When Your Sun Turns Black
This story is written by brookescott134 and Brucas46Forever. We really, really hope you like this. Comments are greatly appreciated and they are what keep us encouraged to write. Remember that.
Summary: Sometimes people play hard-to-get because they need to know the other person's feelings are real, but sometimes, for some of us, we play too hard.
Rating: T
Chapter Four: Return To Me
I can't return to you
You must return to me
That's the deal
I'm sorry
Did I say I'm sorry?
-"Return To Me" by Matthew Ryan
Lucas was standing over his desk, his phone in between his ear and his shoulder as he shifted through paper after paper trying to find the one he needed for the current phone call. He was interrupted by a knock at his door.
"One second," he said in to his phone. "Yeah?" He asked his middle aged secretary who stood in his door way.
"Your wife is on line one; she said it was important," Gabriella explained, glasses gleaming in the light.
"Hello. Brooke?" he asks skeptically.
"What are you doing? We're meeting with the lawyer in 5 minutes and your cell is off and you're still at the office . . . ?"
"Brooke, I told you last night, I'm not going to this meeting."
"We have to fix this," he told her. "For us, and for the kids." He gave her hands a small squeeze, forcing her to lift her head to look at him.
"Yeah," Brooke replied. "We do." Lucas smiled, happy with her conclusion."I think it would help if . . . if we got a divorce."
"W-What?" Lucas asked, still trying to recover from his shock.
"I think it would just be best to get a divorce. ...We aren't happy anymore and we shouldn't act like this will get better when we know it won't," she whispered.
"Brooke, I . . ." he stammered. "I don't want to divorce you."
"I am not asking, Lucas. I'm not happy, you're clearly not happy and . . . I just want a divorce."
"Brooke," he said sternly, regaining his voice. "I'm not divorcing you."
"Lucas, like I said, I'm not asking."
Maddened by her attempt to force him to leave her, he said, "Yeah, well I'm not asking either. I don't want to divorce you, Brooke, and I'm not going to." And he got up to walk away, signaling the end of the discussion, leaving her to stare at him, eyes wide.
"Lucas, this isn't a game," Brooke said, clearly annoyed. "Get down here. I am not canceling on this guy."
"Well, then you can sit there and enjoy a nice cup of coffee with him all by yourself, because I am not going. And that's final." He hung up the phone, not wanting to hear more.
Brooke gaped at the phone, attempting to send her soon-to-be-ex-husband a glare through it. She was furious beyond words. He had ignored her for so long and now all of the sudden he wants to be a husband? It wasn't going to happen, Brooke thought.
Four o'clock rolled around and Brooke was pulling into the school parking lot like she always did. Only this time, when she stepped out of the car, neither of her kids ran to her like normal. In fact, neither of them were anywhere in sight.
"Oh, Mrs. Scott!" the teacher called. "You just missed your husband."
"I'm sorry?" Brooke asked confused, raising her eyebrows at the obviously delusional woman.
"Your husband just came and got the kids. They were thrilled: their little faces just lit up. He is a very charming man," the old woman glowed. "He should pick them up more often," she finished, nodding at Brooke.
Brooke, however, was fuming. He could have at least called her and told her he was going to pick them up. She had been about ready to have a heart attack, thinking her children had been kidnapped or something along the sorts. What the hell was wrong with him?
She gave the teacher an unamused smile before hopping in to her Navigator and driving down to the beach house, ready to rip Lucas a new one for this. However, she didn't find his car in the driveway when she arrived, and, stepping into the simple yet elegant little house by the beach, she was all too aware of the eerie silence that taunted her. No one was in sight, and nothing was heard.
This made her panic slightly. Had he stolen her children and taken them from her? Why would he do something like that? Where did he go? Thoughts like these raced through her head as she jumped back into her car and sped down the empty North Carolina streets, heading for her house as quickly as the law allowed her.
