Chapter 24

Lucas is just done going around the house, putting toys away for the evening when Taylor comes down from the nursery. "I think she's gone for the night."

"Thanks."

"My pleasure, squirt." Taylor comes near, a hand light in his arm, a crooked little smile in her lips. "I'm going to bed."

Lucas is very much aware of the implicit invitation. He is tempted and hesitates. She looks stunning, tight body under skimpy clothes and the stupid pregnancy glow. Her smile broadens. He shakes his head, having a little trouble getting the words out. "Sweet dreams, gorgeous."

If she is disappointed, it doesn't show. It a quick move, she turns around in the balls of her feet and walks away, her hips swaying. "Thanks, babe." She looks at him from the stairs, and their eyes meet. "The door is open... in case you change your mind."

Tempted. Lucas knows what Brooke would say. 'You're being stupid, Broody'. She has openly encouraged him to stray, at times. 'Live and let live, silly.' Lucas suspects she is secretly thrilled by his faithfulness, though. It's not hard to be faithful. In fact, it's pretty easy. No woman comes anywhere near his wife. He thinks of hips swaying inside tiny shorts and closes his eyes for a second. Someone comes pretty damn close. He stares at the empty stairs and laughs softly at himself. It's not just about Brooke. Lucas truly loves Taylor. He's not going to use her this way, honest offer notwithstanding. Certain lines can't be crossed without consequences.

He walks upstairs slowly, stopping briefly at Sam's bedroom. She fell asleep with her light on and a novel open across her chest. One of the better bodice rippers, of all things. With a smile, he tucks her in a bit, kisses her forehead, and turns the light off, leaving just a little nightlight on. He walks fast past Taylor's door and gets to his bedroom. He is a little too wired for sleep.

In their closet, he picks up one of her panties. Cheap cotton, white with red trim, small and with 'Tuesday' written in block letters across the back. Pure defiance over everything her fashion industry life was and meant. She's seen her in these a few times, the unbelievably sexy minx. Never, ever on a Tuesday, though.

Her absence is an open, suppurating wound. He tries to ignore it. Pretends it's not there. For Emily and for himself. It doesn't always work.

He undresses, down to his boxers. Turns off the lights and opens the balcony doors, to feel the sharp ocean wind on his skin. Lies in bed, his eyes brimming. Right hand, wrapped on sexy tuesday, wrapped in turn around something hard and lonely. Eventually, sleep finds him.

=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=

Brooke sits up, heart pounding heavily, tears rolling down her face. The vivid nightmare is still remembered, clear as day. 'We hate you'. She gives herself up to the emotional turmoil, sobbing while wrapping her arms around herself in a lonely self hug.

Training prevails, and she falls into a yoga breathing exercise, taking the lotus position. In and out, slowly. Empty yourself of thought and emotion. Center yourself.

A few minutes later, Brooke feels a little sanity return. With a nearly completed degree in Clinical Psych, she can shrink her own head a little. The dream. It's her old self-hatred, together with the more than justifiable guilt for her actions. Tricking her mother into incarceration. Shooting her. Abandoning her husband and her daughter. Her daughters.

What would her grandparents think about what happened? Of course, it would be very painful for them, and people's reactions to extreme pain are unpredictable.

They were good people, though.

Her grandfather was very tough, clever and respected. And sexy. A good husband, father and a leader.

A little like her husband, just war-toughened and not as broody or bookish.

The Granny Brooke knew was a pale shadow of the woman she was. The woman from the letters was bubbly, thoughtful, kind, a bit of an airhead and a kinky slut. Much like Brooke sees herself, except for the airhead part. They were caring parents, both amused and a little worried by their intense, temperamental daughter.

They would have been devastated, if they knew. But they would not blame Brooke, at least not only. They would probably mostly blame themselves, like any good parents. And they would be wrong.

Most of the blame really belongs to Victoria. May god have mercy on her soul.

Brooke lets herself cry a little more. Then she stops, washes her face. Enough. One more stop. Then home.

=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=

Taylor was sitting on his bed when Lucas came out of the shower, looking serious. He calmly wrapped the towel around his waist, as there was nothing in view Taylor hadn't seen many times. "Good morning, Gorgeous."

"Thanks. Looking good, squirt."

"Thank you."

She speaks in a hesitant near whisper. "I'm going back home."

Lucas frowns. "Have a nice trip. We will miss you." That clearly is not the whole story. "What?"

"I need a little help."

Lucas doesn't hesitate. He sidles next to her and wraps her in his arms. She shudders. "Anything. What can I do?"

"Fuck me."

"Seriously. What?"

"I'm horny." Lucas just stares at her, so she continues." I tried taking care of it myself. I didn't help much.

"But..."

"If I try to ride back home like this, I'm going to end up head first on a ditch somewhere."

"Oh... right." Lucas recalls the pleasurable consequences of a horny Taylor riding the Hog.

