THAT FIRST BREAK (Broken Redemption Prequel 1)

Chapter 9

Lucas

Turning my face toward the burning sun, I take a minute to sit with the discomfort. The feel of the scorching rays radiating on my overheated skin is damn near unbearable, but no less than I deserve. Running the back of my hand over my brow, I mop off the sweat and look around. After three torturous days of this, thankfully, it's almost finished. The once grungy-looking wood is bright and clean, and the parts I've already stained make our back deck look almost new.

Tossing the roller back into the pan, I reach for my water bottle and down what remains. It's hot. Unseasonably so, even for the first day of July. After a full day of working in the heat and high humidity, my stained grey t-shirt is soaked through and stuck to me like a second skin. It's an uncomfortable sensation, so I reach around to pull it off and then throw the offending fabric over toward the corner of the deck by the back door.

Leaning on one hand, I reach for the paint pan, pulling it down so I can continue with the section underneath. It's arduous work but part of my self-imposed punishment for having embarrassed my parents on the one day of the year when so many of our neighbors were here.

"Lucas, honey. Have you been out here all day again?" Mom's voice startles me, but I don't let it show. That she's home early means she came to check up on me.

"Yep." Grabbing the roller, I dip it through the brown solution before continuing to roll the stain over the planks. The way the wood beneath grows dark and shiny under the oily moisture is satisfying and soothes that part of me that demands perfection in everything I do. This is especially needed now that I'm struggling to cope with the poor decisions I've made of late.

"Okay. That's it." The sound of her small heels clacking against the wood speaks to her determination. The distinctive crinkling of plastic being ripped from the extra paint roller I brought earlier makes her intentions clear.

Swallowing back a groan, I drop my roller into the pan and sit up on my heels. "Stop Mom. You don't have to do this."

"Oh, really?" She drops to her knees next to me with the athletic grace of an elementary school teacher who's used to the position. When I notice the forest green pencil skirt that is the only barrier protecting her knees from the rough wood, I cringe.

"Mom! Dad's going to kill me if he sees you out here like that. Go back inside."

"Then I suggest we get through this conversation quickly. Hmm?" With skill, I didn't know she had, she coats the deck with the dark solution. "Now come on," she coaxes with a smile. "Get to work."

With a heavy sigh, I take up my position and do as she asks. For a few minutes, the two of us work in tandem, moving through the small section in record time. Her presence, though disconcerting at first, alleviates some of the emptiness I've felt in my chest. The shame spiral I've been on since that horrible day pushed me into an exile of sorts, where I've resisted the lifeline of love and connection I so desperately crave from my family. After everything, the last thing I deserve is comfort and acceptance, especially from them. At least not yet. Not until I've done enough to make up for my mistakes.

"How much longer are you planning to punish yourself?"

Surprised by her question, I slow the motion of the roller while I try to come up with a response. The truth is unclear. My list of offenses at this point is too numerous to count. From falling in love with Embree. To hurting Becca. To my insistence that Embree and I remain friends, only to lash out at her when Parker asked her out. And then my biggest grievance of all, the fight. Losing control like that in front of all my friends, family, and neighbors. I'll never forget the look of disappointment on my parent's faces, and I'll never forgive myself for making them feel that way.