XXVI STRUCK BY LIGHTNING （AUGUST）

I've never made a bigger mess from just walking into a room.

The moment I enter, the entire courtroom erupts into chaos.

"Objection!" shouts one of Marissa's lawyers, flying to his feet.

Marissa stands, too, cupping her hands over her mouth as she screams, "What the fuck, asshole?"

Aunt Clara pops up next.

"Yvette?!" she cries.

And promptly starts to faint, with Deb struggling to catch her.

"Clara!" Yvette screams.

And so does—

Elle?

Why is Elle here?

Bright as a new-bloomed flower, her blonde hair flying behind her as she rushes around the wooden barrier and drops to Aunt Clara's side. She sinks down in a crouch with Deb as they both help Clara up.

She's already coming to, shaking off her daze, her eyes blinking open.

Marissa whirls on us.

Yvette had started to rush forward, but now she freezes as Marissa points a stern finger at her.

"What's she doing here? Get her out of here!"

"If everyone would kindly shut up," the judge demands, his voice booming as he slams his gavel several times. He throws me a fierce look over his glasses. "Sir, this is a private case. Unless you have business here, you're asking for contempt of court—"

"I'm sorry for barging in late," I cut in. "I have a quarter share in Little Key. My name is August Marshall, acting CEO. Clara Marshall is my aunt. This case pertains to me as well. And this"—I gently nudge a shy, faltering Yvette forward—"is the plaintiff's mother, Yvette Sullivan. Also, Clara's long-separated lover."

Everyone in the room gasps except Clara and Yvette.

They just stare at each other in disbelief.

They watch each other the same way I can't help but look at Elle.

Like they've been blind all this time, but now they can finally see, and their first restored vision is the glory of lost love.

Everything they've craved through the darkness for all this time.

It's definitely a moment.

Intense and heart wrenching and beautiful to see.

Clara can't take her eyes off Yvette, even while Elle and Deb help her up on shaky feet, her lips mouthing, Yvette, Yvette, Yvette ...

Elle looks up then.

Her eyes meet mine, that soft hazel gold—my tiger kitten, my jewel, my insane bright summer flower.

Yes, I know.

I fucking know I'm just staring at her like I've been lobotomized, while she's looking back at me with such confusion and hurt in her eyes and something else.

Longing.

Hand to God, I'll make this right.

But first, I have to correct another massive mistake.

I jerk my attention back to the judge as he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Mr. Marshall, while this is an entertaining soap opera, how does this pertain to the case? Make it brief, or get the hell out of my courtroom."

"Your Honor, the entire case is predicated on a lie Marissa Sullivan was led to believe to salvage a dead man's pride," I say. A little dramatic, yes, but it's true. "Surrendering these rights is a grave miscarriage of justice. If you'll allow Yvette Sullivan to take the stand, she can tell you that this case is false—and provide proof."

"Mom, don't you dare!" Marissa hisses. "That woman is my mother in blood only. She cheated on my father!"

"No," Yvette says, shaking her head. "I never cheated, love. I would never do that to you. Not even to Lester. But I admit, I didn't love him. He wasn't the man he led you to believe he was. It's true I loved someone else while we were married ... but we never did anything about it. For your sake."

"My sake ...?" Marissa staggers back, wrinkling her nose.

Yvette looks at the judge pleadingly.

He sighs, adjusting his glasses. "I'll agree, if everyone will sit down already—and if Mr. Marshall will stop turning my courtroom into a zoo."

"Absolutely," I answer. "I apologize again, Your Honor."

I glance around for somewhere to sit. I want to go to Elle as she reclaims her seat, but sitting next to each other, unable to talk, to hold her, to apologize, would feel like pure torture.

So I steal an extra chair and join Clara, Deb, and the lawyers at the table.

Clara wears a dozen emotions on her face.

Screaming. Crying. Laughing.

I was more than right, then.

All this time, she's never stopped loving Yvette.

Yvette nods slowly, giving Clara a nervous look and a shy smile before she lets the bailiff guide her to the stand. She clasps her hands together and looks up at the judge. He nods, not unkindly.

