Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and its characters belong to Mark Schwahn, The CW, etc. I'm simply whoring them for my own amusement.
Spoilers/Warnings: Mostly this thing is futuristic, but I've borrowed a few things from Season 5. Namely Owen.
Summary: It wasn't his fault, but she couldn't see anything beyond her despair, beyond her loss. Well, he'd lost, too. He despaired, too. But he was the enemy, he didn't get to have feelings.
A/N: Seriously. This? Will be the last update until after finals next week. I SWEAR IT THIS TIME. Also, thank you all for all the wonderful reviews. This fic has so many mixed reactions... and, truly, I love it. There are some on Luke's side, others on Peyton's. Although, I'm well aware that most of you think that Peyton is running roughshod all over Lucas and yes that is true. However, she starts to redeem herself in this chapter and realize that her grief over Christopher fueled a lot of her actions. Okay, I digress; all of them.
—
04. It's Not Over (If I'm Not Over You)
Coffee in hand, newspaper folded under his arm, Lucas trudged across the grass, passing the playground in favor of the picnic benches. It was neutral ground for the child swap that he and Peyton had begun to do on the weekends.
He hated being relegated to weekend dad, but this was his life now. Nothing had been decided—no papers had been filed, no lawyers had been contacted—but a reconciliation was nowhere in sight, that much he knew. Peyton had yet to forgive him for Christopher's death, but she was much more cordial now. She no longer shot him death looks or talked to him, her voice dripping with veiled animosity.
It wasn't the outcome that he had hoped for, especially in those first few weeks following their initial separation. However, for the moment, his wife wasn't intent on scissoring him from her life, from their children's lives. For that, he was thankful.
Hopping atop a vacant picnic bench, Lucas set his coffee beside him and opened his newspaper, setting aside the sections that didn't interest him. He read through the sports, zoning in on basketball first, then baseball and lastly football. He was skimming the classifieds (still on the lookout for that apartment) when he heard a familiar squeal and the one word guaranteed to steal his breath: "Daddy!"
He glanced up, smiling as he spotted his girls running across the park, book sacks flapping on their backs, blonde hair blowing in the breeze. Unfolding himself from the picnic table he'd barely put both feet on the ground before Gilly threw herself into his arms, bony appendages wrapping around his waist. He switched Gilly to the side as Becca joined them, looping his other arm around her, hugging them both tightly against his sides. "Oh, I've missed you girls."
He was pressing kisses to their temples, when he lifted his eyes, watching as Peyton slowly approached, holding firmly onto one of Dillon's hands, his other occupied by his ever-present sippy cup.
As it had since he'd first spied her in high school, his breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat. It was ridiculous, still being in love with his wife, even though she'd turned him out on his ear. He hadn't expected when he'd left that their impasse would stretch out as long as it had—he'd thought to be home within a few days, a week at most. However, he hadn't anticipated just how much his wife had come to despise him.
He missed his children, putting them to bed, hearing them squabbling with him at dinner over eating their vegetables, having them wipe the floor with him at CandyLand (even though they cheated). Most of all, he missed his wife—her smile, her laugh, the feel of her in his arms. The longer their separation lasted, the more his hope on a reconciliation dwindled.
Upon seeing him, Dillon broke loose of Peyton, toddling across the grass toward him, dropping his sippy cup in the process. Quickly Lucas let go of his daughters, running across the grass to scoop Dillon into his arms, swinging him around just like Dillon liked. He was rewarded with a high-pitched squeal of delight from his son. He settled Dillon at his hip as Peyton reached him, a ghost of a smile on her lips, Dillon's ill-forgotten sippy in her hand, a duffel and diaper bag slung over her shoulder.
"Hi," he muttered, still at a loss at how to talk to her, look at her. His heart was telling him to kiss her despite any protest that she made (after all she was his wife), but his head told him that distance was key. Absence made the heart grow fonder and all that. Though, how fond of him did she need to be before she let him come home? Probability being what it was, she should be awfully fond of him by now. Bordering on obsessed.