Lucas hummed a soft tune as he flipped the burgers, the sound of the oil sizzling popping into the air. Sleeves rolled up, hair shabby and seemingly uncombed, he continued to prepare a meal for his wife and kids. He lowered the spatula onto the pan, wiping both his hands in the pink ruffled apron tied around his waist. He let it drop as he lifted his hands to grab a bottle of pepper from the pantry, tossing it up and catching it behind his back with a smile. The sound of the TV in the living room filled the house, and he peered through the kitchen to witness his children watching quietly, an occasional bubbly laugh passing between the two. Smiling, he began to set the table, quickly returning to the burgers, as the sound of the popping grew louder. The click of the door was heard, and Lucas smiled to himself.
Brooke was hit with the smell of great food as soon as she opened the door of the house. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she walked slowly and hesitantly into her two-story home. She noticed the kids' shoes on the floor, their bags lying close by. Holding her purse in one hand and keys in the other, she continued her walk through the hall and into the kitchen. She had to blink several times to make sure she wasn't imagining the sight before her. Behind the kitchen counter, she could see her kids happily watching cartoons. Lucas didn't seem to notice her as he continued his work, and she stayed rooted in her spot in the middle of the kitchen, too shocked to move.
Lucas turned, making his way to the closet behind Brooke. As he passed by her, he continued to hum. Wearing a small smile, he placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, saying, "Hey, honey." As if unfazed by the turn of events, Lucas brushed past her, continuing to add the necessary ingredients to his meal.
"Wh-Wh-Lucas what are you doing? What is this . . . ?" Brooke finally managed to stammer out. Her eyebrows remained furrowed as she looked around, still in complete shock.
"Well, I figured the kids were hungry, and I'm pretty stumped myself. Don't worry, I made enough for all of us," he told her, tilting his head to smile at her.
"No, I mean what are you doing . . . here?" she clarified, still confused as she pointed downward with her finger.
"Well, I live here, remember? I bought the house; it is in my name." He shrugged going back to cooking. "You should wash up. Dinner is almost ready," he said nonchalantly.
"Lucas . . . this is no longer your house," Brooke said, walking to him. "Don't you have to be at work?"
"Nope, I'm all yours. I am now leaving the office no later then five, and I am spending the evenings with my beautiful wife and children," he said, placing his hands on her small hips, pulling her closer to him.
"Lucas," she complains, placing her hands on his chest as she tries to remove herself from his iron tight grip. "I'm not your wife anymore, or at least, I won't be soon. This isn't your house anymore either." She peered past his tall shoulders to look at her kids, thankful to see they were too occupied with their show to pay attention to their parents.
"But that is where you're wrong." He smiles, tapping her nose lightly with his finger. "It is my house, you are my wife, and they are my kids."
She gazed at him for a second before her eyes returned their fire, glistening in the light of the kitchen. "Lucas, you're pushing it here," she said as she moved away from his touch, witnessing his smile droop only for a second. "You can't just decide you want to be a husband and father now after you've neglected us for so long."
He smirked at her, moving closer and closer until he had her cornered on the refrigerator, their bodies so close yet so far apart. "And why not?" he asked, a playful and sexy tone to his voice. "You want this. You know you do. Let me give it to you; let me love you and fight for you; let me be that guy for you, Brooke. I know it took me a while, but I promise I won't let you down again," he said softly.
"No," she said sternly.
"Yes," he responded, determined to keep his confidence. "If you still have the idea of a divorce in your head, then I suggest you throw it away now because I assure you it's not going to happen." Contrasting his earlier playful tone, his voice sounded more serious now.
"No. You need to leave," she said, the sternness in her voice being replaced with a shaking, hurt tone as she pushed him away from her. She walked up the stairs quickly, letting the door shut loudly behind her.
Lucas sighed, looking over to his children. "Hey guys, go ahead and clean up for dinner okay?" After receiving nods form both of them, he retreated upstairs and into the master bedroom were he found Brooke pacing around, tears streaming down her face as she tried to calm herself unsuccessfully.
