoon and never came back home.

Through the blur of her tears, she looks down at his number. Call him, the world screams into her ear, what's the harm in hearing what you've always known?

Beverly wants to run into the house, shut all the windows, and crawl onto the coverless mattress in her mother's room. There was so much harm in hearing that smoke and honey drenched voice tell her that he wants nothing to do with her. She can't call him.

But she has to. Because this isn't about her or about Luke. This isn't about the past; this is about the present.

This is about Riley.

Beverly steals a shaky breath and stills her chattering teeth. Every emotion lingering in her chest gets shoved into a closet, and the door slams shut behind them. She locks it all in with a mental key and slingshots the key towards the heavens.

Wiping away her tears, Beverly takes her phone out and dials his number. She has to call Luke.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she puts the phone up to her ear. It rings.

And it rings.

And it rings.

Beverly wants to puke.

And—

"Hello?"

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Make sure to keep tuned in for the next chapter!