Chapter 22
Twenty-two
Luc
Ever since we had lunch with Addie’s sisters, I’ve been thinking. And today is the moment I decide. When I arrived at Addie’s, there were more groceries at the door, things Addie wouldn’t buy for herself.
She didn’t say anything about it, though. She wouldn’t. She and her sisters depend on Ric to talk to Evie, to manage her. I think that’s part of the problem. Addie handles pressure the way other people tune out background noise. She acts like it doesn’t shake anything important.
But I’ve been watching her long enough to see something different.
Despite what she says and what I believe she wants, Evie’s relentless campaign is getting to her.
She goes quiet now when Evie’s name comes up.
She changes the subject if I inquire instead of dealing with it.
And I’m not sure she ever checks in with herself to see how that’s making her feel.
All the things she’s not working through or talking about have to go somewhere.
I helped her bring the groceries in, but she sent me to the living room while she put them away. I could hear her mumbling to herself in there, arguing almost. And at one point, I know she was wiping away tears.
The stress and frustration of Evie’s onslaught shows no signs of slowing down.
So I have to do something. As much as Addie wants to manage her own life, she needs a barrier between her and Evie.
It’s killing me to watch this slow drip.
It’s paralyzed Addie entirely. She can’t move forward or consider our future at all because she’s so focused on holding the line against Evie’s relentless push.
I’ve known people like Evie. They don’t hear no the way most people do. They hear it as an invitation—for logic, guilt, and persistence—until the outcome tilts their way. Addie’s dealt with that her whole life, and she walked away. Only now it seems walking away hasn’t worked.
I consider what would happen if I went to Addie first. I picture sitting across from her, telling her everything, asking what she wants me to do.
She’d tell me she’s fine. She’d say not to make it a big deal. That it’s complicated, and Ric’s handling it. She’d tell me not to intervene.
But is that the right call? I’m not sure how effective Ric can be in this case, and I’ve seen what happens when no one steps in. How quickly it turns into something else Addie has to absorb and carry on her own.
The last thing I want is to put yet another thing on Addie’s plate that she has to think about, coach me through, and if someone doesn’t get through to Evie, nothing changes.
So I’ll just get ahead of it, take some of the pressure off Addie before it builds into something worse. If Evie backs off, Addie gets space. The pressure eases. That’s better for everyone.
I feel a flicker of hesitation, remembering how mad Addie got when I reached out after Evie approached me a few weeks ago. But this is different. We’ve come a long way since then. I’m not trying to take over. This is support, getting Addie what she needs.
It has to be done. Surely, Addie will understand. The more I think about it, the more urgent it seems, and by the end of the afternoon, my heart is telling me there’s no time to talk it through with Addie, even if I wanted to. I just need to make it stop.
After my last patient, I grab my jacket and rehearse what I want to say—calm tone, clear boundaries, facts only.
I drive up the winding road to the Black Bear Vineyard and park in the parking lot.
I look around until I identify the administrative building, and then I go inside and ask the receptionist if I can speak to Evelyn Dempsey.
“Do you have an appointment?” he asks.
“No. Please tell her it’s Lucas Anderson. I think she’ll see me without one.”
He nods, picks up the phone, and whispers in the receiver as he looks me over. Then he hangs up. “You can go back. Her office is all the way down the hall.”
“Thank you.”
I walk back, past dozens of empty cubicles. At the last office is a placard that reads Evelyn Dempsey, and I knock on the closed door.
“Come in.”
Evie looks up at me and doesn’t miss a beat. No hesitation, no adjustment, just a small shift in her posture like this is exactly what she expected. I should clock that. I don’t. I’m already too far in.
She gestures for me to step inside and asks me to close the door. “Lucas,” she says. Neutral. Polite. “What can I do for you?”
I don’t sit. I stay where I am, hands loose at my sides, voice even. I’ve had harder conversations than this. And I’ve learned that volume doesn’t equal strength, and neither does aggression. “I’m here about Addie.”
Her expression shifts, a tightening around the eyes, a pause. “I figured,” she says. “She didn’t mention you were coming.”