"Brooke, baby, please. This has to stop." She paid no attention to him. He walked forward, halting her against her will. She kept her head down, afraid to look him in the eyes. He held her hands in his, forcing her chin up so that he may see her. "Brooke," he said softly again, "I need you to trust me when I tell you things will get better." She shook her head. "They will if you let them, Brooke." He stroked her cheek softly with the pad of his thumb.
"No," she said pushing him away. "Not now, Lucas. You had this chance for a year—a whole year," she yelled, "and you did nothing and now, all of the sudden, you realize I'm serious and you want to be in this family again. I'm not going to let it happen. I'm not letting you hurt me!" she yelled louder, almost as if she was using anger as a way to cover the immense feeling of pain that continued to stab painfully through her body. She had wanted this for so long, but not under these terms. She just wanted to be happy and to know he was doing all this because he wanted to and not because he could lose his trophy wife and perfect children if he didn't. She wanted nothing more than for him to pull her into his strong arms and hold her, stroking her hair softly and rubbing her back as he soothed her with sweet nothings; but she knew that wouldn't happened, at least it hadn't in so long that it was now simply a distant, fading memory.
Lucas sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Brooke," he said, looking around the room for a sign, something, anything, to guide him to doing the right thing. "I realize right now your still going to be mad at me for a while, and I don't blame you, but I am not, under any circumstances, divorcing you." He walked towards her. "I married you because I loved you, and I still do. I need you, Brooke, but I need you to let me fix my mistake now and show you how much I love you."
"Well, I don't love you," she lied. "I hate you. I hate the way you've made me feel this past year. I hate the way you act and the way you think you can make this all okay. I gave up on loving you and you loving me back a long time ago, and like I said last night, I'm done." She was lying through her teeth, but hoped maybe it would push him, hurt him just the right way to cause him to back off—just maybe.
"You're lying," he whispered sadly. "I know you love me, Brooke.
"No," she said forcefully. "I don't."
"Yes, you do! Stop it Brooke!" he yelled. "Stop pushing me away. You've been doing it since we were 16 and I have sat back and let you make me feel like shit for all this. ...And, yes, maybe I do deserve it, okay? I get it; I'm an ass and then some, but you haven't helped. You push and push so you don't have to worry about your heart. Well I am your husband and when you are married me it was till death do us part, for better or worse, and this is one of those worse times, but you are out of your mind if you think I'm letting you go," he said sternly. "I love you, like it or not, believe it or not, I do. ...You are my everything and I am not going anywhere. So tear down that fucking wall you have up and let me in because I am not leaving; I am not going anywhere so stop pushing me away," he said and with that he let go of her, looking at her one last time before he walked out of the room and down to finish dinner. He left her there . . completely speechless.
Dinner that night was tense. Lucas would look to Brooke who would just look away; but the kids saw nothing more than how great it was that daddy was finally home for dinner. The four finished their meal, and, with big smiles, the children asked their parents to be excused. When they received nods from both their parents, they smiled happily and ran off to their playroom, leaving their parents alone.
Brooke left her seat, taking her plate as she did so. She leaned over and took his as well, walking over to the sink were she started the water for the dishes. His eyes followed her intensely, waiting for her to say something, anything, to him, but no words left her mouth and the look on her face said she was thinking. She looked distant and reserved, as if she was pondering over something, which he could take one of two ways; one: she was possibly considering their earlier conversation, or two: she was planning out how to kill him in his sleep; either way, she was thinking of something and he didn't know what it was.
He stood from his chair and took the few dishes left on the large wooden table over to were she was, standing closely behind her. His muscular body brushed the back of hers as he placed a hand on her hip and set the dishes down on the counter next to the sink.
Her body tensed as he did this. She stopped washing and held the soapy sponge in one hand and the plate in the other as she waited do see what he'd do next. His touch was so foreign to her now that every time she felt it, she'd expected it to leave within seconds.
But it didn't; instead, he set the dishes down slowly, leaving his body pressed softly against hers. He waited a moment to she if she'd pull away and when she did nothing but stay some what tense, he let the hand that was currently resting on her hip slide inward, waiting again before wrapping both arms securely around her small, petite waist. He rested his chin on her shoulder, taking a deep breath as he shut his eyes, trying to savor the feeling of this moment.