"He missed you," Peyton said simply, stopping beside Lucas. She laid her hand on Dillon's back, gently stroking as Dillon plucked Luke's nose, patted his cheeks, ensuring that he had his father's undivided attention. It was heartachingly adorable.
Lucas tore his eyes away from her. Instead, he looked at Dillon, then at Becca and Gilly. Having garnered his attention, the girls began chattering at once, simultaneously. As if he knew that he couldn't compete with his sisters' chatter, Dillon laid his head on Luke's shoulder and started to hum himself to sleep. Luke's heart twisted in his chest; he hated not being a part of their daily lives. He hated that he and Peyton were estranged. More than anything he hated what had gotten them to this point.
"So, you'll bring them back Sunday afternoon?"
"I always do." What, did she think he was going to take them and flee the country?
Peyton blew out a breath, exasperated. "Lucas…" She had learned the last few weeks that it was better for them both to say as little as possible. Luckily since their last fight they had kept things quick and easy. They'd agreed to focus on their children for now and that had become their main focus. In doing so, she'd begun to miss him. She still cried when she went to bed, but it was less for Christopher and more for Lucas. She'd turn in bed, stare at the empty side that he used to occupy, then she'd cry into her pillow. Yet, she hadn't tried to rectify the situation. She didn't know how to.
He didn't want to argue with her. Lucas had promised himself that he would not pick for a fight. They'd done plenty of fighting and he was just… done. He cut her off. "We're going to Charlotte for the weekend. To see my mom. Hopefully you don't have a problem with that."
"Of course not!" Peyton would never deny her children of seeing their grandmother. Her relationship with Karen was on shaky ground, but that was out of her own stupidity. She had shut out everyone after losing Christopher. After a few moments, she asked, "How is Karen?"
"Good. You know… considering." His mom had taken the separation almost as hard as he had. Before he'd been forced out of his home, away from his family, his mother had made weekly visits, giving he and Peyton ample opportunity to be alone. His mom loved fussing over the kids, plus she was the only grandparent of theirs that they saw on a regular basis. Since the separation, his mother had kept her distance and she and Peyton hadn't spoken. Not that his mom didn't inquire as to his wife's welfare.
He wasn't surprised when Peyton said, "I miss her. You'll tell her I said hello?"
Lucas swallowed a sarcastic retort and nodded. They exchanged a few more pleasantries, but then it was time for them to go. He grabbed the kids' overnight bags from her and began leading them toward his SUV. He was aware of Peyton watching as he settled Dillon into his car seat and made sure the girls were buckled in their seatbelts. He waited until after she'd turned away before he started up the car and eased out of his parking space, wondering as he drove away when the ache in his chest would ease. If it ever would.
—
"Miss Andrews isn't in Mr. Scott," said the pixie faced woman in the chair where Phyllis, Kathy's secretary usually sat.
Lucas stared at her a moment, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. Kathy had summoned him up here, she damn well better be here. He didn't tell that to the woman staring at him as if he were an apparition, though. It would have been rude. "Right. Okay, then. Is Phyllis around?" he asked, hoping that Phyllis had stepped out of the office.
The pixie smiled and Lucas had a feeling that that smile had broken the hearts of many young men. He pitied those men. "Phyllis doesn't work here any longer, Mr. Scott."
What? Since when did Phyllis not work for Kathy anymore? And why wasn't he notified? Also, what was all this Mister business? He despised that word. It made him feel like he was a middle-aged man. Which he most certainly was not. He was barely thirty. That did not put one in the Mister category. "Look…" Lucas stopped short not knowing how to address her.
"Heather," she supplied succinctly, rising up from her chair to extend her hand to him. "Heather Masters. I'm a big fan."
