The Only Exception >> L.H.

02: "pancakes and crumbly eggs"

Allison's POV

Luke and I spend the next thirty minutes trying to bring his body temperature back to normal. We say nothing other than a few here's and thank you's. It's awkward but familiar; deja vu for moments that never quite happened.

He is sitting on the couch in a pair of Melvin's sweatpants he left here one night and an old hoodie I found in the back of my closet.

I change into something more appropriate (joggers and a sweatshirt from college) and sit down on the couch. Luke clasps the warm cup of tea between his hands, staring at the plush carpet beneath his feet.

I continue to say nothing, not because I'm waiting for him to talk, but because I don't know what to say. What do you say when your boyfriend from high school shows up at your house in the middle of the night? What do you do?

I let him walk into my house like he was an old friend- in a way he was, but there's more to that story. A thought crosses my mind that sends a rush of fear through my body.

Maybe he's trying to trick me into letting him in my house so he can kill me. Maybe he's been in a psych ward and escaped, and he's going to murder me. Maybe he used a kid to get me to let him in.

I look from him to the bassinet where the sleeping child is, and then back to him. I toss the thought aside, knowing there is no way he'd use an innocent person in his scheme. If he wanted to kill me, he would sneak up behind me and stab me in the back.

I'm slightly concerned that I know this about him. It's something seventeen-year-old me would think, not the adult me. Perhaps it was something the two of us talked about one time over the phone when neither of us wanted to go to sleep.

I shake my head, pushing thoughts of high school in the back of my mind. I lock the thoughts of Luke into a box, scared of what I'd find if I let it open.

"It's good tea," Luke finally says as he sips on the warm liquid. "What kind is it?"

"French vanilla, I believe," I tell him. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but why exactly are you here? How did you find my address?"

"I went to your parent's house. They seemed a little concerned about why I was asking for you, but Carter gave it to me. I probably looked desperate standing on your porch with a screaming six-month-old," he chuckles.

"Okay, but why are you here? You can't just show up at someone's house unannounced. Especially after-" I stop myself. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you have a valid reason for this."

"I do," he answers plainly.

He sets the half-empty cup down on a coaster and runs his hands together, leaning over as if he's going to be sick. I'm afraid he is as his face turns pale. He lips his bottom lip, sighing as he searches for the right words.

"My-my wife," he stutters. "She left me."

I'm slightly taken aback. "You were married?"

"Am married. Three years," he says, narrowing his eyes as he looks up to stare at the wall.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I had no idea."

I start to move closer to place my hand on his back, but I stop myself. There is too much between us for me to throw my arms around him and hold him, and tell him that he can cry if he wants. I don't get to be that person for him anymore.

"I don't expect you to. It was a small ceremony, and you-" he clears his throat. "Anyway, I came home one night, and she was gone. Packed her things and left."

"When was this?" I ask.

"Three days ago."

"Have you tried calling her?"