"Go on," he says.

Then he shoots a stern look at a frozen Marissa.

"Sit, Miss Sullivan."

Marissa plunks down in her chair so hard the legs scrape.

In the silence, Yvette takes a shaky breath.

"I'm ... well, I'm not quite sure how to start," she says.

The beginning,I mouth to her.

"Right. So, Lester, Clara, and I met in art school. We were fast friends. Lester and I were already dating. Frankly, I think Lester originally had notions of ..." She blushes. "Of having both of us. But Clara was indifferent, though I don't think he noticed. He did eventually notice how close we were, though."

Her flush deepens as her eyes lock on Clara with such yearning. Like she speaks only for her and there's no one else in the room.

"I was in denial for so long. You didn't feel those kinds of things back then. You certainly didn't talk about them. By the time I let myself acknowledge the way my heart beat and my body yearned—"

"Mom!"Marissa hisses.

"—every time Clara so much as brushed my hand, I fell a little deeper. But I was pregnant. Lester and I were married. And suddenly, I was a wife and mother, and Clara had two kids to raise after her brother and his wife died. All I could be was backdrop while my ambitious husband and best friend started talking about publishing together."

"You were never a backdrop to me," Clara whispers, so low I think only our table hears her. "Never."

Yvette shakes her head with a sad yet beautiful smile.

"I couldn't stay away. Always hovering, trying to be helpful. Back in college, Clara and I had gotten in the habit of sending each other letters, and we still did. Those letters were where she first told me about the idea she had. About a penguin who didn't fit in because he was different from everyone else. I knew what she was really saying with that. I wanted her to tell that story so much, about that penguin who was accepted and loved by the friends he made all over the world and the people he brought together. Loved because of his difference."

There's a soft sniff behind me.

Elle.

I know how she feels.

I don't show it, but my own throat is burning, raw.

"I was there the day Clara showed Lester her first sketches," Yvette confesses. "He hated the idea at first. Hated it. But she slowly won him over, and they started plotting the first Inky books, refining the base illustrations together. During that time, I ... we never said a word to each other. But I think we were obvious. The nights I would go over without Lester to help with Deb and August, bringing Clara dinner after she'd worked herself dizzy all day in the studio and was too tired to cook for the kids. The times I'd stay over. I'd sleep on the couch, but we'd wind up talking late into the night. And sometimes—well, sometimes we'd just look at each other, and I'd want to say it so much. ‘I love you. I love you, and I don't know what to do about it.'"

She says those words to Clara and Clara alone.

Tears stream silently down Aunt Clara's face, curving her lips in the most painfully sweet smile that makes her look thirty years younger. The bright, hopeful woman Yvette had fallen for all over again.

"But I never could," Yvette continues, shaking her head. "I had a husband and a daughter. I wouldn't be unfaithful. I wouldn't break apart my family and take my daughter away from her father. And if society knew, they would hate us. So I only craved her from afar, but eventually, Lester started to notice. All these years he still looked at Clara a certain way, and I think he even tried to make me jealous with their solitary studio sessions. But he finally started noticing the way we smiled at each other. The way we touched. Chaste, but there was something about it, something we couldn't hide." She draws a shaky breath. "Lester confronted us. Accused us of cheating. Said the most hateful words. We denied it, but that was the end. The partnership was over. Lester moved us away and said he wanted nothing to do with Inky the Penguin. He was controlling, monitored my letters, my phone calls. And when Inky blew up and became so famous, that's when he started drinking. That's when he started trying to re-create it, claiming it was his idea all along, venting his bitterness to Marissa."

Her gaze flicks to her daughter.

"I know you loved him, sweetheart," she says. "And he was good to you. He was a decent father. I won't pretend he wasn't. He loved you too. But even though he was good to you, he wasn't a good husband. He lied so you'd think he was an amazing man who'd just been cheated, when he was so selfish. So cruel. He never created Inky, and I never cheated on him. But I did hurt him by falling in love with someone else. That's my fault, I know. If you hate me for it, I understand. Everything else, those were his choices, my darling. I only wish you'd accept that instead of trying to punish Clara for Lester's mistakes."