She sighed, closing her eyes as well. It felt so good to be with him, close to him, yet she knows it will not last . . . even if she accepted him. A couple of days, maybe even weeks, would pass by perfectly, with him trying to regain her trust. He would be sweet and charming. He would buy her flowers and tell her he loved her, but as soon as she was finally happy, he would get bored, and things would take a 360 degrees turn and they would end up right back where they were now.
Lifting up her shirt an inch, he stroked her silky skin with his fingers, enjoying the feel of her.
She opened her eyes at this, having almost forgotten he was standing behind her. "Lucas, what are we doing?" she sighed.
"We're doing what we agreed to do eight years ago when we stood at the altar and said 'I do'. We're being a family, Brooke. I'm being your husband . . . if you'd just let me," he replied, his voice quivering as he tried to hold back the tears, not wanting her to see how much of an affect she had on him.
"I let you be that guy, Lucas. You just aren't him. ...I finally expected it and you don't get to ruin that now because you have finally decided to be a half-way decent husband. I will let you back in, and within one month, it will all be back to normal; and I am not going to hurt like that again."
He pulled away, maddened at her thoughts. As a result of his separation, she, too, turned to face him, curious to see what caused the sudden change. "Damn it, Brooke. That's not fair. You can't keep judging me like that."
"It isn't a judgment, Lucas. It's the truth and it has been that way for the last year. Tell me I'm wrong for thinking it; look me in the eye, and tell me that what you're saying, what you're promising, isn't just a bunch of bullshit—that you know you'll just change the minute you now that you have me again," Brooke said, getting upset herself.
He stood still for a moment, his hard stare boring through her. He walked up to her so that they were standing a mere foot away, their eyes glued to one another's. "Brooke," he said, voice firm. "If you can't honestly believe that I love you more than anything, I don't know what to tell you, but there is a reason you married me; there is a reason we made it this far, and I will not give it up now. So hate me, think I'm an ass and push me away all you want, but I am not going anywhere."
"That's what you say now," she said, voice laced in icy hurt, "and it's also what you said when you wanted to get together the second time and the third . . . but look where that got us." Her voice was raspy and thick, signaling the beginning of new tears. She looked up at him once more before quickly walking past him.
"Hey," he protested, grabbing her arm, "what did I say about walking off? You have got to stop doing that. How the hell do you want to work things out if you just continue to walk away from me?"
She struggled to pull her arm out of his grip. She was tired of fighting him. "Let me go, Lucas." He tightened his hold on her, but she wasn't going to give in. "We aren't going to work out, Lucas, so just let me go."
And she turned to walk away yet again.
"No," he said, rushing to her, pulling her again as he looked down into her sweet and fiery eyes. "You love me and I love you. This will work. You just have to let me prove it to you," he said softly before leaning down, connecting his lips with her own, pushing her to the wall. His hand ran up the hem of her shirt, stroking the soft skin of her stomach gently. He placed his free hand on her neck, pulling her closer to him as he deepened the hot kiss.
As he pulled away, touching his forehead to hers, she pulled back, looking up at him. She shook her head sadly and walked out of the house, needing some fresh air.
Once the door closed, Lucas heaved an angry sigh, his head placed on the wall now. He couldn't believe she kept doing this to him, to them. Couldn't she see he needed her? He growled, hands balled into fists. A loud slam was heard as his fist connected with the wall, forming a visible dent in the concrete.
His kids watched from upstairs, wondering why mommy left, and why daddy was suddenly maddened beyond belief.
There was a knock at the door, and Peyton looked up from her book and over to her husband who was sitting beside her rubbing her swollen feet as she rubbed her growing belly. "I'll get it," she said placing the book face down on the table and standing up.
"Peyt, you shouldn't be up and about."
