Sound of Her Voice

By Alaricnomad

Chapter Two: When You Say You Love Me…

"Brooke? What are you doing up so late?"

In the dark, her eyes were unreadable, but he could see her lips curve into a smile. He caught a flash of creamy skin exposed by the long shirt, one of his, that barely reached her knees, as she moved forward behind him. She linked her arms around his neck, and he could feel the palpable heat of her body as she leaned forward, the soft press of her breasts against his back.

Oddly enough, he wondered why his mind did not react with more than the spark of mild arousal that came with pure male appreciation. If he wanted to, he could chalk such a thing up to the late hour and his physical exhaustion, but with his mind still reeling with emotions that were purely Peyton-influenced, he knew he would only be fooling himself.

Brooke's voice in his ear was light and pleasant, just barely more audible than a whisper. "Couldn't sleep. Mikey giving you and Karen trouble?" she asked, indicating the sleeping child.

"Nah. Not too much. I'll probably put him back down soon."

She nodded, pressing a light kiss to his neck as she leaned her head against his. "Who was on the phone, babe?"

"The phone? What do you mean?"

She quirked one fine brow. "You were just on the cell, right? Who was it calling so late?"

"Oh." He turned his face away, waving his hand dismissively. "Nobody really. Just a friend. "

"Just a friend…right…" her tone was quizzical, mildly accusing, "This friend have a name?"

He shifted, shrugging. "Does it really matter? An old friend needed to talk, big deal."

"It's a big deal because you're purposely leaving something out."

Lucas scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

"You won't even look at me, Lucas. You're lying, and I have no idea why you are. Thing is…I wonder why so simple a question gets you to shut down so quickly…what is it, Lucas Scott, that makes you so defensive?"

"It's nothing, Brooke. Maybe if you didn't make it sound like I was doing something wrong from the beginning, I wouldn't be defensive or secretive. What's so suspicious…what's so misleading? All the time, dammit, it's like you think if you give me an inch, I'll go and sleep with every girl in the county."

She pulled away from him, her lips pursing as her eyes grew bright and angry. "Where do you get off? Who's accusing who? You're making it sound like I smother you. I'm hundreds of miles away most of the year, so yeah, maybe I don't trust you not to chase a few skirts. You've done it before, and I was right there with you every day."

"Brooke," he whispered viciously, scowling darkly, "Are you still talking about junior year? Can you never forgive me for that?

"What reason are you giving me to trust you, Lucas? You being distant and moody ever since I got back, making late night phone calls to persons unknown. What the hell am I supposed to think?"

"Jesus, you always do this! Just like all that shit with Peyton in high school."

"Peyton?" her voice continued to rise up an octave, severely threatening to reach a shout, "Who said anything about Peyton?"

"Brooke, I…" He could not help it, as the inevitable guilt blanketed his expression. His girlfriend's reaction was instantaneous.

Her face clouded, and then flashed with fleeting emotions…bewilderment, anger, understanding, and then bitter, furious betrayal. "Is that who you were talking to? Your 'old friend'? That's real rich, Scott, calling your old fuck buddy late at night when I'm right in the next room. That's perfect."

He gritted his teeth, rising to his feet while balancing Michael against his shoulder, not look directly at her for fear of inciting more of an argument. "It's not like that. Maybe if you trusted me a little more, you wouldn't think something so ugly about me. Yeah, it was Peyt. But take a look at a calendar, Brooke. Maybe then you'll realize why she called me."

He paused as he came to the doorway, his back facing her, and Brooke found herself hit by the impression of just how different he seemed from the boy she had left behind to pursue her dreams in New York City. Though rigid as a pole and practically radiating tension, his frame was tall and broad, shoulders strong and wide, far more so in the past year than she recalled him. He had grown, changed, matured, becoming a man where she could not see. Her heart in her throat, she could not form another word.

"Go to sleep, Brooke. We'll talk about this in the morning." With that, he disappeared into the opaque dark of the hallway, evidently making his way toward his mother's bedroom, and she watched him go, unable to do anything but obey a few moments later.

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Lucas woke up the next morning, his back sore from a night on the couch, doggedly tired and bleary-eyed as he stumbled his way into the kitchen, met with the sight of his girlfriend sitting quietly and somberly at the dining table, coffee mug in hand.

