Chapter 26
Luke
Luke watched Grace disappear through the school doors before he pulled away from the curb.
His hands were tight on the wheel, tighter than they needed to be.
She was fine. She was in a building full of people. Surrounded by kids who loved her and colleagues who—
Who what? Respected her? Trusted her?
Or quietly wondered what trouble she'd gotten herself into this time?
Was the whole town as petty as his own parents?
Last night replayed in his head on a loop.
He'd broken every speed limit getting there.
And when he'd walked through that door and seen her on the couch—blanket wrapped around her shoulders, eyes too wide, shaking—
Luke pressed his palms flat against the steering wheel and exhaled slowly.
He wanted to arrest someone.
Whoever had stood outside her house. Whoever had made her feel unsafe in her own space. Whoever had scared her badly enough that her hands were still trembling when he'd knelt in front of her.
Luke's mind circled back to the thing he'd been trying not to think about since last night.
He'd seen Eli leave and Luke had still left her alone. Unprotected. Vulnerable.
Of course he'd left. Didn't he always?
Grace had let him into her house. Into her bed. And he'd left her before dawn. Every single time.
He'd never stayed.
Not once.
Not when she'd curled against him, warm and sleep-soft. Not when he'd felt the question hovering unspoken in the air between them. Not even when she outright asked him to.
Luke's throat felt tight.
He'd treated her like a secret.
Like something shameful.
Like she wasn't worth the risk of being seen.
Luke turned onto Maple Street and slowed as Grace's house came into view.
He pulled into the driveway. No more parking around the corner. No more pretending he had any discretion when it came to Grace Hart.
Luke cut the engine and sat for a second, staring at the house.
White siding that needed paint. A porch railing that sagged slightly on one side. Flower boxes waiting for spring.
A home.
Her home.
So much more alive than his own.
Luke climbed the front steps and tested the door.
Locked. Good.
He moved around the side of the house, checking windows, looking for signs of forced entry, anything that might tell him who'd been here last night and what they'd wanted.
Luke crouched near the back door, studying the faint scoring near the lock.
His jaw clenched.
He straightened and scanned the backyard. Small. Neat. A little patio with two chairs and a table from a yard sale.
She liked to sit out here on summer evenings. Book in hand. Bare feet. That little crease between her eyebrows when she was concentrating.
He'd hustled her inside when he came to see her.
Had never sat with her in her backyard.
Luke pressed his palms against his eyes.
He'd been so fucking stupid.
And now someone was threatening her. Someone who knew where she lived, who knew when she was alone, who'd gotten close enough to touch her.
Luke's hands curled into fists.
That was done.
He was going to find whoever was doing this. Eliminate the threat. Make sure Grace never had to be afraid in her own home again.
But after—
After, he was going to make his case.
He wanted to drive her to school every morning. He wanted to walk her home every afternoon. To sit across from her at his kitchen table and drink coffee and be present in all the small, ordinary ways he'd refused before.
He was going to earn back what he'd thrown away.
And if she still didn't want him—if the damage was too deep, if he'd burned it all down past repair—
Luke straightened and pulled out his phone.
He took photos of the scratches near the lock. The sight lines from the street. The places where someone could have stood and watched without being seen.
Whoever this was—whoever thought they could scare her, threaten her, make her feel unsafe—
They'd made a mistake.
Because Luke Bennett might be a coward when it came to his own heart.
But when it came to protecting Grace Hart?
He'd burn the whole town down if he had to.
The squad room hummed with its usual morning rhythm—keyboards clicking, radio chatter, the burnt-coffee smell that never quite left. Sullivan was already at his desk. Mercer leaned against the file cabinet, arms crossed, talking to Davis from traffic.
Luke logged into his computer and pulled up the incident report from last night.
"Well, well," Mercer said. "Look who decided to show up."
Luke didn't look up. "I'm on time."
"Barely," Sullivan muttered.
"Had to make a stop first," Luke said evenly.
"Yeah?" Mercer's tone was pointed. "How's the Hart girl doing this morning?"
Luke's fingers stilled on the keyboard.
The room didn't go quiet—not exactly. But the quality of sound changed. Sullivan's typing slowed. Davis shifted his weight.
Waiting.
Luke closed the report and turned his chair to face them.
"Her name is Grace," he said.
Mercer's eyebrows lifted. "Sure. Grace. How's she doing?"
"She's fine," Luke said. "Considering someone tried to break into her house last night."
"Right." Mercer exchanged a glance with Sullivan. "The mysterious intruder."
"There were tool marks on the back door," Luke said flatly. "Fresh ones. I photographed them this morning."
Davis let out a low whistle. "Man, you're really taking this community outreach thing seriously."
A few snickers rippled through the room.
Luke stood.
The movement was deliberate enough that the snickering stopped.
“Grace Hart deserves your respect,” Luke said, pitching his voice to carry. "And I'm not going to stand here and listen to anyone talk about her like she's a joke or a problem or anything other than what she is—a person who called 911 because she was scared."
Sullivan cleared his throat. "We weren't—"
"You were," Luke said. "Yesterday. Last night. Just now."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"She's a first-grade teacher who has never done a damn thing wrong. Her mother got caught shoplifting and her brother hot-wired a few cars years ago. This town needs to get over it.”
Mercer's expression had gone carefully neutral. "Okay."
“Someone is threatening her. Someone waited outside her house. Tried to get in. Scared her badly enough that she was shaking when I got there."
He let that sit.
"So we're going to take this seriously. We're going to treat her calls with the same urgency we'd give anyone else. And we're going to stop acting like she deserves what's happening to her."
Sullivan had the decency to look uncomfortable.
Davis spoke up from the back. "Are you... involved with her, Bennett?"
Luke's jaw tightened.
This was it. The moment.
He could deflect. Downplay. Say he was just doing his job.
All the things he would have said a week ago.
"I was," Luke said. “Until I fucked it up. Because I was more concerned about what people in this room would think of me than about treating her the way she deserved."
No one seemed to know what to say to that.
"So yeah," Luke continued. "I'm involved. And I'm done pretending I’m not.”
He looked at Mercer directly.
"You have a problem with that?"
Mercer held his gaze for a long moment. Then shrugged. "Your life, man."
"That's right," Luke said. "It is."
He turned back to his desk and sat down, blood pounding in his ears.
Behind him, the squad room slowly resumed its normal rhythm.
Luke opened the incident report again and started typing. His hands were steadier than he expected.
A few minutes later, Mercer dropped into the chair beside Luke's desk.
"For what it's worth," Mercer said quietly, "I wasn't trying to give her a hard time. Hart name comes with baggage. You know how it is."
It wasn't an apology. But it was something.
"I do," Luke said. "That's the problem."
Mercer nodded slowly. "We'll keep an eye out. Make sure patrol swings by regularly."
“I appreciate it,” Luke said.
Mercer stood. "You really care about her, huh?"
Luke met his eyes. "Yeah. I really do."
"Then you should probably figure out how to fix whatever you fucked up," Mercer said.
Luke huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. "Working on it."
Mercer clapped him on the shoulder once. "Good luck, man."
Luke glanced at the clock. Only another five hours until he would see her again.