Chapter 38
Lucas's POV
I stand there like an idiot, Samantha's weight warm against my chest, my arms locked in place. The hotel entrance glows behind me—warm yellow light spilling onto the pavement, the doorman probably wondering why I'm frozen on the sidewalk like some kind of statue.
"Are you out of your FUCKING mind?"
Ellie's voice echoes in my skull. She never swears. In fifteen years, I've heard her curse maybe three times, and each time it was because something truly awful happened.
My feet won't move. Can't move. Samantha shifts in my arms, a small sound of discomfort escaping her throat, and only then do my muscles unlock.
"Sir?" The doorman approaches, his Athletics jacket marking him as a student worker. "Do you need help with your bags?"
I blink. "Yeah. Thanks."
He retrieves Samantha's luggage from the trunk while I carry her inside. The lobby is mostly empty at 10:17 PM—just a couple checking out at the desk, and an older man reading a newspaper in one of the leather chairs by the fireplace.
The front desk clerk smiles professionally. "Checking in?"
"Reservation under Miller."
She types something, asks for my ID and credit card. I have to shift Samantha's weight to dig them out of my pocket, and she makes another small sound of protest but doesn't wake.
The clerk slides a registration form across the counter. "Just need you to fill this out."
I fill in the boxes mechanically. Name. Address. Phone number. Emergency Contact—
My pen moves before my brain catches up: Ellie Green.
I stare at her name on the paper. My handwriting. Her name. Like my hand knows something my head refuses to admit.
No.
I scratch it out, pressing so hard the pen nearly tears through the page. The ink bleeds into a dark blob. I write Richard Miller above it, but you can still see ELLIE underneath, ghostly letters showing through the black scribble.
"All set." I slide the form back, not meeting the clerk's eyes.
She doesn't comment on the mess I've made. Just hands me two key cards. "Room 237, second floor. Elevators are to your right."
The room smells like industrial cleaning products and air freshener. Standard hotel setup—two queen beds with beige comforters, dark wood furniture, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. I lay Samantha on the nearest bed as gently as I can.
She doesn't stir for a moment. Then her eyes snap open.
Not drowsy. Not confused. Clear.
"Why did you let her talk to you like that?" Her voice is sharp, accusatory. She sits up, perfectly alert, blue eyes fixing on me with an intensity that makes my already-tense shoulders lock up further. "Why didn't you say anything back to her?"
My stomach drops. "I thought you were asleep."
"I woke up when she started yelling." Samantha swings her legs off the bed. "You just stood there, Lucas. You let her scream at you like you're... like you're nothing."
"I'm tired." I back toward the door. "I don't want to get into this right now."
"Get into what? The fact that your ex-best-friend treats you like garbage and you just take it?" She stands, and I notice her hands aren't shaking. Her breathing is steady. How long has she been awake? "We need to talk about this."
"Tomorrow." My voice comes out rougher than I intend. "I need to get home. My mom's waiting."
I'm out the door before she can reply, practically running to the elevator.
I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles white. The highway stretches ahead, dark except for the occasional streetlight. Mapleton's downtown is far behind me now—just empty road and the shadow of trees on either side.
My mind won't shut up. It keeps dragging me backward, pulling up memories I don't want to see.
Seven years old. Ellie and me in her backyard, chasing fireflies. She ran too fast, tripped over a tree root, scraped her knee so badly it bled through her jeans. She didn't cry—just bit her lip and stared at the wound like she could will it to stop hurting. I helped her inside, found the first aid kit, wrapped the bandage so carefully Mom said I did it better than she could have.
"You'll always protect me, right?" Ellie asked, her amber eyes—not yet knowing they'd turn gold—watching me with complete trust.
"Always," I promised.
Ten years old. Sunday dinner at the Miller house, both families around the table. My dad made some joke about how Ellie and I would probably end up married, and my mom laughed, and Ellie's mom said we'd make beautiful babies. Ellie turned red but she didn't object, just looked down at her plate and smiled. I felt warm all over, like the idea was as natural as breathing.
Fifteen years old. Ellie's first transformation. She called me at 2 AM, sobbing, terrified of what was happening to her body. I snuck out my window, ran the half-mile to her house, climbed the tree to her bedroom like we'd done a hundred times before. I sat with her all night while she cried and shook and whispered, "What if I hurt someone? What if I can't control it?" I held her hand and told her she was strong enough, brave enough, that we'd figure it out together.
The warmth of those memories wraps around me like a blanket. Safe. Familiar. Right.
Then the other memories slam in.
Sixteen years old. Mom and Dad telling me I'd attend their choice of summer camp, no discussion. Join the basketball team, no discussion. Take AP Physics instead of AP Art, no discussion. Date who they approved of—no discussion.
And Ellie never said a word. Never questioned them. Just nodded along like their control was normal, like I should be grateful for the path they'd laid out.
"They want what's best for you," she'd say whenever I complained. "They're just trying to help."
Help. Right. Help themselves to every decision I'm supposed to make. Samantha—Only Samantha's my choice. My decision. Mine.
"Samantha doesn't question me," I whisper to the empty car. "Doesn't judge with her eyes the way Ellie does. Doesn't make me feel like I'm constantly failing some test I didn't know I was taking. She just... supports me. Accepts me. Whatever Samantha wants regarding Ellie, I'll do it. If she asks me to keep distance, I will. If she needs me to—"
The words feel hollow even as I say them.
But I make myself believe them anyway.