-1Chapter 1

U.S. Airways, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

Lucas Scott stared vacantly out the airplane window at an endless array of azure sky and tried to block out the litany of mistakes that ran through his head like the ticker at the bottom of the CNN screen. The overweight man beside him snored loudly in his ear, causing Lucas to shift uncomfortably, trying to put as much distance between himself and "Gus" as possible. Gus was what Lucas started calling the man next to him when the man fell asleep with half of his ham sandwich sitting on his chest. It had since fallen off and now was somewhere wedged between the man's feet, leaving a mayonnaise trail down his shirt and pant leg. Lucas blanched and scooted closer to the window. He felt trapped and confined. He needed to stretch; his tall, muscular frame was ideal for fade away shots and lay-ups, or even for coaching those things, but not for small, cramped airplane spaces. Ugh. He hated airplanes. And he really hated flying. He truly was a feet-planted-firmly-on-the-ground guy. And perfectly comfortable with that, usually. But since the catastrophe that was to have been his wedding, he had needed to get away; he needed to get far enough away that he could almost forget who he was, who he had become. Initially, his mother's boyfriend, yacht in the Northern Mediterranean had seemed to be far enough. It wasn't. He spent more than a month on that yacht with Karen, Andy and Lily, swimming and relaxing, seemingly without a care in the world. Or so it would appear to those who did not recognize the miserable gleam in his eye, or that when he smiled, or laughed, it never quite reached his eyes. Lucas Scott was a man merely going through the motions of life, and not even managing to fake it well.

Several times during his 'vacation', his mother, Karen, and Andy attempted to broach the subject of the wedding with him, get him to talk about what he must be feeling. His mother tried to put it into words, but there were none. Karen wanted so badly to ask what, or who, her son was thinking of all those nights he sat out on the deck of the large yacht until well past dawn. She heard him mutter in his sleep many a night. "Lindsey" he would mumble. And then, "Peyton". Tossing and turning, night after night. And always those same two names. She wanted to ask, but she couldn't. She knew her son, knew that he would talk when he was ready. But Lucas didn't want to talk and she didn't know how to ask. They hugged good bye at the airport and the questions she had held back for more than four weeks were on the tip of her tongue, but she held them even still. Her heart went out to him; Lucas looked so distraught and exhausted. He was a man haunted by the ghosts and shadows of what was and what will never be. It seemed as though there was no peace for him, not in the tranquility of the Mediterranean or anywhere else. Lucas had begun to think long ago that he might never find such peace again. And truth be told, he admitted wryly, he had no one to blame but himself.

And so here he sat, 15,000 feet in the air, squished into a space ideal for a toddler, alone with his thoughts and a seat companion that was now nuzzling him and drooling on his shoulder. And murmuring the name "Frannie" over and over and something about bacon that Lucas couldn't quite make out. Lucas grimaced at how pathetic his life had become in such a relatively short time. A month ago, he was engaged to a wonderful woman and had their whole life ahead of him. He had a purpose; a goal. He had finished his second book and was proud of it. He had been happy. He had been happier than he had been in a long time. The happiest he had been since Peyton said no. For the first time since that day in LA, Lucas looked forward to the future. And then Lindsey decided that he wasn't over Peyton and left him standing at the altar, in front of his family and friends. She made some connection between the car Peyton drove and the comet in his novel and decided that he still loved Peyton. That he still wanted Peyton. Never mind that he proposed to her, Lindsey. That he made plans with her and promises. Never mind that. And no matter what he said, she was determined to leave. Lindsey claimed the only reason he had been able to write his second book was because of Peyton. She said that his second book was a love story, written about Peyton. He tried to explain the metaphor he used. He tried, he really did, but for all of his eloquent written words, at the time when he needed them the most, when he desperately needed to find the words to make her stay, he had none. And she left. "Everybody leaves, Lucas. You of all people should know that" she said as she closed the door behind her. Lucas couldn't move, couldn't go after her. She was right, wasn't she? People do always leave. And so he let her go.

After that, Lucas couldn't deal. He had to get out of Tree Hill and away from the people it contained. He couldn't deal with anyone, Nathan, Haley, Brooke and not even Mouth or Skills. He couldn't handle their pity and their 'poor Lucas' looks. He especially couldn't handle dealing with Peyton. The girl that had caused him so much happiness and so much misery; the girl who had broken his heart into a hundred million pieces the day she said no and again when she said that she still loved him. The girl who hadn't wanted him, but couldn't seem to move on. The girl who confused and confounded him, and whose mere presence shattered his entire universe. And so, he had run. Away from Peyton and memories he couldn't forget; away from Lindsey and the ruins of their future and the choice he had made. He just ran. But he couldn't run anymore. It was time to come home and face the wreckage he left behind.

"Dammit", Lucas muttered "why couldn't she just stay gone?"