The Unfinished Vow

Iris Quinn had never believed that someone could come back from the dead. But standing there now, staring at the man in the dealer's seat at the poker table, she was not so sure anymore. He wore a black turtleneck. A cigarette rested between his pale fingers, his whole posture lazy and unhurried, yet somehow radiating the kind of innate arrogance that came from looking down on the world. And the face. That face was identical to Lucas Sterling, the boyfriend she had lost in a car crash five years ago. Iris stared, frozen. Maybe she was looking too hard. He caught her gaze and raised an eyebrow. "Whose guest is that? She's been standing there forever. Someone bring her in." His voice hit Iris like a physical blow. She would never forget that voice. In the five years since Lucas died, she had fallen asleep and woken up to the sound of it in her head, crying through countless nights. But somehow, he didn't recognize her. Her feet felt glued to the tiles at the doorway. She could not move a single step. Then her friend Warren Winters came over and tugged at her arm. "Iris, you made it. Why are you just standing out here in the cold?" Iris forced her face into something resembling a smile and failed completely. "Warren, who is that?" "Who?" Warren took a second to catch up. "Oh, the guy who just spoke? That's Lucas Sterling. We grew up together. He only came back from overseas a few years ago. I never got around to introducing you." Lucas. 'The same face. The same voice. The same name. Could the world really serve up a coincidence like that?' Iris could not stop herself from looking again. "Lucas, how many hands is that? Leave us some cigarette money, man." A dramatic groan erupted from the poker table. Lucas just laughed, lit a fresh cigarette, and got to his feet. "Nobody wants your pocket change. Keep it. I'm stepping out to take a call." And then he walked toward Iris. Closer and closer, and right past her. Iris pulled free of Warren's grip almost instantly and spun around, chasing after him. "Hey! Iris!" Warren's protests trailed behind her, but Iris could only see Lucas ahead of her. She did not look back. Outside, the covered walkway glowed warmly under yellow lights in the snowy night. Lucas stood beneath the eaves in the distance, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he talked on the phone. The moment he spotted Iris, he stubbed out his cigarette. Watching that small gesture, Iris felt her chest tighten. He used to do that. Lucas had never been a heavy smoker, but on the rare occasions she caught him with a cigarette, he always put it out immediately. "Secondhand smoke is bad for you," he would say. "I have to take care of your health." And then he would give her a kiss that tasted of tobacco. Now, standing in front of this Lucas, who had just ended his call, Iris spoke his name softly. "Lucas." He looked at her. They held each other's gaze for a long moment before he finally walked over. He stopped just a step away. "You were looking for me?" He was gentle and polite, nothing like the clingy, head-over-heels Lucas she remembered. Iris curled her fingers into her palms. "My name is Iris Quinn. I was wondering if we could get to know each other." She did not know if this man was her Lucas. But something inside her simply wanted to be near him. She could not explain it. Her breath came in quick, nervous puffs of white mist, blurring his expression. She thought she heard him let out a soft laugh. Then he stepped past her, pushed open the door, and called back into the house. "Warren. Keep an eye on your girl."