Chapter Ten
MILA
The kitchen smelled differently this morning. Not burned toast or coffee or the stale quiet that had seeped into the walls over the past few months. Butter warmed in a pan. Bacon hissed. Edwardo hummed under his breath.
I stood on the last stair longer than necessary before making my presence known.
Edwardo moved through the space as though he belonged there, broad shoulders filling the narrow room, sleeves rolled to his forearms, one hand steady on the skillet while the other reached for a plate without looking.
Mom sat at the table, elbows resting on the wood, chin propped in her palm. She wasn’t braced or checking her phone every thirty seconds. She was smiling. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen that expression land so easily on her face.
“You’re up,” Edwardo called without turning around. “Coffee’s ready.”
His awareness never felt intrusive. He just knew where everyone was.
“I thought you were joking about cooking.” I stepped into the room.
He set a plate down in front of Mom and glanced over his shoulder at me. “I don’t joke about breakfast.”
Mom shook her head, amusement lingering in her eyes. “He insisted.”
“Someone in this house should know how to use a stove,” Edwardo replied.
“I cook,” Mom defended then winked at me. “Sometimes.”
I made my way to the counter and poured coffee, the mug warm in my hands. The normalcy of it pressed against my ribs in a way I hadn’t expected. The sound of forks against plates. The scrape of a chair leg. Edwardo reaching for salt.
Luke moved through rooms the same way, his presence saturating the space. Not demanding attention. Just aware. Always positioned between me and whatever might reach me first.
The thought stayed with me.
Edwardo set a plate in front of me. Eggs, toast, bacon. “You’ll need fuel,” he added. “Coffee doesn’t count.”
“I wasn’t planning on skipping real food,” I replied, sitting across from Mom.
She met my eyes briefly. Something unspoken moved there, like gratitude and relief tangled together.
“You heading out later?” she asked.
“Avery wants to meet at the café.”
“Be careful. Stay alert.”
“I will.”
Edwardo’s phone vibrated against the counter. He glanced at the screen, thumb hovering before he silenced it. His expression didn’t change.
Still, I noticed. I memorized the way Mom leaned back in her chair instead of forward. The way Edwardo rested his hand briefly on her shoulder when he passed behind her.
Protection didn’t always feel heavy. Sometimes it felt comfortable, right.
I lingered for as long as I could, basking in the normalcy and warmth of Mom’s happiness and Edwardo’s genuineness.
But I’d promised Avery I’d be there by nine, while the guys were at hockey practice.
At ten to nine, I stood, rinsed my dishes, and put them in the dishwasher before saying bye and heading out.
The café was loud but not overwhelming. People were scattered through the space, occupying most of the tables, conversing with coffee and pastries. Steam rose from cups in the morning light. The table by the window had become ours by habit.
Avery leaned across from me, fingers curled around her drink, cheeks flushed in a way that had nothing to do with caffeine.
“I think I love him,” she admitted.
“Jax?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, the barista.”
I smiled. “Hilarious.”
Her gaze dropped briefly to the tabletop. “It’s not just the fun part anymore.”
I studied her face. The excitement. The edge of vulnerability she tried to disguise with humor.
“Does that scare you?” I asked. She’d been crazy about Jax for so long, but maybe it was more about how he was forbidden—her twin brother’s best friend. And now that they were together, it was real. It made her have to face her feelings in a different way.
“A little.” She shrugged one shoulder. “But not enough to stop.”
Love. The word felt different inside my chest. Avery was tumbling into something new.
Loving Luke didn’t feel fast. It felt rooted. Standing still when everything else moved.
“You look thoughtful,” Avery observed.
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.” Avery stirred her coffee longer than normal.
“Can I ask you something?”
She snorted. “Since when do you need to ask permission?”
“Fair.” I smirked. There was more to her confession than she was saying. She’d fallen for Jax a long time ago. What I thought she meant was that she was so far gone for him that if something happened, she was scared that he’d break her. “Are you worried about what happens after this summer?”
She rolled her lips in briefly, hesitating. “Yeah.” Her voice was small.
I didn’t like that. “You don’t have anything to worry about. Jax is all in.”
Avery shrugged, averting her eyes before meeting mine again. “I hope so.”
“You know that wherever you end up, or wherever he does, you’ll be together.”
