Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(116)

But there were no baby announcements. Not for two years, and Colleen finally stopped looking.

But she couldn’t help thinking about him. She and Faith discussed many times the unfair power of first love. After every guy who turned out to be less than Lucas, after every wine and roses festival that marked another year of not being with Lucas, Colleen missed him so much it felt as if her soul ached.

And then late one snowy night when she was practically alone in the bar, without any good reason, she looked him up on Google again, and boom. The Chicago Sun-Times came through.

He was laughing in the photo, and so was his wife. They looked gorgeous, her blond hair, his black. Ellen wore a yellow gown with chunky diamond studs in her ears, and Lucas, damn him to hell, looked like a high-class pirate in his tux, just slightly dangerous and utterly, horribly beautiful.

Lucas Campbell and Ellen Forbes-Campbell enjoy comments from the master of ceremonies at the annual Lurie Children’s Hospital gala, the caption read.

Colleen couldn’t look away, even though the picture made it feel like a branch was being rammed through her chest.

She still loved him.

What an idiot she was. She still loved a man who was having a marvelous time with his wife, far, far away.

She closed the site, deleted the browser history so Connor wouldn’t know how pathetic she was, and went back into the bar, and there sat Bryce Campbell. For a second, he looked so damn much like Lucas that she shuddered with missing the boy who’d once treasured her.

“Hey, Bryce. What can I get you?”

She pulled him a beer, and they chatted. Bryce was sweet. Easy. Uncomplicated. And there on a night when no one else was around, when Bryce had nowhere better to be and neither did she, it was nice to have a friend.

He walked her home, as the snow was heavy, and it was courtly of him. As he stood in front of her house, looking up at the sky, he asked, “You ever wish you left this town, Colleen?”

“Not really,” she said after a beat. “But yeah. Once in a while.”

“I never really thought I’d end up here. At my parents’ house. I always figured I’d be...I don’t know. Cooler. Smarter.”

She wasn’t sure what he was asking, but he looked so sad. She reached up and brushed some snow from his hair. “I think you’re fine the way you are, Bryce,” she said.

Then he kissed her.

Oh, sure, she knew it was insanely stupid. But then, on that quiet, lonely night, when if you looked at him a certain way, you might mistake Bryce for Lucas...when she had seen proof that Lucas was happy without her—well, shit.

Two lonely people. A snowstorm. A few beers. The combination doesn’t usually lead to the smartest decisions in the world, and sure enough, forty-two minutes later, Colleen hated herself.

And, to his credit, Bryce kind of hated himself, too.

“This was probably a mistake,” he said, pulling his clothes back on.

“Yeah. No offense. But yes.”

“You’re really nice, Coll.”

“You, too.”

“Just...” His voice trailed off.

“I know.” She wanted a shower, her skin was crawling so bad. Not because Bryce was disgusting...because it was so wrong. “Bryce, if we could just forget about this, I think that’d be best.”

“Okay. Yeah. Definitely.”

“Don’t tell Lucas,” she whispered.

“Jesus, no. Listen. It’s already forgotten, okay? I’ll see you around.”

“Okay. Thanks, Bryce.”

And that was it. Meaningless, mediocre, mistake. Bryce was no Lucas. Not even close. Worse than being a vengeful act on her part, it was pathetic. Colleen O’Rourke, who was supposedly so smart about relationships, and so good with men, had been reduced to abject loneliness and shagged a guy who reminded her of her first love.

As for Bryce, well, he was all foam and no beer. He was an “Oh, look, shiny!” type of guy, and she’d been shiny.

So Colleen spent a miserable month or two. Bryce still came into the bar, and bless his heart, he really did seem to forget about it. There were no lingering looks, no simmering chemistry (please), and no signs of resentment whatsoever.

Eventually, Colleen shook it off. It was a lapse in judgment, that old familiar phrase, and not one she was going to make again. Time to get over Lucas Campbell. She’d find someone else, eventually. No harm, no foul, and no one had to know about it.

Until today.

First stop was the Petrosinsky home. Paulie’s father answered the door.

“What did you do now?” he barked. “She’s power-eating a bucket of Double Deep-Fried Buttermilk Bossy.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Petrosinsky.”

“Come in,” he said wearily. “Go talk to her.” He held open the door, and Colleen sidled past the statue of a rooster dressed like a butler and went up to Paulie’s room. The door was open, and there was her friend, bucket in hand, eating, crying and watching Terminator 2 on her enormous TV.

“Paulie?” she said.

Paulie wadded up another tissue and tossed it toward the trash, where it joined its many brothers. “Come on in,” she muttered.

Colleen tiptoed closer and sat on the edge of the massive bed. “I’m so sorry I never said anything,” she whispered.

Paulie gave her a watery glare, then glanced back at the TV. “Want some chicken?”