Lucas smiled tightly. He liked meeting his fans but at the same time he didn't. They always had an opinion. Regarding An Unkindness of Ravens, he got mixed reactions: most of the women had told him that he wasn't good enough for Peyton. Some thought he deserved to be alone. Well, wouldn't those just be on cloud nine right about now, he thought bitterly. Schooling himself to be friendly, he pasted a smile on his face and shook the girl's hand. "Nice to meet you, Heather. Are you the replacement for Phyllis or just a temp?"
"Just a temp. Kathy's my stepmom so I'm doing this as a favor to her. Plus, she dangled you in front of me so, naturally, I jumped at the chance to meet the illustrious Lucas Scott."
Illustrious. Well. He did like the sound of that.
"Can I get you anything? Water. Coffee. Phyllis had a note that you liked your coffee with two sugars and no cream."
Phyllis forgot nothing; he was going to miss her terribly. Whenever he would walk into Kathy's office she would automatically go fetch him a cup of coffee and then she'd ask about Peyton and the kids. She was the only reason he was ever on time for his appointments with his editor.
"No, no, coffee. Do you know when Kathy will be back?" he asked.
"She's out for the rest of the day. She tried to reach you on your cell, but she couldn't get through. You know how unreliable cell service is. Anyhow." Heather looked down at the papers at her desk, picked up a Post-It, handed it to him. "She set up another appointment for you for Friday."
Lucas read the note, a feat given Kathy's penmanship—Friday, 11AM. Don't be late. Chapters 1-5 completed.
He sighed. "Looks like I have homework to do." Lucas stuffed the note in the pocket of his shirt. "Nice to meet you, Heather. Guess I'll see you Friday."
"I look forward to it, Mr. Scott."
—
Peyton sat on her stool in front of a blank canvas, willing creativity to strike. She hadn't been able to draw or paint anything since Christopher's death. Her children had always been her muse, it was no surprise that with the passing of her baby, that her muse had taken a permanent vacation.
Realizing that she was getting nowhere, she left the room, peeking in on a napping Dillon before she descended the stairs. She was toiling around the kitchen when there was a knock at the back door. Peyton spun to see Brooke wave before she pushed her way inside.
"This is a surprise," Peyton said, watching as her best friend hesitantly entered.
"I was in the neighborhood," Brooke told her, slipping her hands onto the back of one of the upholstered chairs at the counter. She wasn't staying. Besides, this wouldn't take long, not long at all.
Peyton remained standing; she knew that this was going to be a short visit. Brooke came here to say something and by the rigidity of her shoulders, Peyton could tell that it wasn't something good.
"Look, Peyton, you know I love you—"
"Oh, God," she moaned, letting her eyes drop closed momentarily. "Spare me the melodrama, Brooke and just say what you came here to say."
Brooke let out a frustrated sigh, a familiar action in regards to Peyton of late. She met Peyton's gaze straight-on, not backing down when her best friend did her best to deter her with a hard scowl. "You need to get it together if you want to keep your family together. Because your husband? Is ready to throw in the towel."
Peyton willed herself to react, but she wouldn't. Not in front of Brooke.
"Do you know what Lucas has been doing for the last few days? Do you have any idea whatsoever?"
Peyton shook her head. "I haven't spoken to him." Which was true. When he'd dropped off the children Sunday night he'd been in a hurry to leave. Was there something that she ought to know? Was Lucas dating? Oh, God. What if he was? She didn't know how she felt about that, if she deserved to feel anything at all.
"He's been out apartment hunting. He's given up because you've given him absolutely no hope."
Peyton was… confused. She felt as if the world was tilting all over again, that the ground was opening and swallowing her whole. "I never thought…" she trailed off, forgetting her anger, her resentment while other emotions took place. Fear. Rejection. Love. Because as much as she liked to think that she didn't, she was still very much in love with her husband.
"No, you didn't think—that was apparent," Brooke snapped. "He's like you, Peyton; he doesn't know how to go on. He misses Christopher, too. And while he's out there sleeping on someone else's sofa and looking at apartments—alone—you're here surrounded by your memories, your children. You lost Peyton, but Lucas lost more."
