Page 210 of Tar City
Lucas keeps glancing at the ring on my finger. “It looks good,” he says, taking my hand in his.
“Are you sure you’re okay with me wearing it… you know, without it being… official?”
“Of course.” He smiles, that easy, perfect smile. “I’m still hoping for a yes, though.”
I try to smile back. “I need you to see it first, okay?”
“Do you really think seeing your hometown or your family is going to change my mind about you?” he asks. “I told you—I don’t care about anything but you.”
I turn to the window and the smokestacks begin to rise in the distance.
“I know what kind of place you grew up in,” he adds.
“No,” I say, my voice flat. “You don’t.”
He shifts in his seat, a flicker of unease. “I love you.”
The words come so easy for him, it’s like they fall out of his mouth, as if they are simply another phrase he knows how to say.
“I know. Just… let me show you all this, and in the end, if you still want this—me—then…”
“You make it sound like a test.”
“Sorry.” I exhale. “I’m just really nervous about this. I haven’t been here in two years and…”
“Sisk.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m here, okay?”
The ring is heavy on my finger, and the way it slides around, a size too big, makes it impossible to forget it’s there.
“You think your dad will be okay with this? With us?”
“I’m sure,” I say confidently. “My dad will love you.”
Lucas is everything a girl is supposed to want in a husband. He’s the whole checklist: caring, steady, handsome with a future mapped out in neat, straight lines. He says all the right things at all the right times. He’s nice. The word feels hollow, so small and bland for what he’s supposed to be, but it’s the only one that ever sticks.
For two years, I waited. I’d lie awake at night, half-hoping I’d hear a knock on my door, that Jax would show up and ruin everything for the better. He never did. The longer he stayed gone, the more I made a point to move on. I built a life so clean and perfect it’s like a fortress against the memory of him. And now I’m dragging Lucas through the gates.
The train doors hiss open and with it comes a voice I haven’t heard in a long time.OUR DEAL IS NOT FORGOTTEN. WHAT IS OWED, WILL BE COLLECTED.
I grit my teeth and force it down, shoving the voice back into the past where it belongs.
Lucas adjusts the strap of his bag like this is just another station, a tourist bracing for a slight inconvenience.
“It’s… industrial,” he says carefully, the word a flimsy shield against the reality of the place.
“That’s one word for it.”
We make it halfway down the block before a hand shoots out from the alley, grabbing Lucas’s arm. He flinches, his whole body jerking in surprise. “What the?—”
The man holding him is bone-thin, with a tangled beard that looks like it’s hiding things. He looks at Lucas and says, “You don’t belong here.”
Lucas tries to pull free. “Hey, man?—”
“But she does,” the man whispers, a foul secret meant only for Lucas. “You can’t keep what the city’s already tasted.”
“Let him go,” I demand.
The man releases him abruptly and Lucas stumbles back, rubbing his arm. “What the hell was that?”