Click.

Just like that, the last puzzle piece falls into place.

Marissa always knew about her mother and Clara, and that's what she's really been trying to punish Clara for.

Not for being a lesbian, no.

But for being the lost love that tore her family apart.

"Please," Yvette pleads. "You have your father's stubbornness, and sometimes it's admirable. But please don't follow his path. Don't go down that long, dark road he walked. I know about your drinking, Marissa. Please, I can't lose you that way too."

Marissa recoils, her face blanking.

"Who told y—" She gasps, turning a vicious glare on me. "You."

"Guilty." I raise my hand and wave.

There's a choked snicker behind me.

A little of Elle's sense of humor might be rubbing off.

"You called my mommy on me?" Marissa flares.

"Also guilty," I say.

"You fucking—"

"Order!"Judge Harris snarls, slamming his gavel again. With an exasperated sigh, he points it at Yvette. "You. Go sit." Then he points it at Clara. "You, testify. Is any of this true?"

Clara rises slowly as Yvette gets up and exits the stand.

For a moment, they pass each other, trading places.

For the briefest second, they stop.

A long, deep look passes between them.

Their hands brush, and my heart aches so deeply for the love denied, and for the touch of Elle's hand. What Clara and Yvette had, what was torn away from them ...

Goddamn, I really am stupid for waiting so long.

I want that with Elle Lark.

I want to reclaim it before I'm grizzled with denial, looking back on years of regrets, wishing like hell I'd never let her go.

Aunt Clara takes the stand and tucks her hair back, drawing a deep breath.

"It's true," she says plainly. Marissa almost screeches, but Aunt Clara continues: "I'm sorry. I lied, Marissa. I lied because ... because I felt like I owed you something. Because of our secrets, your father became bitter, and he lost himself. I felt responsible for his death, so much that I slowly lost my will to draw the gentle bird that caused us so much trouble. But I've always loved your mother. There's never been a day I haven't missed her. But I felt like I didn't have the right—not after the pain we'd caused. The only thing I could do was stay away, trying to protect her, and keep her from getting dragged into this legal battle." Her blue eyes lock on Yvette. "An attempt that I know now was misguided. I should have told you I loved you years ago. So I'm telling you now. I love you, Yvette Sullivan."

Gasps.

Even our lawyers are wiping their eyes now, and dammit, I'm losing my dignity and pushing a cactus of emotion down my throat.

At my side, Yvette falters, swaying faintly.

I clasp her elbow to steady her.

"Clara," she whispers. "Oh, Clara, I never—I could never not love you. You've been my whole heart. I've missed you so much ..."

"Yvette ..." Clara's trembling smile is so full of joy it could blind the whole room.

Judge Harris clears his throat. His eyes are suspiciously soft.

"Yes. Well. That's all very touching, but it's not legal proof. You said you had proof."

"Oh—um, yes." Yvette fumbles around in her dress pockets, then walks toward the judge quickly and passes over a crumbled sheet of paper. The handwriting on it looks blurred by time and repeated handling. "That's it. That's the letter where Clara Marshall first told me about what eventually became Inky. It's dated years before the publication of the first Inky book."

"Oh my. You kept that?" Clara lights up.

"I kept everything," Yvette admits with a shy grin.

Damn.

They're like schoolgirls with each other, sweet and hesitant.

Judge Harris scans the letter while the entire courtroom holds on to silent, bated breaths.

"Thank you for letting me read something so heartfelt and personal, but technically, this isn't admissible because it was never entered into evidence," Judge Harris says flatly, passing the letter back to Yvette.

The entire room deflates with a groan.

Marissa smirks.

"However ..." Harris raises his voice to be heard. "If you'll pardon me, this entire case is a cluster. The dates on this mean nothing when they could have been added after the fact, and it would require extensive forensic analysis that we don't have on hand, do we? No. No, we don't. Therefore, it's all down to a case of ‘he said, she said,' and I can't pass a judgment based on that kind of testimony." Another bang of the gavel before he points it at Marissa. "I'm throwing your case out without judgment and dismissing your claim." Snorting, he leans back in his seat, adjusting his robes. "Jesus Christ. Sort your goddamned lives out, people. Case dismissed. Everyone out of my courtroom."