Lucas had told her the exact same thing. Funny how it didn't take root until Brooke said it. Peyton attempted to find words to explain how she was feeling, justify her actions, but she couldn't. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Brooke was right. She had pushed Lucas away, blamed him for something that wasn't his fault, anyone's fault really. She had let her grief consume her and guide her actions. Wrong, as they were.
"I didn't know—I didn't know how to do it, Brooke," she said, beginning to pace. She had to move, lest her legs give out and she crumble to the floor. She was weak, but she refused to show her weakness. She didn't know how to be without Christopher. And Lucas… she blamed him. It was wrong and unjustified, but it just… it got all muddled in her head. She'd been his mother, she should've been able to do something to save him. It made her feel like such a failure.
She must've grown extremely quiet for Brooke begged, "Peyton, talk to me. Tell me what's going on in that head of yours. I'm worried about you."
"You can't help me, Brooke. This is my problem. I broke it, I have to fix it."
"Honey, you didn't break anything," Brooke assured her.
Peyton shook her head, staring out the window. "I did, Brooke," she said, looking over her shoulder to meet her friend's curious gaze. "I broke Lucas. Even worse, I broke us and I don't—I don't know how to fix us. I just don't know."
—
It was hard to believe that it had already been three months. But since that morning he'd woken to Peyton's shrill screams, his life had been in a constant state of upheaval. From one day to the next, he didn't know what the day would bring. Those first few days following Christopher's death he hadn't known how he was to keep breathing, the pain had been that deep. He didn't know how women could bear it, having miscarriages, giving birth to stillborns… How were they able to just pick up the pieces and move on when he couldn't? Hell, he had stopped his apartment search because he just hadn't been ready for that step, to accept defeat.
Lucas had made his rounds through the cemetery, stopping at Keith's grave, then Jimmy's, barely giving a glance to Dan's before he sought out his son's. His fingertips grazed the marble, cold in the November chill. He drew his coat tighter around himself, stepping back to stare down at the words etched in stone—Christopher Davis Scott. A good, strong name for a good, strong (not to mention healthy) baby. He just didn't know where it all went wrong, how a lively child could die so suddenly, so tragically.
He remembered Peyton's fear of SIDS with Becca. She'd been a first-time mom and had taken every precaution. With Gilly and Dillon she'd calmed; she knew what to expect. But then Christopher… They hadn't been prepared. Then again, how do you prepare for something like that? Would the wounds run as deep if he'd died of a long disease, a car accident? He supposed they would because loss was loss, no matter the circumstances.
He wanted to vent out his frustrations, kick something, pummel someone into the ground. But the only person he wanted to inflict pain upon was his own self. His choices of late… they hadn't been sound ones. His mind was addled. He needed to focus, regroup. He had his priorities in order: his children, his new book. Yet he still felt lost.
Lucas didn't know how long he stood there, simply thinking, content to spend some measure of time with the child that he'd lost. Night was beginning to fall by the time he turned to leave. It was then that he noticed Peyton, standing at her mother's grave, her eyes set upon him.
Slowly, they made their way towards one another, meeting halfway. They stood inches apart, but for all the space between them, it should have been miles. For once he wasn't the first to speak. "Hey there, stranger."
He was taken aback by the casualness of her greeting, the smile that accompanied it. At first he didn't know how to react, but luckily Peyton wasn't looking for him to reply because she said, "I came to see my mom."
"And Christopher," he added, wanting to kick himself in the ass after the words had left his mouth. Bringing up the baby's name always managed to screw up a good conversation. He braced himself for what would follow.
Peyton didn't explode into a fit of temper this time, however. She just said, "Naturally," looking just beyond him towards Christopher's grave. Then she asked, "Do you come to see him a lot? I've never heard you say… then again I've never asked."
