Laurence stared at him, stunned. "L-Lucas, y-you're speaking. How… how are you doing this?"
His words stumbled out in a daze as flashes of memories returned to him, scenes of how Lucas could speak played out in his mind.
"Wait… you have telepathic gifts," he realized aloud, a smile breaking across his face. "You're like Ryan Hart!"
But better, Lucas responded with a hint of pride. A smile spread across his face, one filled with relief and excitement.
I can communicate telepathically. Everything I want to say, I can say it clearly now. And you, your gift would be insane for combat.
Laurence chuckled, wiping the mist forming in his eyes. "You're so talkative now, I can hardly believe you're actually Lucas."
He laughed, barely able to hold back his emotions. "I'm just so happy. You can finally put words together, express yourself fully."
Lucas's own eyes shimmered, and he gently brushed a hand over them.
Let's enjoy it instead of crying, he thought, his mental voice light but firm. Besides, I've got priorities. I want to talk to a girl.
Laurence burst out laughing, sniffing as he tried to pull himself together. "You're terrible. But, hey, how about Lizzie? She'd be a great start."
She'd be perfect, Lucas replied, and the two of them shared a laugh, finally breaking into a new kind of camaraderie, one defined not by silence, but by words.
---
"Are you guys done?" A woman's voice broke through their thoughts, warm yet commanding.
She appeared in the doorway, looking slightly over thirty, with a familiar face that struck Desmond as deeply comforting.
Something clicked into place in his mind. He glanced at her, a vague memory surfacing.
"Yes, Mom. We've said our goodbyes," Desmond replied instinctively, picturing his real mom's face over this woman's.
The woman nodded, satisfied, then turned her gaze to Lizzie, her expression softening. "Lizzie, darling, study hard, alright? Every class—no matter how boring—is important," she advised.
Lizzie blinked, her mind catching up to the pieces of this reality. Aunty Martha, she recalled, and memories from her novel identity flooded in, reshaping her thoughts.
"I will, Aunt Martha," she replied, managing a polite smile.
From behind Martha, a second woman stepped into view. She looked the same age, with the same blonde hair as Lizzie, and her face lit up with pride as she looked at her daughter.
"I told you, Martha, she already knows all of that. Her mother is a genius, after all," she said with a smirk.
Martha turned to her, rolling her eyes. "You may be a genius, Sarah, but you weren't nearly as attentive in the academy as I was. You probably don't realize just how crucial each subject can be."
Sarah scoffed, waving her off playfully. "Oh, don't mind Aunt Martha, darling," she said, looking at Lizzie. "She's just a little jealous because I topped the class, and she was stuck with third place."
With a mischievous smile, she shifted her gaze to Desmond. "And you, young man—your father may not be one of the gifted, but he still managed to marry a beautiful woman like your mother."
She raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. "So, you still stand a chance with Lizzie here."
Desmond exchanged an awkward glance with Lizzie, who raised her eyebrows at him, half-amused and half-irritated.
A shared thought passed between them as they realized the complexities of navigating these new identities, family dynamics, and, apparently, hints of matchmaking.
"Thanks, Aunt Sarah," he replied, his voice tinged with both amusement and resignation as he glanced back at Lizzie. "I'll keep that in mind."
I'll also keep in mind that your daughter hates boys, he thought to himself, forcing a polite smile.
Sarah chuckled, seeming satisfied.
"That's good to hear. We'll be leaving now." She leaned over and kissed Desmond's forehead before taking her daughter's hand. "Take good care of Desmond, Martha. And take care of yourself."
"Goodbye, Aunt Martha," Lizzie said with a small wave as she and her mother headed out of the cozy, one-story apartment.
"Come here," Martha said gently, opening her arms for Desmond.
This is just temporary. This isn't real, Desmond reminded himself as he stepped into her embrace, though he could already feel the prickling of tears.
It had been nearly a year since he'd hugged his real mom.
Back in reality, his mother was fighting stage four lung cancer. Confined to a hospital bed, the medical bills had piled up faster than his dad could manage.
To cover the bills, his father had borrowed from a loan shark, unknowingly plunging the family deeper into trouble. When he couldn't keep up with the spiraling debt and its mounting interest, he'd made a desperate choice that forever changed their lives.
Desmond's father had committed a robbery at his bank, where he'd spent weeks carefully plotting his escape. Using his good rapport with the security guards, he'd taken them by surprise, shooting them in the legs to incapacitate rather than harm.
In his mind, it was the only way to save his family. He'd taken enough to cover the loan and keep his family afloat, but his freedom was short-lived; he was apprehended just hours later.
His father had managed to hide a portion of the money before his arrest, and he'd told Desmond where to find it, urging him never to give up on his mother.
There's a cost for everything, his dad had said. Those words echoed in Desmond's mind now as he clung to Martha, tears rolling down his cheeks.
"I'm so sorry, Desmond," Martha murmured, pulling him closer as his tears soaked into her shirt.
"Your dad and I... we're sorry." She sighed, a faint sorrow in her voice. "My genes weren't dominant enough, and you inherited your father's instead. That costs you the chance of being one of the gifted. I'm so, so sorry."
Desmond's chest tightened at her words, and he could only nod, taking comfort in her warmth. Though this was only a novel, the emotions he felt were painfully real.
"It's… it's fine, Mom," he whispered, his tears flowing freely. "Just having you and Dad here… that's all I could ever hope for."
His heart ached with an overwhelming blend of relief and sadness, and as he clung to Martha, he felt a surprising warmth from her presence.
She doesn't look like her, but she's just like Mom, he thought, a small, bittersweet smile forming on his lips. Always apologizing for things that were never her fault.
"I love you, Mom," he added, voice barely above a whisper.
Martha's face softened, her eyes shining. "I love you too, sweetheart."
Suddenly, a soft chime sounded in Desmond's ears, jolting him to reality.