Everlasting Love

Chapter One-Bitchin' Wives and Frat Guys

Luke’s P.O.V.:

“Daddy!” Cynthia cried as she hobbled into the kitchen, one hand over her knee. I was sitting at the breakfast table sipping my Veranda blend coffee and reading a copy of the Tennessean, Nashville’s local newspaper. I seemed to do that a lot lately, read the paper I mean. I looked up from the sports section as my daughter approached my side. “Hey sweetie!” I chimed, as I planted a kiss on her forehead. She had tears welling up in her baby blue eyes, and a look of pain, spread across her face. “What happened?” I asked, taking notice of the way she held her hand over her left knee. “Bo and Tate were playing baseball,” she said in between sniffles. “And the ball hit me!” she cried. I looked at my daughter’s pained face and gently wiped the tears that were trickling down her soft, rosy cheeks. “Aww, you’ll be alright, pumpkin,” I replied, in a sympathetic tone, as I removed her hand from her knee. “Let daddy see your knee, honey,” I said, as I observed her injury. It really didn't look too bad, a minor scrape and some bruising was all. “You know what? I can fix that right up,” I replied gently, as I smiled at Cynthia. “Okay,” she whimpered.

I took Cynthia by the hand and led her down the hall to our bathroom. I raised down the lid to the toilet and sat her down on top of it. I opened up the medicine cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit. Caroline was usually the one to nurse the kid’s injuries from whatever reason, but she had been out running errands all morning. She has been desperately trying to find a new pair of black stilettos, because Pappy, our Italian water dog, had decided that they were a chew toy and completely destroyed them. We were leaving early in the morning, for Georgia. It was Sigma Chi’s 50th reunion. The Eta Zeta chapter had been established at GSU since, November 21st, 1970. I hadn’t seen any of my brothers, with the exception of Carter, Cole, and Dallas, since I graduated in ’99. I couldn’t wait to reunite with the guys and reminisce with some of my closest friends about the good ol’ days.

“Alright Cyn, let’s getcha cleaned up,” I said, as I dampened the washcloth. I gently applied pressure to Cynthia’s wound to remove any debris. After her wound was wiped clean, I fished through the first aid kit, searching for the Neosporin. I squeezed out a pea-sized amount and rubbed the ointment over the affected area. “What kind of Band-Aid would you like?” I asked Cynthia, as I held up two band aids, one in each hand. “Princesses, or neon pink?” She scrunched up her nose at the site of them. “Neither,” she protested. She leaned over the bathroom counter and pointed to a camouflage one, that the boys always used. “That one!” she chimed. I chuckled as she handed me the camo green band aid. “Camo, huh?” She nodded repetitively. “Yep!” she declared. I smiled and applied the adhesive to her knee. “There!” I proclaimed, “All finished!” She smiled and jumped down from the toilet and happily skipped along, across the hall to her bedroom.

After washing my hands, I headed back down the hall to the kitchen. I took a sip of my coffee and stuck out my tongue in disgust. It was cold by now. Nothing was worse than cold coffee, which was meant to be hot. I took the cold cup of coffee and placed it in the microwave for a few minutes. I heard the patio door open and the boys came trudging in. They were filthy. The knees of their jeans were covered in mud and grass stains and their shoes were completely covered in mud. They walked across the kitchen floor, leaving muddy shoe prints behind. I shot them a scornful look. “Hey!” I hollered after them, “where do you two think you’re goin’ lookin’ like that?!” I scolded them. They stopped dead in their tracks and slowly turned around. My boys were getting so big, and into a lot more trouble too. Bo was eleven and in the sixth grade. Tate was nine and in third grade. Man, I sure felt old. I had turned forty three this past July. It was no fun getting old, let me tell you. It had definitely begun to take its toll on me. I had been having a lot of aches and pains from all those years of hip shaking, which I still continued to do. I didn’t want to believe I was getting old. In my mind, I was still that thirty year old youngin’ shaking it for the girls. But, eventually the reality set in that, all that pelvic thrusting and hip shaking would have to slow down a bit if I wanted to keep my career well into my fifties. And so, Aleve and a good ol’ massage from Caroline had become a part of my daily routine. But, Caroline on the other hand? She didn’t change a damn bit. She was still that beautiful blonde southern belle, with those same sparkling sapphires. She aged gracefully. Me? Not a chance. I was graying a bit more in my beard and had started noticing some balding patches on my head. I was going to have to get me some of that Rogaine for men. I grumbled in my head, at the thought of that.