Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
KATE
The first time Lukas shows up after everything, it’s at the school.
It’s not unexpected. Not ambushing me in a car park or appearing on my doorstep like some grand romantic gesture that belongs in a film rather than real life.
The Panthers have been running outreach sessions with the older kids for months, and today’s visit has been on the calendar since before everything between us fell apart.
I know he’ll be here.
That doesn’t stop my stomach from knotting itself into something tight and painful the second I see him walk into the sports hall.
The noise level shifts immediately. A cluster of Year Tens near the entrance starts whispering excitedly, while one of the teaching assistants nearly walks into a stack of cones, trying not to stare.
Lukas smiles politely at someone who calls his name, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, but there’s a tiredness to him now that wasn’t there before.
His eyes find mine across the hall almost instantly.
Neither of us moves. The noise of bouncing basketballs and shrieking teenagers fades somewhere into the background while my chest pulls tight.
He looks different. More grounded somehow.
As though the last few months have stripped something back in him.
Then one of the PE teachers says something to me about registration sheets, and the moment breaks. I look away first, like the coward I am.
The afternoon passes slowly after that. I try to stay busy on purpose by helping supervise the sessions, talking to students, and doing absolutely everything possible to avoid focusing on the fact that Lukas is thirty feet away, making a group of fourteen-year-olds laugh during shooting drills.
It doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Every time I glance up by accident, he’s there; he’s very patient with the quieter kids, encouraging them without being overbearing.
His instinct with children who need a little extra time is spot on; he never rushes them and always shows them he’s listening.
The payback is that they adore him, flocking around him like bees to honey.
One boy with anxiety freezes during a passing drill, his shoulders locking as the others start getting restless around him. Before I can step in, Lukas crouches down beside him casually like it’s nothing.
“You know,” he says lightly, spinning the puck once against the floor, “When I was fourteen, I once fell over during warmups in front of ten thousand people.”
The boy blinks. “Seriously?”
“Très seriously.” Lukas nods solemnly. “I wished for death immediately.”
A couple of the kids laugh, and the boy smiles despite himself. And Lukas stays with him until he’s ready to join in again. My heart clenches at the scene as it unfolds.
Even now, after everything, I still see all the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place.
By the time the session finishes, the sports hall smells faintly of teenage boys and rubber flooring, students trailing noisily toward the changing rooms while teachers begin stacking equipment away.
I’m crouched beside a crate of hockey sticks when I hear footsteps stop beside me. My whole body goes still before I even look up.
Lukas crouches beside me without speaking at first, helping gather loose pucks scattered across the floor.
For a second, the silence stretches, and then he says carefully, “You look tired.”
I let out a soft breath. “That’s a bit rude.”
A tiny smile pulls briefly at his mouth. “You know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, I do. I glance toward the far side of the hall, where the last group of students are leaving. “Félix keeping you awake?”
“Among other things.”
The answer lands heavily, because I know exactly what he means by that.
He rolls another puck toward the crate before speaking again, quieter this time. “Kate…”
There’s a tone in his voice that makes me finally look at him, and I immediately wish I hadn’t, because he looks devastated. Not dramatic or manipulative. Just honest. “I know I hurt you,” he says. “More than I can fix quickly.”
Emotion rises sharply in my throat as I look away so as to distract myself from breaking down.
“You don’t have to pretend it was fine to make me feel better,” he continues carefully. “I know what I did.”
My fingers tighten around one of the hockey sticks beside me. “You didn’t have a choice. I get that.”
“I had choices,” he says immediately. “Maybe not good ones. But I still hurt you.”
The honesty of it splinters through my heart. He isn’t defending himself or the choices he made, and he isn’t asking me to minimise it.
He’s taking responsibility.
Slowly, I straighten up from the floor, brushing my hands against my trousers, mostly so I have something to do. Lukas stands too.
The sports hall feels too quiet now that everyone else has gone.
“I was angry with you for a while,” I admit.
“You should have been.”
“But mostly…” I swallow hard. “Mostly I just missed you.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
His whole body shifts at that. Pain and relief are impacting him in a way that makes my chest hurt. “I missed you every day,” he says.
I want to say, please don’t do this, don’t pull me back under so easily, because I won’t survive it. But then he says my name again.
“Kate.”
I look at him, and I see the sincerity, but mostly, I see the love.
“I cannot change what happened,” he says carefully. “If I could go back and do things differently, I would. But I can’t.” His jaw tightens before he continues. “All I can do now is prove to you that I’m better than the man who walked away from you.”
His accent becomes thicker as he speaks, and the emotion lodges painfully in my chest. That’s exactly the thing I didn’t realise I needed to hear. I don’t need promises or excuses; I need accountability.
“I don’t expect forgiveness immediately,” he says quietly. “And I don’t expect things to go back to how they were before. I hurt you too badly for that.” His eyes stay fixed on mine. “But I love you enough to try anyway, if you’ll let me.”
His words hit me like a physical thing, and all I can do is stare at him while I stand completely still. Lukas has said he loves me before, but this feels different somehow, less desperate and more certain.
A group of students burst noisily through the corridor outside the hall, and the moment fractures, reality rushing back in around us.
I exhale shakily. “You make this very difficult,” I murmur.
A sad smile touches his mouth. “I know.”
For a second, neither of us moves. Then, carefully, slowly, he holds his hand out between us. It’s an offering while still giving me space to say no. He’s not assuming, he’s letting me decide.
I stare at his hand for a long moment before finally placing my hand in his. The breath leaves him in an unsteady rush. His fingers close around mine gently like he’s afraid pushing too hard will make me disappear again.
And standing in the middle of an empty school sports hall with fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, I realise something terrifying. I still want this. Not the version of us from before everything fell apart. But this new version, that feels more earned and real.