I sit stunned for a moment.

Relief sweeps through me in a rush.

Deb shoots up at my side with a fist-pumping shout. "Yes!"

"No!" Marissa slams her hands down on the table.

"Eee!" Yvette and Clara tumble toward each other with loud squeals.

Marissa stares at them like she can't decide if she wants to laugh or scream.

Clara and Yvette collide—and then they're kissing—deeply, passionately, frantically.

My eyes widen and I clear my throat, looking away politely.

"Not fair," I mutter. "How the hell does she get to kiss her girl before I do?"

"Because she wasn't a dick to her girl," Deb mutters back with a smirk. "By the way, your girl is right behind you, doofus. I think you have some things to say to her."

Shit.

I finally let myself look back at Elle.

If I'd done it during the case, I'd have lost my shit in a heartbeat, gone to her, begged for her forgiveness.

For her love.

But Elle's not looking at me now.

She's watching Clara and Yvette, her eyes streaming with happy tears. Her hands are clasped over her mouth, but it's not hard to tell she's smiling, laughing, crying all at once.

Yvette breaks away from Clara, smiling so wide, leaning into her to nuzzle their noses together tenderly before she pulls back enough to look at her daughter.

"Marissa," Yvette says softly. "I'm sorry I never told you the truth, but I'm still your mother. I never stopped loving you. I want to be here for you, no matter what you're going through. Please ... please, can we start over?"

Start over.

That's what I want so badly.

To start again with Elle, this time being together for real.

Which means I have to man the fuck up and be honest about how I feel.

"Elle," I say softly.

Her breath sucks in.

For a moment, she doesn't look at me, her shoulders tensing.

"I'm sorry," she chokes. "Clara asked me to come. I know I shouldn't be here, but—"

"No—no, I'm glad you came, to be there for her, especially when I was preoccupied."

"I see that." She blinks. Despite the tension, she laughs, shaking her head. "I can't believe you figured all this out. You found her, August. You brought them back together. It's amazing!"

"It is," I agree, when all I want to say is, I want that. I want that with you. I fucking want what they have, and I'm not afraid to admit it. "I hope they're happy now. Hope they can make up for lost time."

She's watching me intently.

Why is this so difficult?

Deep breath.

"Elle, I can't lose more time making things right with you," I grind out, my heart tumbling out in the open.

She falters, her smile fading as she looks at me with wide, confused eyes.

"What?"

"Elle, I—goddammit, woman. You know I'm bad at this." Muttering to myself, I lift up enough to fish around in my pockets and pull out a folded piece of paper. "Just read it."

Puzzled, Elle reaches out carefully to take the folded page.

"I feel like I'm back in sixth grade," she murmurs, unfolding the paper.

Now I have to look away.

I can't stand to look while she reads my clumsy words.

Miss Eleanor Lark—

I wanted to start this with "My everything." Because on paper I get to cheese it up, and you are my all, Elle Lark.

I should have told you that the second I realized it.

I should have told you every damned day.

I should have shut my yap instead of screaming and been honest—as bright and honest as you've always been with me.

When I was a little boy, I loved Inky because he was different. The kind of different that makes children feel less alone.

The same way Inky found acceptance because he was unique, you made me feel accepted. Like I can be myself—rude, blunt, and strange as ever.

You let me be me without complaints, without trying to change me.

You still care for me just as I am.

But I didn't make you feel the same, did I?

I called you crazy, chaotic and disruptive. I treated you like an intrusion on my life, when you were anything but.

You were—you are—what I never knew I needed to make my life complete.

Screw chaos.

You bring joy.

You light up everything you touch.

I'm so accustomed to remaining untouched that I mistook change for destruction and love for intrusions. Your joy is not destructive. Your care is not invasive.

It makes me whole and it's part of what makes you so beautiful.

