Chapter 8
Luke
Luke pushed into the squad room determined to feel normal.
Normal was the goal.
Normal meant he wasn’t thinking about Grace Hart. Or the tiny, stupid ache in his chest every time he checked his silent phone.
Mercer was leaning back in his chair, boots up on the desk, laughing with Sullivan over a file spread between them.
“Another mailbox baseball on County Road,” Sullivan said, shaking his head. “Used to be you could solve half these petty crimes by checking which Hart kid was bored that week.”
Mercer snorted. “Swear to God, it’s almost harder to do police work now that they all scattered. Back in the day you could just shrug and go, ‘Yeah, probably a Hart,’ and call it good.”
They both laughed.
Luke sat down at his desk, tried to ignore them.
He’d heard these stories his whole life. Everyone had. Crystal Lake didn’t forget things—it passed them down like folklore.
You didn’t just represent yourself—you represented your badge, your family, your future.
Mercer tipped his chair back another inch. “Man, remember when Eli Hart hotwired half the cars on Miller Street? Kid thought he was some kind of Oceans Eleven.”
Sullivan laughed harder. “The dad was even worse. And the mom. Whole damn family tree’s a cautionary tale.”
Luke stared at a spot on the table.
Crystal Lake had long memories and short mercy.
The Harts had given it reasons—real ones, not invented—and the town had taken those reasons and built a wall around the whole family.
Luke had never thought to question it. It had always just been there, the way Main Street was there, the way the lake was there. Part of the landscape.
Sullivan kept going. “Surprised that girl turned out halfway decent with blood like that.”
A wrong perception stuck. Promotions stalled. Trust eroded. Doors quietly closed.
He’d worked too hard to pretend otherwise.
Luke injected anyway. “Grace is more than halfway decent.”
Sullivan shrugged, unbothered. “Sure. I guess. For a Hart.”
Luke swallowed hard. Reputation mattered. Stability mattered. Not making waves mattered.
Grace volunteered on half the committees in town and it still wasn't enough. Not for Mercer and Sullivan. Not for his parents. Not for Crystal Lake's long memory.
Luke had to remember that.
The town council seat his mother had already started quietly positioning him for didn't leave room for complications. That was just reality. That was just how this worked.
Mercer nodded at the file. “Anyway… now we actually have to investigate petty vandalism instead of just knocking on the Harts’ door. Takes all the fun out of the job.”
Another round of laughter. Luke frowned.
Sullivan finally looked up. “You good, Bennett?”
“Fine,” Luke said.
Mercer stretched. “Not that I would mind knocking on Miss Hart’s door. She was doing crosswalk duty at the school. Looked good.”
Luke stared at his coffee. It suddenly tasted bitter enough to choke him.
Keeping things quiet mattered. Protecting what he’d built mattered.
He wasn’t about to snap at Mercer over an offhand comment. Grace wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t his responsibility.
This was exactly why keeping things quiet had been the right call.
Exactly why he hadn’t wanted to be seen with her in public, why he hadn’t wanted questions, speculation, assumptions. Once people started talking, they didn’t stop.
He wasn’t ashamed of her. He was just being practical.
Anyway, now they were over. Grace had ended it.
This was better. Simpler.
Luke wrapped his fingers around his mug, ignoring the sting of heat against his skin.
He was going to miss the sex—sure.
That didn’t mean he was willing to risk everything he’d built just to be with her.
Some things you kept private.
Some things you outgrew.
He didn’t care that she hadn’t texted. Didn’t care that she wasn’t checking in.
They were over. What did he care?
Luke was halfway through explaining insurance protocol to a red-faced seventeen-year-old and her mother when he saw her.
The accident itself was barely worth the paperwork. A dented bumper. A cracked taillight. A teenager who had misjudged the four-way stop on Alder and clipped another vehicle at low speed.
The movement on the sidewalk caught his attention.
Grace.
She was walking home from school, tote on her shoulder, hair pulled back the way she wore it when she’d been wrangling first graders all day.
Something tightened low in his chest.
God, she looked good.
She slowed when she saw them. Her gaze skimmed the scene—the teenager, the broken glass, him.
Luke straightened without meaning to.
He lifted a hand. A small wave. Automatic. Familiar.
For a second—just a second—her eyes met his.
Blank.
Polite.
Professional.
Like he was Officer Bennett handling a routine call and nothing more. Like he was a stranger to her. Like there was nothing there worth reacting to at all.
And then she looked away.
Luke’s hand froze midair.
Grace kept walking. She didn’t even acknowledge him beyond that brief, impersonal glance.
Luke’s hand remained suspended a beat too long before he dropped it back to his side.
“Officer?” the mother prompted.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “You’ll want to contact your insurance within twenty-four hours.”
His voice sounded normal. Calm. Controlled.
Inside, something hollowed out.
Grace had never looked at him like that.
Her face used to light up when she saw him. Even in public, even when he’d given her nothing to work with. There had always been that flicker—warmth, recognition, something unmistakable.
Now there was nothing.
Good. That was…good.
This was what he’d wanted.
Distance. Discretion. No scenes in the middle of town.
He’d told her what he could offer. He’d been honest.
He handed the teenager her copy of the report. “Drive carefully.”
“Yes, sir.”
Luke stepped back toward his cruiser, staring after Grace’s retreating form down the sidewalk.
She didn’t look back.
She was proving a point. That’s all this was. Hurt pride.
Women didn’t like being turned down. But the fall festival?
That had been a bad idea. Crazy, honestly. The whole town would’ve been there. Everyone watching. Talking. Drawing conclusions.
His position in the town mattered. Stability. Reputation. Doing his job well. Not giving people reasons to talk.
He climbed into the cruiser and shut the door harder than necessary.
It wasn’t complicated.
It had been just sex.
Phenomenal, sure—the kind that rewired your expectations—but nothing more than chemistry.
Grace liked him. Liked his body. Liked what he did to her.
This silence? A bluff.
She’d cool off.
Still…
The image of her walking away without looking back kept replaying, sharp and irritating.
Well, Luke could compromise. If she wanted something more public, he could figure something out. Dinner the next town over. Somewhere neutral. Somewhere no one knew their names.
Grace was smart.
She understood why he couldn’t be seen with her.
Not in this town.