"No. You haven't." Lucas followed her gaze, falling into step beside her when she began walking toward Christopher's resting place. "But yeah, I come here a lot. At least once a week. More, if we've…"
Peyton nodded, knowing how he felt. She usually came to see Christopher too following one of their many arguments. Suddenly, she changed the subject, fearing that their easy rapport would be ruined were they to continue in their current vein. "Becca's birthday is next week," she blurted, realizing too late that he was more than aware of their daughter's birth date.
"I know. Have you planned anything special?"
"Just a party. The same old. But she's invited a few of the girls from school for a sleepover. I've been stacking up on treats and DVDs. Can you believe that she's going to be eight already?" She half-turned towards him when she posed the question.
Lucas rocked back on his heels. "God, no. It seems like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital." They both fell silent then, lost in the memory of Becca's birth and their adjustment to parenthood so soon after marrying. They'd been engaged when Peyton had found out that she was pregnant. Before then they hadn't spoken of children or when they expected to begin their family. Despite that, they were both giddy at the prospect of a child. Nearly a year after Becca, Gilly followed, Dillon a few years later, and then Christopher not long after that. "How many girls?"
"I think Becca said there would be ten total."
Lucas whistled. "That's a lot of females."
"So, in other words, your version of heaven?"
She was teasing him, he realized instantly. And though he knew he shouldn't, he was liking it! "Pretty much."
"You're going to come to the party, I hope."
"I haven't missed a birthday yet. Don't plan on starting now."
"Good. That's… good. You can come a little early and help me set up. Brooke offered, but she always gets sidetracked. You know how she is."
She wanted his help. He tried to wrap his mind around it and was having a hard time of it. Somehow he found the wherewithal to respond. "No, no. I'll be there."
"Around one, then? Saturday?"
"Perfect." The conversation had drawn to a close, but neither was making a move to leave. Finally, Lucas said, "Well, I'll just—can I walk you to your car?"
Peyton gave him a small smile, but shook her head. "No, I'm just going to hang around for a bit. You go on ahead."
Without another word, Lucas began walking toward his car, but found himself looking back over his shoulder at Peyton, puzzled by their conversation, wondering if it meant anything, cursing himself for hoping that it did.
—
"What are you doing?"
Peyton yelped upon hearing Brooke's voice right behind her. "God, Brooke, make some noise why don't you!" she chastised her friend, her swiftly beating heartbeat steadily thrumming in her chest from the fright.
"Sorry. I guess I got good at the tiptoeing since Bianca was born. So. Who are we spying on? A neighbor? The hot landscaper—" Brooke snapped her mouth closed as she looked out the window, finding the source of Peyton's curiosity. Ah. Lucas. Of course. "Who's the skirt?"
Peyton shot a glare at Brooke, only taking her eyes off of Luke and the mysterious brunette for a second to do so. They'd been standing on the curb for nearly ten minutes now, talking. Lucas didn't seem to be enjoying her company very much and from Peyton's viewpoint, the girl was sending some serious signals. "I don't know who she is."
"A literary person, I'm guessing."
Peyton turned her attention to Brooke. "You think so or you know so?"
"I'm just assuming, Peyton. He's been preoccupied with nothing but his book—I mean aside from his kids—for weeks now. Haley said that when he's not playing hide and seek with Bethy or working on his book or taking the kids for weekend jaunts to Charlotte, he's in New York meeting with his editor. Speaking of, isn't she a woman?"
Peyton returned her gaze out the window. They were standing closer than they were a second ago. And did she—yes, she just fixed the collar on Luke's shirt! The nerve of the little home wrecker! "Yes, but I've met Kathy and that," Peyton stressed, pointing, "is not her."
Brooke was becoming increasingly amused by Peyton's reaction to Lucas with the other woman. Maybe her best friend wasn't a lost cause after all. And as if she needed to make the situation any worse, Brooke remarked to Peyton, "She's pretty young, too. Maybe a college student? I wouldn't mind have her boobs," she said, looking down at her own. For a while there after Bianca was born the girls had increased in size, but now they were back to their normal size, taunting her with their smallness.