“She doesn’t know,” I tell her.
“That’s interesting,” she says. “And why is that?”
“Because she shouldn’t have to be bothered with this,” I say. “Not right now.”
Evie leans back against her chair, arms folding over her chest. “Addison is an adult,” she says. “She’s perfectly capable of speaking for herself.”
“I completely agree,” I tell her. “But in some cases, people aren’t listening.”
“And yet,” Evie continues, unbothered, “you’re here speaking for her.”
I meet her gaze. I don’t flinch. “I’m here to set a boundary.”
Evie tilts her head.
“She’s feeling a lot of pressure,” I explain. “From all sides. She doesn’t need you pushing her to move. She wants to stay where she is.”
Evie’s mouth curves slightly. Not a smile. Something sharper. “You’re very confident about what Addison needs.”
“I’m even more confident about what she doesn’t,” I counter. “She doesn’t need to be uprooted from the life she’s created for herself.”
There’s a beat of silence. I can almost see Evie’s calculation. Push back and escalate. Deflect and redirect. Or disengage and regroup later.
“And if I disagree?” she asks.
“Then we disagree,” I say. “But the boundary stands.” Suddenly, I feel the need to clarify, and that leaves me improvising. “Any concerns, any conversations you need to have—you bring them to me. Not her.”
Evie’s eyes narrow. “And you’ve decided this without consulting her?”
“Yes,” I say. But now I feel a little unsure.
Her gaze sharpens. “That’s not your call.”
“I’m not making decisions for her,” I clarify. “I’m limiting access. I’ll be the go-between.” Although now I’m not sure that’s true.
Evie exhales slowly through her nose. “You’re assuming she wants you in that position.”
I hold steady. “I’m willing to take that risk.”
That’s when I see it, a quick recalculation. The moment she needs to decide whether I’m worth pushing.
“Fine,” she says at last.
I’m not sure why she’s agreed, but suddenly, I really want to get out of here, so I nod once and turn for the door.
I’ve said what I came to say. The line is drawn, clean and visible.
As I step back into the hallway, a sense of completion fills my chest. I don’t feel triumphant, but I feel responsible.
I took action to help someone I care about.
I doubt Addie will even know I did this. I picture Addie’s shoulders relaxing once the questions have stopped, the pressure eased. I imagine her feeling ready to focus on what she wants for the future, rather than just what she doesn’t want.
The hallway is quiet, and I breeze past the receptionist and back outside. I’m on the way to the car when I see Sera in the distance. She freezes in place, looking at me.
I wave and continue walking. I didn’t count on seeing anyone else while I was here. But maybe that won’t matter.
I’m not even back to my office when my phone pings.
Emma: What were you doing out at the vineyard today?
A jolt goes through me. How does Emma know anything about this? Did Sera say something? Did Evie? How did she frame it?
The light changes, but I don’t move right away. Something squeezes in my chest. I may have miscalculated.
I call Addie. It goes to voicemail.
The certainty that propelled me into Evie’s office starts to thin. Addie always answers. If she can’t, she texts—even a single line.
I try again a few minutes later. Same result.
I tell myself she’s busy, or maybe she’s resting. But the longer the silence stretches, the less convincing that explanation becomes. Instead, it makes me wonder if the network has been activated. I mean, of course, it has. All my visions of her never knowing about this seem ridiculous now.
So I drive right to her apartment, and I let myself in with the key she gave me. “Hello?”
Addie looks up from the couch, and what I see on her face is not anger. It’s something flatter. More contained. She looks at me the way she does when she’s already made a decision. “Did you go out to the vineyard and talk to Evie today?” she asks.
No preamble. Just the question.
“Yes,” I say because there’s no point lying.
Her jaw tightens. “I thought so.”
I wait for the rest. The reaction I told myself I would get—relief, maybe. Or at least acknowledgment.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, she nods once, like she’s filing the information away. “Okay.”
That’s it. One word. Final in a way that doesn’t invite response.
