Chapter 8 #3
The silence that follows is deafening.
Luke and I stand there, staring at each other across eight years of lies and misunderstanding. Max sits between us, panting softly, looking pleased with himself.
“Hazel,” Luke says quietly, his voice breaking on my name. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
But I can’t speak. I can’t process what just happened, what it means, how completely wrong I’ve been about everything. The weight of eight wasted years, of all the pain we both carried, crashes over me like a tidal wave.
“I thought you chose her,” I whisper finally. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
“I never stopped wanting you.” The words come out rough, desperate. “Not for a single day in eight years. You were—you are—everything to me.”
“But I saw—”
“You saw what she wanted you to see. Just like she made you think all those other things were your imagination.” Luke’s voice is filled with rage, but not at me. “The harassment, the threats—it was all real, wasn’t it? She really was tormenting you, and I didn’t believe you.”
The admission breaks something open in my chest. “You thought I was making it up.”
“I failed you.” His voice cracks completely. “I was supposed to protect you, and instead I let her drive you away. I’m so sorry, Hazel. I’m so goddamn sorry.”
I stare at him, trying to reconcile the past with what I know now. Even if he didn’t cheat on me, he did hurt me. He did let me be harassed by his ex-girlfriend.
I want to run. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to just turn around and leave—anywhere, everywhere, as far away from this clearing and this conversation and the wreckage of eight years as I can get.
But I promised Sam. I promised myself. I was going to be brave.
“We should talk,” I say, the words feeling foreign in my mouth.
Luke’s eyes search my face like he’s afraid I might disappear if he looks away. “Are you sure? Because if you need time—”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intended. “We should talk. Now. Before I lose my nerve.”
He nods slowly. “I’ll get us some beers—”
“I don’t drink beer.”
“Right.” Luke runs a hand through his hair, still looking shell-shocked. “Hot chocolate? Whole milk? With marshmallows?”
Despite everything, I almost smile. He remembers. After eight years, he still remembers how I like my hot chocolate.
“That would be good.”
“Okay. I’ll just—” He gestures toward the cabin, then back at me. “You’ll wait? You won’t leave?”
The question cuts deep. Of course he’s afraid I’ll run. It’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done.
“I’ll wait.”
Relief floods his face. “Okay. Five minutes. I’ll be quick.”
He disappears into the cabin, leaving me alone with Max and Scout who’s also just arrived.
The dogs immediately start prancing around me like I’m the most exciting thing that’s happened to them all day.
Max brings me a tennis ball, dropping it at my feet with his tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggles.
Scout finds a stick and tries to get me to play tug-of-war.
Their pure, uncomplicated joy is a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.
I throw the ball for Max, my hands still shaking from the confrontation with Brittany.
The autumn air is getting colder, the gray clouds overhead threatening rain.
The wind picks up, sending leaves swirling around the clearing in tiny tornadoes of red and gold.
Eight years. Eight fucking years I’ve carried this pain, this betrayal, this absolute certainty that Luke chose someone else over me. And it was all a lie. All of it.
But even knowing that, even understanding what really happened, I can’t just flip a switch and make everything okay.
The hurt is still there, lodged deep in my chest like a splinter I’ve learned to live with.
He didn’t cheat on me, but he didn’t believe me either.
When I came to him for help, scared and desperate, he chose to believe I was making things up rather than trust that I was telling the truth.
That betrayal might hurt worse than thinking he kissed Brittany.
The front door opens and Luke emerges carrying two steaming mugs. He’s changed out of his uniform into jeans and a flannel shirt that makes his eyes look impossibly blue. The sight of him—rumpled and worried and heartbreakingly familiar—makes my chest ache.
“Extra marshmallows,” he says, handing me the mug. His fingers brush mine, and I have to fight not to pull away from the contact.
I take a sip. It’s perfect—rich and sweet with just a hint of cinnamon, exactly how I used to make it for myself when we were teenagers. The warmth spreads through my chest, momentarily chasing away the cold.
“How do you still remember?” I ask quietly.
“I remember everything about you,” he says simply. “Every single thing.”
The words slice at my heart. I wrap my hands around the warm mug and look out at the forest surrounding his clearing.
The maple trees are at peak color now, brilliant reds and oranges that should be beautiful but somehow feel ominous under the gray sky.
Like nature putting on one last spectacular show before everything dies.
That’s exactly how I feel—like I’m at the end of something beautiful that’s been slowly dying for eight years.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Do what?”
“Talk about it. Any of it.” I take another sip of hot chocolate, using the movement to buy myself time. “I’ve spent eight years not talking about it. Not thinking about it. Pretending it didn’t happen.”
Luke settles into the chair by the firepit and I sit on the one across from him, careful to keep some distance between us. “We don’t have to do it all at once.”
“Yes, we do.” The words come out firm, decisive. “Because if we don’t, I’ll find a way to run away again. And I’m tired of running.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, watching me over the rim of his mug. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” I force myself to meet his eyes. “I want to know what you remember from that time. What you thought was happening. Why you didn’t believe me.”
