Chapter Twenty-Two
LUKE
The second I stepped into the restaurant, I regretted coming. It was loud in a way that grated—too many people, too much forced laughter. It was the popular hangout, and we came because it had the best burgers around. I could do without some of the crowd.
Chase bumped my shoulder with his. “Don’t look now. Elise and her minions are here.”
Not what I need. I didn’t answer and instead made my way to the front. It didn’t take long to put our food order in and pick it up from the counter.
We found our usual table in the back—round, semi-private, but still obnoxiously on display. Theo sprawled into one of the corner seats, already halfway through a basket of fries. Jax slid in beside him, pushing at Chase until he moved. Chase flipped him off and dropped into the seat next to me.
Tori showed up a beat later, tossing her jacket on the back of Theo’s chair before climbing onto his lap, claiming it as if it was hers by birthright. He didn’t even blink, just wrapped an arm around her waist and kept chewing.
Nina was across the room, elbow propped against the bar, laughing at something some lacrosse bro was saying. The guy leaned in close. She didn't lean away.
I kept my head down until I caught the edge of a familiar intoxicating laugh. My eyes snapped up. And there she was—Mila.
Tucked into a booth across the room, back straight, hair loose around her shoulders and tumbling down her back.
Her fingers danced around the edge of her pop, and she smiled at something the guy standing in front of her table said.
I recognized him from the football team.
Simon. He was a wide receiver. Decent guy.
Didn’t mean he was good enough for Mila.
Jealousy cracked through me as merciless as a whip.
She looked up as Simon sat next to her, Avery and her friends chatting away like there wasn’t going to be an explosion of detrimental proportions in zero point two seconds. And for a moment—just one—our eyes locked. The world went quiet. Her smile faltered.
Then she blinked, looked away, and leaned slightly toward Simon. Her shoulder brushed his as she reached for her drink.
Jax snorted beside me. “Guess she’s not too broken up about you.”
I shoved past him and took the seat farthest from where she sat, my back angled just enough that I could still see her in the mirror behind the bar. I told myself it was coincidence. Even I didn’t believe that.
Elise slid into the chair beside me, her bracelet clinking against the table, a deliberate mark announcing her arrival. Always performing. Always demanding attention. She followed my line of sight, her body bracing momentarily when she realized who I was watching.
“Didn’t think we would see her here.” Her voice dripped honey-laced poison.
“What the fuck do you want Elise?” I glared before glancing at the menu board above the counter even though I wasn’t planning on ordering anything more.
She leaned into my side, her red manicured nails grasping onto my bicep. “I’m just saying. I didn’t realize they let strays in.”
I didn’t answer. Some of the guys got up, bringing back more food. I continued to stew in my seat, my gaze locked on Mila’s table while Elise fluttered around me, a buzzing nuisance I couldn’t swat away.
As soon as the guys were deep in a conversation about our next game, she leaned in. “You know my dad keeps saying it’s time we make things official.”
I looked at her sideways. “Pretty sure your dad’s idea of official is a press release.”
She smiled, calculating and practiced. “Just think about it. Your family. My family. Top two names in Blackwood.”
I smirked. “King Enterprises still outranks Dunn Investments by a few zeros. You sure your dad wants that comparison?”
“Power shifts fast—you know that.” She tapped her manicured nails against the table, each click deliberate. “But alliances last. And I’m the right one.”
“You’re not pitching a merger.”
“No,” she said, turning her head slightly, letting her hair fall over her shoulder. “I’m offering you security when things go sideways.”
I raised a brow. “This your idea of flirting?” She couldn’t know shit, but regardless, I was going to have to pass this little threat over to either Drew or my dad. Because in these types of situations, there would always be solidarity in family.
“This is my idea of reality.” Her voice dropped lower. “You and Mila? That’s chaos. We’re certainty.”
A beat stretched between us. I laughed under my breath. “You mean convenient.”
“I mean inevitable.” Her nails clicked again. “And I can make the noise around her disappear. All of it. The rumors, the whispers, the shit people are too polite to say to her face… or aren’t. I can end it with a look.”
I stared at her. “You know how to start it too, though, don’t you?”
She shrugged. “Depends on whether I’m protecting something… or breaking it.”
Her hand settled possessively on my thigh under the table.
Across the room, Mila nudged Simon. He stood as she grabbed her bag then slid out of the booth. Her head turned just enough to catch Elise’s hand still resting on me. Something flickered across her face.
Pain? Anger? Disgust? She looked away before I could tell. I shoved Elise’s hand off me.
“Don’t touch me.”
