Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(26)

“Right. South Side forever.”

Lucas smiled. “I figured you could show me around, since you said you spend a lot of time here.”

“Sure! Come on back.”

Another door led to the kennels. The usual suspects—pit bull here, Rottweiler there, with a couple of older-looking dogs. Bryce had a kind word for all of them, even the snarling black mutt in the last kennel. Then on to the cat room, where there were far too many felines of varying colors and sizes.

Bryce picked up a kitten. “Who’s beautiful, huh? Who’s so pretty? You are, sweetie!” The kitten batted Bryce on the nose and mewed.

Lucas had never had a pet. He could get one, he guessed; he just wasn’t home a lot. Maybe now that he was leaving Forbes, he’d get a dog who could ride in his truck to job sites and lie at his feet at night. It’d be nice to have some company.

Well. He’d wait to get back to Chicago. There were plenty of animals waiting to be adopted in the city, he was sure.

“You ever think about becoming a vet tech, Bryce?” he asked. “You’re really good with animals.”

“Thanks! But not really, no. You need school for that.”

“So? You could do it part-time, I bet.”

“Well, whatever. Even so, the shelter can’t afford to pay anyone. We’re all volunteers, and Dr. Metcalf comes in when we need real stuff done.”

“Could you work for Dr. Metcalf?”

Bryce shrugged. “He has this hot chick who works for him. She volunteers here, too. We hooked up once or twice.” He scratched his head. “Maybe I should give her a call. I’m thinking about having kids.”

Wow. “Yeah, you’d be a great dad,” he said (and hoped). “But you need a job first. And possibly a place of your own, so you don’t have to raise a kid in your mother’s basement.”

“True enough. You wanna get a beer? I think O’Rourke’s is open.”

“It’s eleven-thirty, Bryce.”

“Yeah, so they’re definitely open. Oh, I get it. You don’t want to see Colleen.”

Lucas gave his cousin a look. “I have no problem seeing Colleen.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t.”

“Must bring up memories, though, right? Because you two were pretty hot and heavy.”

“That was a long time ago. Anyway, about you getting a job, Bryce—”

“Shit! I forgot. I’m supposed to have lunch with my mom. I gotta run.” Just then, the front door opened, and a very pretty woman came in. “Hey, Ange! Right on time.”

“Hi, Bryce,” she purred, sparing Lucas a glance (and giving him a gratifying double take). “Your brother?”

“Cousin. Lucas, this is Angie...Angie, uh...”

“Beekman.”

“Right! Ange, I gotta fly, but listen. You wanna grab a drink sometime?”

Lucas couldn’t help feeling a flicker of sympathy for Paulie.

“Sure,” she said with a coy smile. “See you around, boys.”

Lucas scrubbed a hand through his hair as Bryce tore out of the parking lot a few seconds later, going too fast, as usual.

* * *

WHEN LUCAS WAS fifteen, his cousin saved his life.

“Remember when I saved you?” Bryce would say from time to time. And Lucas would have to say of course he remembered, and yes, it sure was lucky Bryce had been there, and absolutely, they were as close as brothers, and yep, they did look alike, since they both looked like their fathers—and Dan and Joe could’ve passed for twins.

It wasn’t that Lucas disliked Bryce. No one did. Bryce Campbell, the adored only child of Lucas’s aunt and uncle, was unendingly cheerful, up for anything and had an intense case of hero worship. He kept a respectful distance from Lucas’s sister, Stephanie, who was six years older and called him only “kid.” But he stuck to Lucas like a tick.

About three times a year, Joe, Didi and Bryce would visit them (they, in return, were never invited to the wealthy suburb to the north of Chicago where Bryce and his family lived). And every time, Bryce would be glued to Lucas’s side, wide-eyed with wonder at anything Lucas had or did—his tiny bedroom on the third floor of the two-family house they lived in, his second-hand bike, the stunts he could do on it. Lucas was a White Sox fan, obviously, being from the South Side; Bryce traded in his Cubs shirt to match Lucas’s, which nearly got him stoned by his peers. Lucas would clear the crowded table after dinner because he was the kind of kid who did chores; Bryce decided that nothing was more fun and exotic than washing dishes by hand. And the thing was, he meant it.

Bryce couldn’t get over the fact that Lucas was not only allowed to have a knife, but was allowed to use it as well, and viewed whittling as damn near miraculous. He peppered Lucas with questions about his late mother, who’d died of ALS when Lucas was six. Did he miss her? What had it been like to have a Puerto Rican mother? Did they ever see her ghost? It never occurred to Bryce that the subject might be a sensitive one.

Lucas liked his cousin. But Bryce could be tiring, like a puppy who just wanted to bring you a stick. At first, it’s really cute. Aw, hey, a stick! Go get it, boy! But by the tenth time, when the puppy’s enthusiasm hasn’t been touched but yours is getting tired, you wish the dog would take a nap. By the twentieth time he brings you the stick, your arm aches. And by the fiftieth, you really wondered what you were thinking when you decided to get a dog.