He sighed as he crossed the room to the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup. He took a sip, tentatively looking at her over the rim. "Morning, pretty girl," he said softly, attempting to smile at her, though he was not sure he did all that well.

She returned his smile, though the gesture came out weak and wan, more than likely quite like his own. "Good morning."

"Listen, Brooke, about last night. I'm sorry, I was out of line-"

She held up a hand, and he complied to the unspoken command, effectively cutting off his speech. "Don't. I looked at the calendar. I get it, Luke…deep down, I think I always have, but I didn't want to believe it."

His brow furrowed with confusion, and he opened his mouth to question her, but one stern glance had him deciding otherwise. She continued on.

"We've had our good times, babe, we really have, but they've been few and far between. Thing have to change, Lucas."

He tried to speak once more, but before he could make one audible sound, she motioned to the doorway. He turned his head, following her indication, and saw her suitcases full and packed by the entrance to the living room.

"Brooke…"

"It's time I was honest, I guess, and just put an end to all these games we've been playing. I met someone…in New York, and I like him, Luke, I really like him. I came home in hopes that there was something worth salvaging between us. Obviously…I was wrong."

He stared, disbelieving. "Brooke, you know I…" he trailed off, choking off the intended words, somehow unable to finish them.

"Love me? No, Lucas, you don't. Not the way you think you do."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Cause I feel it…"

He smiled faintly. "Feel it in your heart?"

"Yeah." She gave him a questioning look, and he shrugged.

"That meant something once, to truly feel something in my heart." He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Does he treat you well?"

"Yeah, he does."

"Then I wish you luck." He shuffled his feet, draining down the last of his coffee. "Are you leaving, or have you found some place to stay?"

"I'll get a room at the inn. I'll stick around a little longer, just cause I miss this place sometimes. Besides, Naley's coming home soon, right?"

"Yeah, real soon."

"All the more reason. I don't turn tail and run, Luke, and I'm not going to run from you, from us…whatever we were, whatever we become."

He nodded, listened to the faint honking outside that signaled the arrival of her cab, his offers to carry her bags falling on deaf ears, staring unseeing at the morning outside as she pecked his cheek and walked out of his life.

He heard the door slam shut, and he closed his eyes, unable to fully dismiss reminiscence about a high school library, and a curly-haired blonde who had him feeling deep in his heart, that they were truly meant to be.

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For a long moment, Peyton could do nothing but stare at the phone in her hand, unable to wrap her head around the conversation that had just taken place. "Stupid, so stupid," she murmured to herself, rapping her knuckles against her forehead as she fell back on her bed with a sigh.

What had possessed her to call Lucas of all people, when they had barely spoken in a year, had such an awkward and abrupt encounter last time she was in town, when she couldn't bring herself to even say goodbye as she left town, all in fear of looking into hauntingly tender blue eyes and have her heart break?

She remembered coming home that night, after having put all her determination and iron will in the sole purpose of keeping herself together throughout the day of attending classes, the strain becoming so bad her hands had visibly shaken as she tried to fit her key into the front door of her apartment. Once inside, she had fallen apart, finding herself in hysterical sobs for the first time in a long time. The one, clear recollection evident in her mind had been the memory of hands, strong but gentle as they pulled her close, and stroked her hair, silently reassuring that someone was there for her as she grieved.

At the almost tangible memory of his touch, her fingers had fumbled for her phone and absently dialed a familiar cell number, without her being fully conscious of whom she had called until she heard the beloved sound of his voice.

How was it, that even after all this time, he was still her strongest reassurance in the torrential storm of grief associated with her past?

She buried her face in her pillow, feeling very much like screaming out her confusion and frustration, but she settled for a muffed groan. Her fingers curled possessively around the phone still in her hand and a half-formed thought began to emerge in her mind. Before she knew it, she was absently dialing a number familiar for entirely different reasons. Her eyes closed as she raised the electronic to her ear, heard the reverberating rings.

The accompanying click to the call being answered. "Hello. Sawyer residence."

She swallowed, sighing softly as she answered, "Dad? It's me. I think I've changed my mind about coming home for break."