"You're not helping," Peyton groaned.
Grasping Peyton's shoulders, Brooke turned Peyton so that they were face one another. "You should be out there, standing beside your husband, not in here watching him like some voyeur." Peyton averted her gaze, returning her eyes to what was transpiring outside, knowing that what Brooke was saying was true. A lot of what Brooke had been saying recently had been true, much as she hated to admit it (and wouldn't aloud). "He still belongs to you—I'd go make sure that the well endowed Barbie doll knows that."
"Does he?" Peyton questioned, returning her eyes to Brooke. "Does he still belong to me?"
Brooke picked up Peyton's left hand, pointing at her wedding rings. "These are still on your finger and I know Lucas is still wearing his. You may be living apart, but the two of you are still very much together." Peyton opened her mouth to protest the point, but Brooke gave her a stern look, almost challenging her to deny it. "Now, get your bony ass outside and make sure that little twit knows that you're the only woman in Lucas Scott's life and that there's only room for one." Peyton turned to go, but Brooke pulled on her arm, forcing her back around. She held her hand out. "Hand over the hair clip."
"What?"
"Pull out the hair clip and shake your hair out. Lucas loves your hair down."
As if I needed to be reminded of that, Peyton thought. However, she did as she was told..
Outside, Lucas was standing on the curb talking to Heather, surprised that she had driven all the way down from New York to return the chapters of his book that he'd given Kathy the previous Friday. He could have very well driven up sometime the following week, but it was nice enough of her to save him the trip. Though, he had a niggling feeling that she hadn't come to return his papers out of the goodness of her heart. And that was one particular thought that didn't bear further contemplation.
"So, this is your house, huh?" Heather said, gesturing to the two story colonial behind them. It was quaint, not to mention befitting an author. "It's nice. How long have you lived here?"
Lucas wondered if he should point out that he no longer lived here, but figured that that was information best kept to himself. "Um, six years." He looked back at the house, recently repainted due to a whim of Peyton's during her last pregnancy. They had bought at an auction, the home having being seized by the bank after the previous occupants lost it during a messy divorce. The irony was not Lucas for a moment.
"It's very Leave It to Beaver, Mr. Scott."
"My wife loves it," he said before he could stop himself. Though they were technically still married, he didn't know if he should be throwing that word around.
Heather studied him for a moment, liking Lucas Scott for much more than who he was, but for what he represented—home, family, security. She liked those things in a man. Plus, it didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes. "A lucky woman, your wife."
"Yes, she is."
Though, the words didn't come from him. He spun around, finding Peyton standing there, looking quite radiant in a wine colored dress that hugged her curves, displayed her breasts in a way that made his mouth water. Her hair hung curly and loose around her shoulders; he had to stick his hands in his pockets to fight the urge to reach out and thread his fingers through the silkness that was calling to him. As if he wasn't already bewitched, Peyton sidled up beside him, looping her arm through his. Speech and coherent thought became a thing of the past then.
Heather was forced to make introductions herself, sensing that Lucas's tongue was, for the moment, tied by the appearance of his wife. Sticking her hand out to Peyton, she said, "Hello, you must be Mrs. Scott. I'm Heather, the new secretary for your husband's editor."
"Nice to meet you, Heather." Peyton couldn't say that it was a relief that this young woman was part of the publishing world. She pushed that aside, focusing on the most pressing matter. "So, Heather, what brings you to Tree Hill?" She spared her husband a knowing look, smothering a laugh when he colored. Yes, they both knew exactly why Heather was in Tree Hill, the question was merely polite conversation.
Having found his voice, Lucas bent close to Peyton, informing her, "Heather was returning the initial drafts of my book."
Sure she was, Peyton desperately wanted to say. Instead, she said, "How nice of her," with all the sweetness that she could muster. She was honestly considering resorting to throwing a tantrum—stomping on the girl's foot with the heel of her boot and pulling her hair. Just to make a point, of course. Plus, it would simply just feel good. She had no doubt that that particular act of ownership would bring her extreme joy.