If you're insane, then I'm fucking pathological.

I'm insane for everything about you.

All the things you think I couldn't possibly like about you—your brightness, your impulsiveness, your whims, your goofy pet names.

I'd rather wake up to "Gruffykins" a thousand mornings than breathe another minute without you.

I love them all.

Just like I love you.

I think I've loved you since the day you fell into my arms in an airport terminal. I've just had to wrestle myself to face the truth, and in the process, I wound up fighting you.

I'm sincerely sorry for that.

So sorry I made it difficult to be with me.

And I'm sorry I made you walk on eggshells around me. That's a sin when you should be free to be as wild as you are with me.

I want you, Elle.

Don't care about the name on what that means.

Girlfriend, fiancée, whatever.

Just give me what's real.

Because now I know that I love you, I can't stop, Elle Lark.

I know you love Inky. Can you ever love another awkward penguin?

August

Go ahead and laugh.

I don't give a damn.

If I'd tried to say any of that shit out loud, I'd have tripped all over it until I gave up and stormed away chewing my tongue. But waiting for Elle to finish reading it, dead silent except for her sniffles, is agony.

I've never felt my heart split before, cracking and lining and vulnerable.

Vulnerable.

That's not something I ever am.

But with her, I'm willing to face the pain.

I trust her not to ever take advantage of my openness.

"You love me," she whispers.

My head snaps up sharply to find her watching me with those brightly lit eyes.

"August, you ... you really love me?"

"More than humanly possible," I whisper. "More than I can stand."

There it is—her smile creeping back.

I can't take my eyes off her gorgeous lips to save my life.

"Say it," she breathes. "Let me hear you say it out loud."

"I love you," I say immediately. It's like an anvil lifting off my shoulders. "I love you, Elle."

"August," she cries—and suddenly she's flying across the barrier.

Into my arms.

Into my kiss.

Into the rest of my life.

"I love you," she answers—kissing me again and again, pressing the words into my lips, elating me with her light until I could shatter the stars. "I love you, you stupid man. Oh, you're such a dick, and I still love you—"

I laugh like mad, wrapping my arms around her waist and nipping her lips. "Insult me again. Just so I know you really mean it."

She loves me, and I can't hold back anymore.

Right there in front of my aunt, her beloved, my sister, Marissa, the lawyers, the judge—fuck, everyone—I do it.

I sweep Elle closer and kiss her until I touch her soul.

I kiss her the way I should have that day I broke us, healing the wound before it grew any deeper. Kiss her like I can never kiss anyone else again, and dammit, I don't want to.

Not when her mouth fits mine this perfectly.

Not when our lips lock, and we meet like our mouths and minds and souls were made for each other.

I finally feel whole.

For the first time, that searching feeling inside me gets filled by a woman who's become my everything.

Everything I need.

Everything that could ever make me happy.

I want so badly to make her as happy as she makes me.

God willing, I'll try.

With every day of my life, I'll try to be a better man. A man who deserves her, who's worthy of standing in the light of her sun.

Maybe even worthy enough to be her Gruffykins.

No matter how bright she shines, I'll always love the burn.

But suddenly, somehow, everyone in the courtroom is kissing.

Clara and Yvette.

"Oh, fuck it," Deb says, grabbing one of our lawyers by the tie. She pulls him in and kisses him hard in a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.

Even Marissa throws her hands up.

"Not fair," she says. "Not fair!"

So she rises up on her toes.

Grabs the judge's robe.

And drags him down, planting a big wet one on his lips.

I break back from Elle, looking around the room with a laugh as I hold her tight. "See that? We've started a trend."

"That's a trend I could follow forever," she says, laying her head on my chest, right over the pounding tumble of my heart. "If we can spread this much love with a kiss, I think you'd better kiss me again, Gruffykins."

Goddamn.

Until now, I never thought I'd understand that phrase about lightning striking twice.

Sometimes it does, and sometimes you need the shock and awe.

"Darling brat," I say, bending to take her mouth again with laughter rolling through me, "you only need to ask once."