"Jake, I am pregnant, not dying," she laughed, wobbling over to the door. She opened it with a smile that quickly faded when she saw her tear stained best friend on the other side, shaking visibly at the harsh cold outside.
"I know it's late, I just . . . " Brooke started.
"Shh, Brooke. Come inside," Peyton ushered her in. "What happened?" she asked, feeling for her best friend.
Jake looked up from the newspaper he was reading. "Hey, Brooke," worry laced in his voice as well.
Peyton motioned for Brooke to sit down in the couch before them as she moved to sit down next to her.
Brooke sniffled.
Peyton rubbed her back soothingly. "Shh, Brooke, it's okay." She paused, allowing the crying girl before her to take a breath. "Just tell us what happened, Brooke . . . What'd he do?"
"He won't just leave," Brooke cried, "leave me alone to let me get over him. He keeps pushing and pushing and I don't know what to do or say . . ."
"What? Hold on—I thought him leaving was the problem?" Peyton asked confused.
"It was . . . but then . . . I don't know, I just, I told him that if he left again . . . to not come back, and he left. He looked me right in the eyes, he saw how hurt I was, and he left anyway. So I told him to leave for good and he did . . . for like a second and then came back wanting to talk—and so we did and I told him I was done and I couldn't continue on the way we were and that . . I wanted a . . . divorce," she explained, wiping her cheeks to free room for the tears that overflowed the dried stains.
Peyton gasped. A divorce? She paused to consider the situation. "Are you sure a divorce is what you want, Brooke?" she asked slowly.
"Yes," she said in a forced, stern voice. "Yes," she repeated, her tone and body language showing that maybe her answer wasn't the complete truth.
Peyton noticed her hesitance, and she looked towards Jake for help.
He nodded, looking at Brooke. "A divorce is a huge step, Brooke," he told her as she looked up at him. "Are you positive you're ready to do this?"
"I was," she sighed. "I went over it a thousand times in my head, but now . . . he is back. He is back and he won't leave. He won't just give in to my order. He isn't making this, or anything else, easy on me."
"Maybe that's because this isn't suppose to be easy, Brooke," Peyton said, rubbing her back.
"But why won't he just leave me alone. He had no problem doing it before," Brooke complained, feeling like a little child in front of the couple whose marriage was by far a million times better than hers.
"Have you ever thought that maybe it's because he still cares?" Jake asked, hoping to offer her some source of light. Lucas was his friend, and Jake knew that he loved Brooke. Thus, he would try to do whatever was in his power to help her realize so.
"He doesn't, though. If he did, this wouldn't even be coming up. He just doesn't want to risk losing his perfect little family," Brooke said bitterly.
"Brooke, think about it, okay? He is fighting for you. Isn't that what you wanted?" he replied.
"It's too late," she fought, trying to convince herself of this. It was too late. He had his chance; he had had a lot of chances, and now it was too late to fix them. She wasn't letting him in again. It was simply out of the question.
"It's never too late, Brooke," Peyton told her, remembering her late mother's words.
"I can't," she said, fresh tears burning in her eyes.
"You can, Brooke. You can," her friend encouraged her.
"No," she said, shaking her head.
"Brooke, you're married to him," Peyton said softly, a tiny, almost invisible, chuckle leaving her mouth. "You're going to have to let your heart go at some point."
"I already did that, Peyton, and look where that got me." Her tone was filled with sadness, and the couple before her felt a part of their hearts go out to her.
"I should get home and put the kids to bed—sorry to down on your night," Brooke said taking a deep breath. "I will see you guys later," she said, standing up as she wiped furiously at her tears.
"Brooke—" Peyton attempted.
Brooke lifted a hand up, saying, "No, Peyton. It's okay, really." She offered a smile. "I'll see you guys later," she finished, giving each of her friends a hug and a wave before going on her way home—if one could call it that. It was the last place she wanted to go, but she had to face it at one point, and with any luck, Lucas would take the hint and be on the couch. Chances are, with his new found back bone, he wouldn't, but a girl could always hope.
So? To continue or not to continue?