Chapter 20 Lucian
Lucian
Isit on the edge of the bed, my palms flat against the sheets, staring at the floor as I wait for her to finish with her shower. When we got back from our run, I handed her the second outfit I had delivered this morning.
The bathroom door opens, and when she steps out, I forget how to breathe. She looks like herself, only more radiant than I’ve seen her since I walked back in her life a few weeks ago, and every compliment I want to give gets stuck behind my teeth.
“Ready?” I ask instead, keeping my voice steady. She nods, and we head downstairs.
The lobby doors slide open, and the warm New Orleans air hits us, sweet and humid, carrying the faint smell of powdered sugar and river breeze. She tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear, and I have to look away before I start staring like an idiot.
I open the SUV door for her, and she climbs in without hesitation. After our earlier conversation, that tiny bit of trust feels like someone handed me something fragile and told me not to drop it.
The drive is quiet, but not the brittle kind of quiet we used to have. This one feels… tentative. Curious. Like we’re both trying to figure out what the hell comes next without saying it out loud.
When I pull into the boutique’s parking lot, she turns to me with a small crease between her brows. “Lucian…?”
I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how ridiculous this might seem. “You need clothes,” I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to awkward. “More than the two outfits I had rushed to our hotel last night.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she says quietly.
Maybe not. But after seeing her life scattered across the ground like someone wanted to erase her by destroying her rig, I couldn’t just sit on my hands. I needed to give her something back. Something that was hers.
“I wanted to,” I say, and my words come out rougher than I mean for them to. “You’ve had enough taken from you.”
She holds my gaze for a moment that feels longer than it is, and I swear the air shifts. Not dramatically or in some cinematic, world-tilting way. Just… easier.
I get out and circle to open her door. She takes my hand as she steps down, and the contact is brief but enough to send a quiet jolt through me. I let go before I can be tempted to hold on.
Inside the boutique, she drifts toward a rack of dresses, fingertips brushing the fabric. I stay a few steps behind, hands in my pockets, pretending I’m not watching her with the kind of attention that would embarrass me if anyone called me out on it.
While she moves through the store, I slip away for a moment, just long enough to grab a few things I noticed her eyeing since we walked in.
A soft satin hair bow in a dusty rose, a set of gold clips shaped like tiny stars, a delicate headband with a braided detail she’d look unfairly good in.
I don’t show them to her. I just hand them off to the associate and exchange a few words with her before she tucks them behind the counter with the rest of the things I’ve already arranged.
I’d called ahead before we even left the hotel, and put my card on file, then asked them not to take a cent from her. She’s lost enough this week, and if she tries to argue, well… the system is already set. My card will run before she can blink.
She gathers a few outfits, including a pair of jeans that make something in my chest tighten, and heads toward the register. I follow, keeping a respectful distance, trying not to look like I’m hovering even though I absolutely am.
Just as she reaches the counter, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I scroll past the missed calls from my physical therapist’s office and see the email I’ve been hoping to receive all day.
A quiet rush of excitement hits me, and I feel my pulse pick up with a strange mix of anticipation and nerves threading through me. I school my expression before she can look over, but I know there’s a tell somewhere.
I’d spent half the night ordering things I thought she’d love; this order is different… This is for her soul, and now the order is ready.
She turns slightly, catching the movement of me slipping my phone back into my pocket. “Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, and it comes out a little too fast. “Just… good news.”
Her brows lift, curious, but she thankfully doesn’t push.
The associate rings up her things, and I watch the moment she realizes her card isn’t being accepted. The woman behind the counter smiles politely and says, “It’s already been taken care of.”
Celeste turns to me with a look that’s half exasperation, half something softer I’m not ready to name.
I shrug, trying to play it off. “You’ve had enough taken from you. Please let me do this.”
She doesn’t argue, and hopefully she won’t when we go get the other things I’ve ordered. She just exhales, slow, like she’s letting herself accept the help this time.
As we step out of the boutique, bags in hand, sunlight warming the sidewalk, I feel that email burning a hole in my pocket.
She has no idea what’s waiting for her next.
But God, I can’t wait to see her face when she finds out.
We load her bags into the back of the SUV, and I make sure they’re tucked in securely before shutting the hatch. She stands beside me, sunlight catching in her hair, looking more like herself than she did this morning. That alone feels like a win I’m not sure I deserve.
“Our next stop is just a block over,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “We can walk.”
She nods, and we fall into step together.
As we pass the bookstore’s first window display, she slows. She presses her lips together, and I can practically see the moment the longing hits her.
“Lucian…” She says softly, stopping in front of the second window. “Do you mind if we go in? I want to grab a few things. The book I was reading got destroyed, and I—” She hesitates, like she’s not sure she’s allowed to want something so small after everything that’s happened.
For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe.
Because this is what I’ve been waiting for. The email is burning a hole in my pocket. The order is waiting through those doors and behind the counter. There is a dolly cart ready to haul half a library back to the SUV.
And she’s the one asking to go in.
Perfect doesn’t even begin to cover it. “Yeah, of course. Let’s go in.”
We step toward the door, and I pull it open for her. The bell above it chimes, and she walks inside like she’s stepping into a place she’s been missing.
I follow her in, trying to keep my excitement contained, trying not to look like a man who’s about to give someone the sun.
She has no idea what’s waiting for her.
I hang back, pretending to browse a stack of travel guides while actually watching her out of the corner of my eye.
She picks up a fantasy novel, flips it over, and reads the blurb.
I bite back a smile, that one’s in the order.