She sounds exasperated now. "It's the fucking pregnancy!"

"All right."

"Please, Squirt!"

"All right! No need to beg."

It's one thing to use her. This is something else. Not any kind of hardship either. He'll deal with Brooke later. Lucas thinks of crossing lines and breathes in deeply. He drops the towel and kneels in front of her, pulling down her shorts. "It's just sex, Lucas. Nothing changes."

He starts with his fingers and tongue, just the way she likes it and gets a deep needy moan as a reward. She's a little disappointed when he pulls back a little. "You're wrong, though."

"Why?"

"It's never going to be 'just' anything between us."

He is right, and she worries for a second, until he gets back to what he was doing. Then everything becomes a wonderful haze.

A couple of hours later, the pair walks down the stairs, freshly showered and looking a little goofy. Sam, who was eating lunch with Emily, looks up at the pair and smiles. She knows. She's got good ears, and Taylor is not exactly quiet. Her Dad finally came to his senses. "Hey."

Taylor comes to the high chair and gives Emily a peck in the cheek. "I'm heading home, girls." They both look disappointed and Taylor shrugs. "Gotta work."

=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=

Brooke stops for the night at a roadside motel a little past Atlanta. The ground floor room is large, and it smells clean, with an accent of harsh chemicals. After a long shower, she dries herself and stops to examine herself at a body-length mirror. What she sees bothers her a little. The short-cut ash-blonde hair is not so short anymore, and it is showing an inch of dark roots. Her face looks older than her twenty-nine. She is too thin, ribs showing, her hipbone looking sharp and angular. Even her boobs are a little droopy. She pushes her shoulders back, stands on tiptoe and stretches. Some of her hard-earned tone is gone. Legs look okay, though, She hasn't been exactly sedentary all this time.

It's time. She needs to get back. Back in shape, back to her family and back to her life. Lucas will be angry, but he'll probably forgive her, eventually. After she grovels. Giggles. She loves grovelling to her boy toy.

Arlington National Cemetery. Six hundred acres. Four hundred thousand graves. Security procedures, a map and instructions for their grave. An overly solicitous attendant discouraged by a flash of her wedding band.

An endless sea of markers on grass. Sweltering heat, under the Summer sun. A broad wicker hat, a dark gray dress in conservative cut, low white shoes, bought at Walmart along the way. A small bouquet of white magnolias, which Granny liked. It's a twenty minute walk until she stands at their resting place. Buried together, bless them, his casket and her urn. She places the flowers on the ground, in front of the marker.

She kneels. She would pray, if she had faith, but she doesn't. Instead, she breathes, in and out and quiets her heart. After some time, she speaks. She tells her story. Objectively, in a monotone voice. Heartless negligent parents growing up. Peyton, cheerleading. Boys and drinking. Lucas... Clothes over Bros. Victoria. Her company. Angie, the assault. Drinking and men. AA, therapy. Getting back at Victoria. Going back to Lucas. Her marriage. Sam. College. Emily, medical school. The shooting. It takes hours. Her mouth is dry, and she is hungry. Shadows are growing long when she finally finishes. Exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. A long silence, to find in herself some way to really mean it. Finally she says it. "I'm sorry." Nobody forgives her, herself included. But she feels a little lighter.

The next day it's an early appointment at a salon and, in the afternoon, a fancy tattoo parlor and a toy store. Emily's birthday is in three days, and a present is required. Three hours away from Tree Hill, she stops for the night, too tired to go all the way and face what is waiting for her.

After settling in bed, she makes a phone call. Three rings, and the answer. "Taylor."

"Brooke."

"Oh, hi princess. What's up?" She sounds tired.

"I wanted to know about your appointment. It was today, wasn't it?"

"Yup. Doctor said we're doing fine. He told me the sex."

Brooke waits a bit, but Taylor doesn't say it. "And what is it, you awful tease!"

Taylor snickers. "It's a boy."

Brooke eeps. "A boy!"

Taylor pretends it's no big deal. "It was either that or a girl, Princess."

"Right, be that way. Any ideas for names?"

"I'm considering Anderson."

"Anderson?"

"Brazilian MMA fighter, Anderson 'the Spider' Silva. Top notch. Fucked the guy once."

"That good, hm?"

"Great fighter. Otherwise, meh."

"Could he be the father?"

"No." She laughs. "I wish! Plenty of dough there."

Brooke thinks for a bit. "Anderson James. I don't really like it."

"Don't worry too much. There's a lot of time to decide."

"So, did you go visit?"

"Brooke..."

"I'm three hours away, babe. I'll be heading there tomorrow morning. I just want a heads up."

"Yeah, I was there. Stayed a few days."

"So?"

"They are fine. I have no idea what's in Lucas head, but I know Sam is going to give you a hard time. And Emily is her usual cute self."

There's something off. She's speaking too fast. "Taylor..."

"What?"

"What are you not telling me, girl?"

