Easy

couldn’t go any further. His wrists were lacerated, trying to get loose from those ties to get to his mother. There was dried blood on his arms and the corner of the bed. That’s where the scars came from. He’d been like that fifteen, sixteen hours.”
    My stomach heaved and tears streamed down my face, but Dr. Heller’s voice was flat. I sensed he was holding himself apart from the memory as much as he could. I felt cruel for making him relive such a horrible night.
    “Rose was the emotional heart of the three of them. Ray adored her, and losing her that way, when he wasn’t there to protect her… He shut down. He’d made tremendous strides in his career, but he quit it all. Moved the two of them to his dad’s place on the coast, went back to the fishing boat he’d been so determined to never have any part of when he left home at eighteen. His father died a couple of years later, left him everything.
    “Landon shut down in a different way. Cindy and I tried to tell Ray that he shouldn’t be uprooted from everything he knew, that he surely needed therapy, but Ray was out of his mind with grief. He couldn’t stand to be in that house or that city.”
    He looked up at me then, pulling a tissue box from a desk drawer when he took in my face. “I think you need to get the rest from Landon—I mean, Lucas. He changed his name to his middle name—his mother’s maiden name—when he came here for college. Trying to reinvent himself, I guess. An eighteen-year habit is hard to break, and he hasn’t called me on it enough in the past three years.” He peered at me and exhaled. “I wish I’d never seen you leaving his apartment. As far as I’m concerned, any student/tutor restrictions are over. Just… so you know.”
    I dabbed a tissue under my eyes and thanked him.
    University restrictions were the least of my worries.

Chapter 22

    “You’re a good cook.” I grabbed the empty glasses and followed Lucas to the sink. He rinsed the bowls of pesto remains and turned to take the glasses from me.
    “Pasta’s easy—the college-version gold standard for impressing a date with your mad culinary skills.”
    “So this is a date?” Before he could do an about-face, I added, “And you made the pesto from scratch—I watched you. That was impressive all on its own. Besides, you’ve never lived in a dorm, where the pasta choices are usually Chef Boyardee from a can, or two-for-a-dollar ramen noodles. The occasional Lean Cuisine. Trust me, your skills are positively epicurean.”
    He laughed, treating me to the full smile I craved. “Oh, really ? ”
    I returned the smile, but it felt counterfeit—as though someone else had shaped my mouth into a happier contour than I was capable of feeling. “Really.”
    Every minute, I battled a mounting dread over what I’d learned on the Internet the previous night, and from Dr. Heller hours before. Lucas had been through such hell, and shared it with no one, as far as I knew. He’d said there were things I didn’t know about him that he might never be able to reveal, and instead of respecting those secrets, I’d unearthed them. I wanted to be the one he let in, but my prying could easily be turned into an excuse to shut me out.
    “I guess it would wreck my standing as a top chef if I told you I made brownies from a box for dessert.” His expression was stern.
    “Are you kidding?” I rolled my eyes. “I love brownies from a box. How’d you know?”
    He was trying to maintain a severe demeanor and failing. “You’re full of contradictions, Ms. Wallace.”
    I looked up at him and arched a brow. “I’m a girl. That’s part of the job description, Mr. Maxfield.”
    He dried his hands on a dishtowel and tossed it on the counter, pulling me closer. “I’m very aware of the fact that you’re a girl.” His fingers threaded through mine and he restrained both of my hands behind me, gently, pressing them into my lower back. My breathing quickened along with my heart rate as we stared at each other.
    “How would you get out of this hold, Jacqueline?” His arms surrounded me and my body bowed into his.
    “I wouldn’t want to,” I whispered. “I don’t want to.”
    “But if you did want to. How would you?”
    I closed my eyes and visualized. “I would knee you in the groin. I would stomp on your instep.” I opened my eyes and calculated our relative heights. “You’re too tall for me to head-butt, I think. Unless I jump up like they taught us to do