So is the romance she lingers on next, and the thriller she lifts off the shelf, thumb tracing the embossed title.
Every time she pauses, my chest warms a little more.
I did it. I did a fucking good job.
When she finally heads toward the register, I follow with my hands in my pockets, trying to keep my expression neutral. The clerk smiles at her and starts scanning the books she places on the counter.
Before she can reach for her wallet, I step forward.
“We also have a pickup,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “The order is under Lucian S.”
“Oh, yes, of course, I just finished your order. One moment.” She rushes through the door behind her.
Celeste turns to me, brows lifting. “Pickup?”
Before she can press, the door swings open and the clerk wheels out the dolly.
And there it is.
Stacked from the bottom of the cart and halfway to the top are bags and bags of books.
Her Tbr.
Celeste goes still beside me.
The clerk beams. “All ready for you.”
I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how this might look. “Since everything in your rig was destroyed… I figured you shouldn’t have to start from zero. Thought I could help rebuild your library.”
Her reaction isn’t what I expected.
“Oh,” she says, her voice and body stiff. “That’s… a lot.”
I try to keep my tone light. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to carry any of it; they’ve got a dolly, and I’ll load it into the SUV.”
She nods, but her jaw is set in that way I recognize, like she’s holding something back and swallowing words she doesn’t want to say in public.
She pays for the duplicate books before grabbing them and thanks the clerk before walking toward the door without waiting for me. I follow with the dolly, my stomach sinking even though I’m trying not to show it.
I was doing so well. How did I fuck up?
“Celeste,” I say quietly once we’re a few steps down the sidewalk. “Talk to me.”
She stops, turns to me, and gives me a look sharp enough to cut.
“Are you trying to buy me?”
The words hit harder than I expected; it’s the last thing I ever wanted her to think.
“What?” I manage, keeping my voice low. “No. That’s not—”
“You show up with clothes. You take me shopping. Now this?” She gestures toward the dolly stacked with books.
“It feels like you’re trying to fix everything with money!
I have more money than I ever could’ve imagined growing up.
I can pay for my own fucking clothes and replace my own fucking library thousands of times over! ”
I swallow, forcing myself not to react defensively. She deserves better than that; she deserves honesty.
“I’m not trying to buy you,” I say, steady. “I’m trying to give back what was taken from you. That’s it.”
She looks away, jaw tight. “It’s a lot, Lucian.”
“I know,” I admit. “And if it’s too much, tell me. I’ll slow down. I keep trying to tell you I am here to follow your lead.”
She doesn’t answer right away. The streetcar rattles past, the breeze lifts her hair, and she stands there breathing like she’s trying to decide whether to stay angry or let it go.
Finally, she exhales. “I’m not ungrateful. I just… I don’t want to feel like you think buying me will make me want to give you another chance.”
That one hits deep. Deeper than I let show.
“You’re not,” I say quietly. “You’re someone I care about. Someone who lost everything in one night. I’m trying to help you stand back up, not put you on display.”
Her eyes flick to mine, searching for sincerity or proof I’m not the same man who walked away from her eight months ago.
Whatever she sees softens her expression the tiniest amount.
She turns and takes off for the SUV, so I follow her lead, the dolly rattling behind me, and even though the moment was rough, even though she bristled, even though I messed up the landing…
She didn’t walk away.
Well… she literally did, but hopefully not in a metaphorical way where she wants nothing to do with me.
* * *
We walk into the arena through the back entrance, the familiar hum of preshow chaos already vibrating through the concrete halls. By the time we get to the green room, Celeste’s steps pick up. When she gets through the door, she takes off in a run and shouts, “Link!”
He passes his drink to Rowan and braces as she jumps, with what looks like full force, into his arms. He catches her easily, laughing as he spins her once, then twice, like she weighs nothing. Her laughter echoes off the metal walls, bright and unguarded, and something in my chest pulls tight.
I’m glad she has him. I really am. But watching her light up for someone else still hits harder than I want to admit.
He sets her down, kisses the top of her head, and says something that makes her shove his shoulder and roll her eyes. Then he spots me and gives a mock salute, flexing his tattooed arm like an idiot.
“Morning, soldier,” he calls.
I lift a hand in acknowledgment, keeping my expression neutral. No point in letting him see how much I’m still trying to get my footing around all this.
He slings an arm over her shoulder and steers her toward the space they get ready in, and she doesn’t look back.
I linger a few seconds, letting the noise of the arena swallow the hollow feeling in my chest. Then I pull out my phone and step away from the foot traffic.
The call connects on the first ring.
“Tell me you’ve got something,” I say, skipping the greeting.
There’s a pause as Orion chooses his words carefully. That’s never a good sign.
“Not much,” he says finally. “We pulled some security footage near her rig. The figure’s hooded, so it’s hard to get a clean ID, but it could’ve been James. He went in empty-handed and came out with a backpack that looked stuffed.”
My stomach drops. “Stuffed with what?”
“We don’t know yet. But given the state of the rig? Could’ve been personal items.”
I close my eyes, jaw tightening. “Do you think he took Korbyn’s things?”
“It’s possible.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Always.” His voice softens, just a fraction. “And hey—watch her. She’s putting on a good face, but after our phone call earlier, I can tell she’s stressed.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, ending the call. “I will.”
I slip the phone back into my pocket and glance toward where Celeste, and now the whole band, is getting ready.
Stepping out of the room, I retie my hair to a low knot while I try to get my thoughts together. Right now, all I can do is wait in the hallway while I pretend patience comes naturally to me.