Chapter 4: The Golden Boy Returns

This time, I didn’t want to see Lucas end up in a wheelchair again.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye, making sure he didn’t do anything reckless. If I could stop even one bad thing from happening, maybe this second chance would be worth it.

Because after marrying him—even though he didn’t love me and we fought all the time—he never treated me badly.

He always made sure I had what I needed. He’d leave the last slice of pizza for me, fix things around the apartment without being asked. It wasn’t love, but it was something.

He knew I only married him to bail out my dad’s company, but he still agreed without a second thought.

He never held it over my head, never made me feel small. Sometimes, I wondered if he cared more than he let on.

In the library, Lucas seemed a little under the weather.

He sat slouched over the desk, hair falling into his eyes. His skin looked paler than usual, and he kept rubbing his temples like he had a headache.

His long lashes drooped, and his slender fingers rubbed his brow.

He looked tired, but he didn’t complain. I slid a pack of tissues across the table, just in case.

I opened my textbook. “Do you like the girl who confessed to you that day?”

My voice came out softer than I meant. I stared at the page, pretending to read, but my heart was pounding.

Lucas lowered his gaze, expression unreadable. “Why do you ask?”

He didn’t look at me, just twirled his pen between his fingers. I wondered what was going on behind those eyes.

I shook my head, opening my pencil case. “No reason. I just wanted to say: No matter how much you like her, you have to take care of yourself first.” I know it sounded lame, but I meant it.

It sounded lame, but I meant it. I didn’t want him to get hurt chasing after someone who didn’t care.

Consider it a little advice for Lucas.

He glanced at me, eyebrow raised. I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant.

His dark eyes stayed steady, like he didn’t get what I meant.

He stared at me for a long moment, then looked away. Maybe he thought I was just being nosy. Maybe he didn’t care.

Suddenly, I felt a wave of insecurity.

My hands shook as I fumbled with my pencil. What if I was wrong about everything? What if Alexis really was the one for him? Maybe, to me, Alexis wasn’t a good person. But what if, to Lucas, she was everything?

The thought made my stomach twist. I tried to push it away, but it lingered like a bad dream.

The air turned awkward, so I pointed to a physics problem. “Enough chit-chat. I don’t get this one—can you walk me through it?”

I shoved the book toward him, hoping to change the subject. He hesitated, then picked up his pen.

Lucas picked up his pen, glanced at the question, and started scribbling on scratch paper, explaining every step patiently.

His voice was low and steady, and for a moment, I forgot about everything else. I watched his hands move, the way his brow furrowed in concentration.

It was snowing outside, and his knuckles were red from the cold. There were a few chapped spots on his long, beautiful hands.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a hand warmer. "Here," I said, pressing it into his palm. "You’ll freeze if you keep ignoring the cold."

“Alright, I get it,” I said, grabbing the pen and shoving a hand warmer into his palm.

He looked startled, like he wasn’t used to anyone taking care of him. I smiled, hoping he’d get the hint.

He froze, then cautiously started warming his hands, just on the outside of the warmer.

He rolled the warmer between his palms, lips pressed into a thin line. For a second, I thought he might actually thank me. Instead, he just nodded, eyes flickering away.

Was Lucas really this easygoing when he was younger?

I tried to remember if he’d always been this quiet, this guarded. Maybe I’d just never paid enough attention.

The Lucas I married, who always shot back at me, must’ve been a fake!

Or maybe we’d both changed more than we realized. I wondered what he’d think if he could see us now—two strangers sharing a table, pretending not to care.

After finishing one problem, I pointed at another in the book. “I don’t get this one either, Lucas. Can you help?”

I grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "You’re stuck with me until I pass this class."

He picked up his pen and asked, “Didn’t you say you hated physics?”

He shot me a look, half-amused. I rolled my eyes.

Then, as if realizing he’d said too much, he added, “I hear you complain about it to your friends every day.”

His cheeks turned a little pink. I smirked, filing that reaction away for later.

I looked down. “I want to apply to a college out of state—to find someone.”

My voice was small, barely above a whisper. I hoped he didn’t catch the tremor in it.

He paused, knuckles turning white. Lucas’s expression turned cold, and he set his pen down. “I can’t help with the rest.”

His words were clipped, final. I stared at him, not sure what I’d done wrong.

Me: “…”

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to argue. I knew he could solve that problem in his sleep. But I let it go.

Liar. I just saw you solve that problem in three minutes. And you’re the top student!

I scribbled a note in the margin of my notebook: "Lucas is a terrible liar." Maybe I’d confront him about it later.

Just like ten years later, Lucas’s moods were a mystery. I could never figure him out.

He was like a locked door, and I didn’t have the key. Maybe I never would.

The room felt chilly, and suddenly my phone buzzed on the table.

I jumped, startled by the sudden noise. I glanced at the screen, heart skipping a beat.

It was a message from Zachary.

His name lit up my phone, and for a second, everything else faded away.

“Savannah, I’m coming back the day after tomorrow.”

My breath caught. It felt like the universe was giving me a second chance.

“Will you come pick me up?”

I stared at the message, rereading it three times. My hands shook as I typed out a reply.

Zach was coming back to give a talk as an outstanding alum, invited by the school. More than half the students showed up.

The auditorium was packed—students crammed into every seat, teachers lining the back wall. The air buzzed with excitement. It was the kind of event people would talk about for weeks.

I sat in the front row, staring at the guy under the spotlight on stage. The girls next to me whispered and giggled.

He looked confident, at ease, like he belonged there. I tried to focus on his words, but all I could think about was how much I’d missed him.

“Zach is so cute. I wonder if he’s dating anyone.”

The girl behind me nudged her friend, both of them sighing dreamily. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Forget it. I heard the girls Zach’s turned down could line up from here to Canada.”

A ripple of laughter went through the row. I ducked my head, hoping no one noticed me blushing.

“He’s so dreamy—who wouldn’t fall for him?”

I wanted to say, "Me," but that would’ve been a lie. I’d been in love with him for as long as I could remember.