“Are you saying that because you know that about you and Luke too?”
It was my turn to shrug. Butterflies took flight in my stomach, and I couldn’t help the small tug at the corners of my lips.
“We’ll all end up at the same place. You know this.
Stop worrying.” I squeezed her hand. “We’re probably going to room together at Michigan, Aves.
The guys are all going there. It’s a done deal. Stop stressing.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she flashed a smile that finally reached her eyes. “Tori’s been different lately.” Avery took a sip of her drink.
“I’ve noticed.”
“She asked if I wanted to go into the city Saturday. To shop.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s progress.”
Avery hesitated. “You think she’s truly done aligning herself with Elise?”
“I think she was unhappy with Elise for a while. She stayed because Theo hadn’t given her a reason to leave.”
My phone vibrated against the table. It was a number I didn’t recognize and one I shouldn’t have opened. The message was short: He won’t choose you once he sees what you cost him.
The noise of the café receded without disappearing. The steam from my cup continued to rise. Someone laughed near the counter. My pulse slowed instead of spiking.
Divide.
Instill doubt.
Plant fear where it didn’t belong.
I wasn’t afraid Luke wouldn’t choose me. I was afraid of what he would do if he saw this, if I handed him proof that someone was circling.
He didn’t hesitate when it came to me. He stepped forward—every time. And every step forward cost something.
Michigan.
Distance from his father.
The careful line he walked between legacy and freedom.
If I showed him this, he wouldn’t weigh consequences. He would go hunting. And I wouldn’t be the reason he lost something he had worked his entire life to build.
My thumb hovered for a fraction of a second. Then I deleted the message.
Avery’s gaze flicked to my face. “Everything okay?”
“Spam,” I answered, slipping my phone into my bag.
That secret I could hold alone—for now.
Luke texted an hour later when I was back home. Lunch?
I smiled at the screen.
Me: Absolutely.
He pulled up just before noon and stepped out of his SUV before I reached the driveway, moving toward him without hesitation. His hand went to my waist automatically, thumb moving in slow circles through my shirt like it had muscle memory.
“You look tired,” he said quietly.
“It’s Saturday.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I leaned into him, resting my forehead briefly against his shoulder. His Henley smelled like clean laundry and something distinctly him.
“I’ve just been thinking.”
His hand stilled. “About?”
I hesitated half a second too long.
Not about the message.
Not about the warning.
Not about someone telling me I would ruin him.
“About how we haven’t had five minutes alone without something blowing up,” I said instead.
That wasn’t a lie.
His grip tightened slightly. “That bothering you?”
“A little.” I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I don’t want us turning into crisis management.”
Something in his expression shifted. Softer. Protective.
“We’re not,” he said.
“I know. I just…” I searched for the right balance between truth and concealment. “I don’t want to blink and realize we’ve been fighting everyone else more than we’ve been choosing each other.”
He stepped closer, thumb gliding under the hem of my long sleeve to brush my wrist.
“I choose you,” he said evenly. “That part isn’t complicated.”
My chest twisted for entirely different reasons.
“I know,” I whispered. “I just miss you.”
He studied me another second, like he was deciding whether to push further. Then he exhaled.
“Lunch,” he said, brushing his lips lightly across my temple. “And after that, you’re mine for at least a few hours. No interruptions.”
The promise warmed something under the anxiety. “That sounds fair.”
He opened the passenger door for me, hand lingering at my lower back as I climbed in.
He wouldn’t see the message I’d deleted. I wasn’t ready for him to know.
We drove up the coast to a bistro that was both casual and romantic. Every lingering touch of his hand sent shockwaves of heat through me. Having Luke’s undivided attention was a powerful thing, addictive in the best possible way.
After, we strolled along the beach. The boardwalk thinned as we moved toward the sand, shoes slipping slightly over weathered planks before the beach opened up in front of us. The ocean stretched out in muted silver under a pale sky, waves folding into themselves with a steady rhythm.
His hand found mine easily, our fingers threading together like they’d done it a thousand times. It felt right—it always did.
We didn’t talk about the letter from Darren to my mom. We didn’t talk about his parents. Or any of the other stressors pressing in on us from every angle. Instead, we talked about nothing and everything.