She tilted her head, trying to disguise a flicker of unease. “You’re not mad I said it. You’re mad I’m right.”
“I’m annoyed you think you matter.”
Elise’s smile didn’t fade. “You’ll see, Luke. When everything else falls apart, I’ll still be here.”
I pushed back from the table and stood. She didn’t try to stop me.
Outside, the air was cooler, denser than I expected.
Thick clouds strangled the last of the light, casting everything in that pre-storm grayscale that made edges blur.
Thunder cracked low and slow, a precursor of what was to come.
Mila was already halfway to the lot, moving fast, as if she needed the pending storm to swallow her whole.
Behind us, the diner windows threw rectangles of light across the lot. From certain angles, anyone inside could see out—the glass catching movement more than details. Elise was still in there. So were Avery and Simon. Maybe they would notice, or not. The thought should’ve stopped me. It didn’t.
“Hey.” My voice came out rougher than I meant it to.
She didn’t stop walking. “What?”
“That guy.” I fell into step beside her. “He’s not your type.”
She stopped then. Turned to face me, eyes narrowed. “Oh, and what is my type, Luke?”
Me. I glared at her. “Not him.”
She scoffed. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to look at me that way with her still clinging to you, acting as if she owns you.”
“I didn’t invite her to sit next to me.”
“But you didn’t push her away either, did you?”
I wasn’t giving her an answer, not when she seemed more than happy to have Simon next to her.
She shook her head. “You think you know me. You don’t. Not anymore.”
“I know what we are,” I said.
Her laugh was soft. Broken. “No. You know what we were.”
My fingers itched. And before I could stop myself, I reached out—just a brush of knuckles along the curve of her hip.
She sucked in a breath. Froze. Just stared.
I stepped closer. Her back hit the car behind her. We were in the shadows between two parked cars, mostly hidden from the windows but not invisible. If Elise craned her neck, if Avery looked out at just the right moment… they would see. The risk only made my pulse kick harder.
My hand planted on the metal near her shoulder, caging her in. Her eyes darkened.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
But when my mouth crashed into hers, it was ignition—a spark to gasoline, and we were already soaked in everything that could burn.
She froze a fraction longer than she should have, like something else was in her head. For a second, I thought she might shove me off. But then her fingers fisted my shirt, gripping me like an anchor, the only thing keeping her from drowning.
And I let her. Because I was already gone.
The way she kissed me—fuck, it was ruin and resurrection. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t shy. It was teeth and tongue, a year of silence detonating between us. Every breath we didn’t take together. Every word we’d choked back. All of it surged through our bodies, wild as a power line snapping loose.
She tasted of salt and storm and home—every place I’d ever run from and every reason I wanted to stay.
Inside, a burst of laugher hit the glass.
Mila broke just long enough to dart a glance toward the diner window, as if half-afraid someone was watching.
Her lips were swollen, breath ragged, but when she met my gaze again, she didn’t pull away.
She kissed me harder, daring the whole damn town to see.
Her mouth moved against mine, as though she could memorize the shape of redemption. Her hands slid up my chest, frantic, trembling, grounding herself and setting fire at the same time.
I grabbed her waist, hauled her tighter against me, her heartbeat crashing into mine. There was no space. No logic. Just her.
She kissed like she’d break if she stopped. As if this was all we had. I could feel her anger in the way she gripped me, taste her fear in the way her breath hitched when I deepened it.
And maybe that was why I couldn’t stop. I needed her to feel this. To know I still wanted her. Needed her. That she ruined me and rebuilt me in the same kiss.
I slid a hand in her hair, tilted her chin. She moaned into my mouth, and I swear it undid me.
Because she was right there—broken and bold and mine.
I kissed her, starved, as though she was the only thing that could fill the hollow in my chest. And maybe she was.
She made me desperate. Made me dangerous. And when she pulled away, just barely, breath ragged, eyes wild—I didn’t see the girl who left. I saw the girl I never stopped loving. The girl who could still bring me to my knees. Even if she was the one who taught me how to fall.
Then she shoved me back a step, our breath crashing between us. “That can’t happen again.”
“Why not?” My voice rumbled low.
She blinked up at me. “Because we don’t trust each other.”
The words hit harder than they should’ve. I knew why—I’d iced her out the second she came back. She’d vanished without warning, left me with questions and no answers. And she still hadn’t told me everything. Not about her mom. Not about that night.
Trust wasn’t a switch. It was a thread—frayed, knotted, one pull from snapping.
Then she turned and walked away. This time, I didn’t stop her—but not because I didn’t want to. Because if I did, I wouldn’t let her go again.