But I don’t know what that means, so I can’t stop myself. “I told her to stop asking you to move back to the vineyard,” I tell her. “I drew a line.”
Addison turns away then, busying herself with an art magazine. I’m immediately aware that I’m on the outside of something I thought I was fixing from within.
I watch her for a moment, the way her hands move with too much care. The way she keeps her back to me, creating space without making a scene.
She sighs.
“I just asked her to back off. I didn’t like seeing you upset. I wanted to help, to try attacking the problem from a different angle.”
“Did you ask me first?” she says.
The question is simple. It shouldn’t be hard to answer.
“No,” I say. “I didn’t think you—”
She nods, like that confirms something she’d already figured out. She doesn’t even let me finish. “Okay.”
That word again.
“I was supporting you,” I add, because I need her to understand. “She was relentless. You were carrying too much. I thought if I handled it—”
She turns then and finally looks at me. Her expression isn’t angry. It’s measured. That’s worse. “You thought,” she says.
“I know you can handle your life,” I add quickly. “That’s not what this is about. I just didn’t think you should have to. Not alone. I hate seeing you this way. I want you to be able to focus on other things. On what you want.”
“I’m not handling her alone,” she says. Her voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t waver. “I have my brother and sisters.”
“But it’s just endless. I feel like you can’t think straight because so much energy goes into telling her no over and over again. I didn’t mean to take anything away from you,” I say. “I just wanted to give you some space. Some room to think about other things.”
“You decided what that would look like,” she says. “Without me.”
I open my mouth, and then close it. I’m searching for the right phrasing, something that will bridge the gap between intention and outcome. “She paused when I pushed back,” I say. “And then she agreed. I’m hoping that meant something. I thought if I drew a line, she’d back off.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Addie asks. “What’s the plan then?”
“I’ll handle it,” I say.
She studies me for a long moment. “That’s the problem,” she says. “You think this is yours to handle.”
I feel the room grow cold. “I didn’t think—”
“I know,” she says, cutting in gently. “That’s the part that hurts.” She takes a breath. “You didn’t trust me enough to ask. Or you trusted your judgment more than mine.”
“That’s not fair,” I say, immediately regretting the way it sounds.
She shrugs. “It’s honest.”
The room feels smaller now. I realize I’ve been operating like this is something I can talk my way through. Like there’s a right combination of words that will undo the decision I already made.
“I thought I was protecting you,” I say, quieter.
“I didn’t need protection,” she says. “I needed partnership.”
“That’s what I need too,” I tell her. “I need you focused on the future, on our baby, on what life is going to look like. Not fighting the same fight you’ve had for a decade.”
She looks up at me, her eyes hard. “I admit that I’m struggling here. But that doesn’t give you the right to decide for me.” She sighs. “I’ve spent my whole life with people telling me what matters most. I’m not doing that again.” She turns away.
Now, I truly have no idea what to do with myself. It’s like she’s asking for something she won’t give me in return. I don’t know how we’re ever going to come to an agreement or find a way to compromise.
“Luc?” she calls after a moment, glancing over her shoulder.
I look up at her, forcing my body language to stay open, to be ready for what she needs from me.
“I need you to go.”
But that takes my breath away.
I stand there a moment longer, waiting for something in her to shift, for her to turn back, soften it, give me something to work with.
She doesn’t.
“Addie—”
She shakes her head, still not looking at me. “I’m done, Luc.”
The words don’t process all at once. They drag.
“With this,” she adds, like I might have missed it. “With us.”
I stand there, trying to find an angle, something to push against. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” Her voice doesn’t rise. If anything, it drops. “I’m not doing this with you. Not like this.”
My chest tightens. “So that’s it?”
She finally turns, but there’s nothing in her face I can use. “Yes.”
I hold her gaze a second, waiting for something to crack.
Her expression doesn’t change.
So I nod once, more to myself than to her, and cross the room. My hand catches on the back of the couch before I let it go and keep moving.
I collect my coat and step out, pulling the door shut behind me, even as I resist the urge to argue. She’s not going to hear anything I have to say right now.