He told me about practice that morning—how Theo had nearly taken Chase out during a drill and tried to blame the ice.
How Jax insisted on running sprints even after Coach dismissed them, claiming it was “character building,” which apparently meant everyone else had to suffer with him.
Punishment for leaving a mess on the lawn after the bonfire Friday night.
I laughed hard enough my cheeks ached. “You love them,” I accused.
“They’re idiots,” he corrected.
“Same thing.”
He bumped his shoulder lightly against mine, and the contact lingered.
We walked near the shoreline, the wind tugging at my hair. His thumb brushed over my knuckles absently as he talked, like he needed the contact as much as I did.
At some point he asked about my art show. I hesitated before answering. “I accepted.”
His head turned immediately. “You did?”
“I did.” The words felt both terrifying and freeing at the same time. “I’m nervous,” I admitted. “But it’ll look good. Michigan tracks this stuff, and if I show up already exhibiting, it helps. Funding, studio placement… all of it.”
“You’re already negotiating your spot before you even move in.”
“I’m not negotiating,” I said, trying not to smile. “I’m making it harder to overlook me.”
His grip closed more firmly around my hand.
“You won’t be overlooked.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“It is when you’re good.” There was no hesitation in his voice, just belief.
We talked about housing next—he had a list saved on his phone. Apartments near campus. Shared houses. Floor plans he’d screenshotted like he’d been studying them.
“You’re organized,” I teased.
“I like knowing where I’m landing.”
“You’re still serious about Ann Arbor?” I asked.
“Yes. Nothing’s changed.”
“And not the backup your dad prefers.”
“No.”
There was no strain in the answer. Just clarity.
The wind off the water pushed against us as we turned back toward the boardwalk.
“You don’t get to protect me by pushing me away,” he added quietly.
The comment slipped between us gently, but it remained in the space between us.
“I’m not,” I said.
“Good.”
Because he would have fought me on it.
We grabbed sandwiches from the small shop along the boardwalk, the one with faded navy umbrellas and the smell of toasted bread drifting through the open windows. We ate outside, knees brushing under the metal table.
He stole half my fries. I let him.
By the time we finished, the sun had shifted lower, and the air held a slight chill to it. We wandered toward the lookout above the water—the wooden platform where the railing always creaked when too many people leaned on it.
No one else was there, and he rested his forearms on the railing, pulling me between them, back against his chest.
The ocean stretched out in front of us, endless and volatile, and everything else felt smaller.
“You know,” he whispered near my ear, “this is the first time in weeks it’s just been us.”
“I know.”
No whispers. No watching eyes. No crisis. Just this.
His chin rested lightly against the top of my head. “I meant what I said,” he added. “I’m not choosing anything over you.”
My fingers curled around his wrists where they circled my waist.
“I don’t want you choosing between worlds,” I said quietly. “But I also don’t want to see you dragged into your father’s and King Enterprises.”
“I won’t be.”
The wind shifted again, colder now. I turned slightly within his hold so I could see his face. He looked relaxed. Unbraced. And that did something to me. I realized I didn’t want to be the reason that expression disappeared.
He brushed his fingers along my jaw slowly. “You’re overthinking again.”
“Maybe.”
He leaned down and kissed me—slow and unhurried. It lingered, slipping into my thoughts even as it happened, stealing the breath from my lungs until nothing outside of him existed.
When he pulled back, I felt steadier than I had all morning.
We stood there longer than we needed to, long enough for the sun to dip lower. Long enough for the world to narrow to the sound of water and the warmth of his arms around me. And for a few hours, I let myself believe that choosing each other was enough.
When he drove me home, he walked me to the door.
“Text me later.”
“Of course.”
He waited until I let myself inside.
My room felt quieter than usual.
I changed into leggings and sat at the edge of my bed, phone resting in my palm.
Part of me regretted deleting the message from earlier. Now, Luke’s name sat at the top of my screen instead. Our day today was good. The simplicity eased something in me.
I laid back against my pillows and stared at the ceiling.
I wasn’t afraid he wouldn’t keep choosing me. I was afraid of what he would dismantle if pushed. And I wasn’t ready to let someone else decide the cost of that.
Outside my window, the neighborhood lights flickered on one by one. Everything felt calm. For now. But calm never lasted long in this town.