"Nothing!"

Something is definitely off. "Is he sick or something?"

"No!" Taylor huffs and raises her voice a little. "I fucked him, all right?"

That surprises Brooke. She is not entirely clear how she feels about it. "You did."

"Yeah."

Brooke thinks for a second about what to say. "I told you he liked a baby bump."

"Princess..."

"It's not a big deal."

"And how do you figure that?"

Brooke sighs. "I must have told him a dozen times I'd be fine if he did it."

"And are you?"

"What?"

"Fine?"

"I'm not sure... I think I'm more envious than jealous."

"Not jealous."

"Yeah. Some part of me is pleased. I really don't like him to do without."

"I'm sorry, Brooke."

"Don't be." She thinks a bit more. "Feel free to do it again in the future, if he'll go for it."

"What? You're suggesting some kind of three-way relationship? Cause I'll tell you, that doesn't..."

"No. He is mine. Just the occasional benefit."

A long silence. "I might take you up on that, then."

"So, did you seduce him? Parade that cute little tummy in front of him..."

"I tried." Taylor laughs, embarrassed. "I had to beg. And give him a good excuse."

Brooke laughs. "Figures. What excuse?"

Taylor explains. Brooke laughs some more. "He couldn't say no after that. It wouldn't be safe."

"Such a good knight in shining armor. Bet he was very proud of himself."

"Oh, he was. He still knows which buttons to push too. But then, so do I."

Brooke sighs, making peace with it. "Wish I was there."

"You'd join us?"

A long silence. "Maybe." Another long silence. "Tee."

"What?"

"Can I come with you in your next appointment?"

"Sure." Taylor frowns at the phone. "Why?"

"I worry, babe. I just want to make sure they are treating you and Anderson right." Taylor is a working class single-mother-to-be both gorgeous and abrasive. And health care professionals are prone to lust, jealousy and pettiness, just like anyone else. Brooke recalls that horrible final game. One very pregnant cheerleader in pain and a hateful, uncaring nurse who just didn't like cheerleaders.

=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=

With something cold running down his back, Lucas wakes up with a start. He looks around, and finds a pair of giggly little girls, the bigger one holding a red bucket. "Uncle Lucas! You're not supposed to sleep."

"Yeah, daddy. Nap no, no."

Two laughing pairs of eyes.

Lydia Marie Scott, four years old, light brown pigtails a couple of inches below her shoulders. Nathan Scott deep blue eyes, with a James button nose and broad full mouth. Curious, articulate and kind, like a miniature Haley. Emily Juniper Scott, almost two. Chubby cheeks, short chestnut hair and gray eyes.

Shy and a little high strung. Worships her big cousin.

"I was just resting my eyes." Lucas marks the book he was reading and puts it in the beach bag. "What is it?"

Lydia crosses her arms and gives him a doubtful look. "We made a sand castle"

"Yeah, daddy. A sand castel. Wanna see?"

He smiles sheepishly at the two little girls. The castle is about twenty feet away, right towards the sea. Lucas is rather angry at himself. He's supposed to watch them like a hawk. A little distraction can have nasty consequences... "Sure. Why don't you guys show me."

The castle was a mound of wet sand, shaped roughly in a square. Two towers is the shape of inverted buckets topped with seashells and, doors and windows etched with tiny fingers. "Do you like it?"

Lydia asks a little anxiously.

Lucas kneels next to it and starts scooping sand around it, to make a moat. "It's very nice."

"Whattya doing, Daddy?"

"A moat. A good castle deserves a moat."

Lydia nods wisely and Emily frowns. "What's a moat?"

Lydia picks up Emily's bucket and hands it to her. "Let's go get some water and uncle Lucas will show you."

Emily is a little thorn between helping with the moat or getting water. "Aw... all right."

Lucas watches carefully as they reach the water's edge. The surf is mild, but the water is cold and the girls scream and splash around. A bigger wave sends water up to Emily's knees. Lucas notes with pleasure as Lydia's holds her cousin's hand and helps the unsteady toddler to stay upright. They come back, still holding hands, and each bringing a full bucket.

The three continue to work at improving the castle, until a someone stands next to them, casting a shadow. The first to look up is Emily, who suddenly yells "Mommy!" and jumps right at Brooke's legs. Half a second later Lydia follows suit, yelling at jumping at her aunt as well. A little off-balance with her daughter's weight, the impact of the bigger girl drops Brooke on her ass, laughing. She ends up sitting on the sand, sharing a messy double hug with a pair of screaming girls.

Lucas, taken by surprise, closes his eyes and counts to five slowly, trying to calm down. He gets up and finally looks at the scene next to him.

Her hair is bright green. She is wearing a loose white t-shirt with a smiley face across the chest, faded jeans shorts and pink flip-flops. Her eyes are bright and moist with tears, and she is giving all her attention to the little girls in her arms. 'She is back', thinks Lucas to himself. 'She is really back.'