"It was no problem, really." Eyes darting from Lucas to Peyton, Heather took a step back, eager to retreat. There was an undercurrent between husband and wife that she wasn't comfortable in their vicinity. She'd speak to Lucas Scott again, of that she'd make certain. "Well, I should be going…"
"You came all this way, you could stay," Lucas suggested, unprepared for the jab to his gut from Peyton's elbow. "Though, it's just going to be kids. Messy, loud kids. Probably not your scene."
Heather smiled, realizing that she wasn't wanted. By the wife, anyway. "No, definitely not my scene. I'm meeting friends in Charlotte so I should probably get going." She shifted her attention to Peyton, brandishing her sweet and innocent smile. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Scott."
"Likewise," Peyton said through clenched teeth, watching as the young woman sauntered away, hips swaying seductively. "That is Kathy's new secretary?" she demanded once Heather was out of ear shot.
"Heather's her stepdaughter. Her position is only temporary," he told Peyton as she pulled her arm free of his and stepped away. Lucas missed her closeness the second she retreated—and hated himself for it.
"She's awfully young, not to mention sexually potent. And what the hell was with all that Mr. Scott shit? It was like a come on every time she said it."
Lucas couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face. Now this was rich. She was jealous! "My, my isn't this shocking. You're jealous," he murmured, amused by the prospect.
Peyton scoffed, throwing him an annoyed look. "I am not. She's a child." Though, it rankled that she was that transparent. She was jealous and she wanted to smack that smug smile off his face for inciting that reaction in her.
"Which is why I find it completely hilarious that you think I'd be interested in her."
Peyton ignored him, reminding him, "You're married." She glanced at his hand to see for herself that what Brooke had said earlier was true. Indeed, it was—he was still wearing his wedding band.
"A fact that I'm quite cognizant of Peyton, I assure you."
"Remember that before you get any ideas into that pretty little head of yours." This was emphasized by her jabbing her finger against his forehead before she walked away. Lucas let himself watch her as she did, enjoying the sway of her hips, the way the breeze ruffled her hair. He grinned to himself as he followed suit. There was hope for them yet.
—
The following night, Peyton had a book in her hand and was getting ready to retire for the night when the doorbell rang. Pulling her robe tighter around herself, she headed for the door, surprised to find Brooke standing on the other side. In her pajamas.
"I have vodka and a bag of DVDs. I'm implementing a girls night," Brooke said, displaying her booty.
"Did you say vodka?" Peyton asked with a grin. And she had been perfectly content to retire early with a romance novel!
"I did," Brooke leaned forward to whisper.
Peyton moved back so that Brooke could enter the house. The second the door closed, she asked, "Where's Bianca and Owen?"
"They're at home. I put her to bed and Owen's sitting on the sofa with the entire DVD collection of Lost so he's completely useless. Anyway, you need my company. And we both need this," she said, shaking the bottle of vodka.
Peyton waved Brooke toward the living room. "You go and settle in and I'll get glasses." As she walked to the kitchen, she yelled back, "You only brought one bottle?"
"I have two more in the car. For emergencies." In the kitchen, Peyton was reaching for said glasses when Brooke bellowed, "What do you want to watch?"
Peyton didn't reply until she was back in the living room, two glasses filled with ice and a quarter filled with 7UP. She laid the contents on the table, looking over at Brooke who was standing in front of the television, sorting through the DVDs. "What are our options?"
"There's a theme."
"Ooh, I like theme girls nights. What is it?" Peyton asked, twisting off the cap on the vodka.
"I had you in mind when I was picking these out," Brooke confessed, then began reciting titles, starting with, "Thelma & Louise, the number one man-hating movie ever."
Peyton blinked at her friend, then said, a little flummoxed, "I don't hate men."
Brooke shrugged, amending, "So, you hate one man."
Peyton walked over, handing Brooke her glass. With a resigned sigh, she told Brooke, "I don't hate Lucas/ I just don't… I just don't know how to deal with him right now. I've made things with us so damn complicated."
"The two of you got along pretty well yesterday. Had I not known you, I wouldn't have thought the two of you were estranged."
"We had to get along. It was Becca's birthday. We couldn't very well argue in front of the guests." It was a better explanation than the real one—that she had stuck close to him out of sheer, blinding, unexplainable jealousy. When any of the single moms attempted to chat Lucas up, she had swooped in and hauled him to her side, miraculously needed his help blowing up balloons or moving the presents from inside to outside. Lucas hadn't seemed to mind, however. In actuality, he'd seemed to enjoy her company just as much.
The strange behavior had left her bewildered, confused. Now she didn't know how to act around him, which she'd demonstrated when Lucas had picked up the children earlier that afternoon. He had attempted casual conversation and she had simply nodded along, offering one word answers or too loud laughs at things he said that weren't even remotely funny. It had been embarrassing.
"You're being ridiculous. You got along because you miss him. Because you need him."
"Do I?" she countered. "Do I need him? Does he need me? Can he forgive me for what I did to him, to our family?"
"That's a question that only Lucas can answer. You lost a child. That would send any woman screaming for the hills and wanting to bash her husband with a baseball bat. I get that you needed to vent and you chose to vent via your husband AKA public enemy number one. I'm sure Lucas knows and understands that."
Peyton walked back to the sofa, stopping to scoop up her glass from the coffee table. "God, I hope so," she said, sitting down. Pulling her knees up against her chest, she asked, "Can I confess something?"
"Oooh, secrets!" Brooke purred excitedly, moving toward the chair opposite Peyton. She tucked her legs beneath her, grabbed a pillow to put in her lap, then waved her hand at Peyton. "Proceed with the secret telling."
Peyton was lucky that she had Brooke for a best friend. Brooke was loyal to both her and Lucas, lending her support to both of them. In a way, she was glad for that—it helped her remain close to Lucas while they were apart. Not that that made much sense. After taking a sip of her drink, the first taste going down rather difficult, she confessed, "I miss him. I try not to because… well because it's just not fair. To myself, but especially not to him. For so long I've held onto my grief, resenting him because it was just easier. But then—"
"Then, what?" Brooke prodded, making quick work of her drink as she waited for Peyton to fill the silence with words and explanations.
"I messed up, Brooke. It's that simple. I think about it and at the time it seemed like what I was doing, everything I was saying, was right. I was justified. I'd lost my baby and I wanted to lash out and Lucas… he was convenient. I hated that their was no explanation, no cause for Christopher's death. I blamed Lucas because he couldn't give me the answers I wanted—needed. I blamed him because I didn't know how to comfort him or myself and then I blamed because… well because it was just easier to deal with that than my grief." She looked up at Brooke, wondering aloud, "I wasn't justified, was I?"
Brooke debated on answering that question, fearing that it was rhetorical. Then, she answered anyway. "Yeah, honey, you were."
Again, silence. Then Peyton declared, "I'm going to fix it. I don't know how, but I am going to find a way."
Brooke raised her glass. "Now that's something that I can drink to." Then, looking at the TV, she asked Peyton, "Can you at least put off the man-loving until tomorrow? Because I really want to watch Thelma & Louise and I can't do that if you're going to be all YAY TO THE PENIS."
After snorting vodka through her nose, Peyton nodded, moving to the DVD player to pop in the movie. As she did so, Brooke said from behind her, "I'm proud of you, Peyton. For getting through all of this."
The movie started, Peyton spun back towards Brooke. "I'm not over it, Brooke. I still have quite a way to go. I've spent the last few months crying into my pillow at night, over pictures and home videos when I could've been doing something else—crying with Lucas. I denied us both that luxury. You know how they say you don't know what you got until its gone?" Peyton didn't wait for Brooke to answer. She sat back down on the sofa with her vodka and said as the movie began, "It's so fucking true."