Luke sets down his mug and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “I was an idiot.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“You’re right.” He’s quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “You kept coming to me about Brittany. And every time I went to look into it, there was no evidence. Everything appeared fine.”
“So you decided I was lying.”
“I decided you were—” He stops, runs his hands through his hair. “I thought maybe your jealousy was making you see things that weren’t there. Because you were so worried about her, Hazel. Any time she was around, you’d get this look on your face like you wanted to murder someone.”
“Because I knew she wanted you back!”
“But I didn’t want her back!” His voice rises with frustration. “I told you that over and over. I showed you every day that you were the one I wanted. But it was never enough. You were always waiting for me to leave you for her.”
The accusation makes me grit my teeth. “Because she was beautiful and sophisticated and everything I wasn’t!”
“She was nothing compared to you.” Luke’s voice is quiet but fierce. “When she walked away after my parents died, any feelings I had for her died too. But you never believed that.”
“Can you blame me?” My voice cracks. “She was your first love. Your first everything. And then she comes back, all perfect and polished, wanting another chance—”
“And I said no!” Luke’s voice rises again. “Every single time, I said no. But you never trusted that I meant it.”
His words pierce me. Because he’s right. I never did trust it. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, always expecting him to realize that I wasn’t enough.
“I was twenty years old,” I say quietly. “I was insecure and scared and I had no idea how to handle someone like Brittany setting her sights on my boyfriend.”
“I know.” Luke’s voice softens. “And I should have done more to reassure you. I should have listened when you told me what was happening.”
“Why didn’t you?”
The question hangs in the air between us. Luke stares out at the forest, his jaw working like he’s fighting with himself.
“Because,” he says finally, “the girl I loved was falling apart right in front of me, and I didn’t know how to fix it. You were getting more and more upset, more and more convinced that someone was targeting you. And I was scared that if I validated those fears, you’d spiral completely.”
I stare at him, processing his words. “You thought you were protecting me.”
“I thought I was keeping you sane.” His voice is bitter now, self-recriminating. “I thought if I could just prove to you that these things weren’t really happening, you’d calm down and we could go back to being happy.”
“But they were really happening.”
“I know that now.” Luke’s voice breaks slightly. “And I’m so fucking sorry, Hazel. I failed you in the worst possible way. I was supposed to be the person you could trust with anything, and instead I made you feel crazy for telling the truth.”
The words settle between us like stones in my chest. An apology eight years too late, but somehow still necessary. Still important.
“I left because I thought you chose her,” I say quietly. “But I also left because I couldn’t stand feeling like I was losing my mind.”
“You weren’t losing your mind. She was destroying your sense of reality.” Luke’s hands clench into fists. “And I helped her do it by not believing you.”
A gust of wind sends more leaves spiraling around us, and I pull my jacket tighter. The storm clouds are getting darker, and I can smell rain in the air. Everything feels heavy, charged, like the whole world is holding its breath.
“I need to ask you something,” Luke says, his voice barely audible.
“Anything.”
“That job offer in California.” He forces himself to meet my eyes. “When did you get it?”
The memory slams into me like ice water.
“That afternoon. The day I saw you with her.” My voice is steady now, matter-of-fact.
“I was excited to tell you about it. I thought we could figure out a way to make it work—maybe you could come with me, or we could do long-distance for a while. Or I could just reject it if you didn’t want either of those things. ”
The color drains from Luke’s face. “Hazel—”
“I was looking for you to talk about our future. And instead, I found what I thought was you kissing your ex-girlfriend.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “So I took the job and left town that night. I figured you’d made your choice clear.”
Luke sets down his mug with shaking hands. “I was going to propose to you.”
The words steal the breath from my lungs. “What?”
“I saved up for the ring you had pointed out in a magazine, after your graduation.” His voice is rough, broken. “I had it all planned out. The Harvest Festival, by the gazebo where we had our first kiss. I was going to ask you to marry me.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t process what he’s telling me.
“I had the ring for three weeks,” Luke continues, his voice getting quieter. “Hidden in my sock drawer like some kind of teenager. I was so nervous I could barely eat.”
“Luke—”
“When I came back that night and you were loading your car, I thought my world was ending.” He looks at me with eyes full of eight years of pain. “I thought you’d realized you were too good for me. Too smart, too talented to waste your life in a small town with a guy who had nothing to offer you.”
“You had everything to offer me.” The words come out in a whisper.
“Did I? Because I keep thinking—if I’d been a better boyfriend, if I’d listened to you, if I’d trusted you the way I should have—none of this would have happened. You never would have left.”
The weight of what we’ve lost—what we threw away because of lies and miscommunication and insecurity—crashes over me like a tidal wave. Eight years. Eight years we could have had together.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper, standing abruptly. The hot chocolate sloshes in my mug, nearly spilling.
“Hazel, please—”
“I need a minute. I need to—” I gesture helplessly at the air around us, at the weight of everything we’ve just said.
Luke stands too, his face careful, controlled. “Okay. Whatever you need.”
But I don’t move. I just stand there in his clearing, surrounded by autumn’s dying beauty, dark stormy clouds that mirror the storm inside, trying to figure out how to breathe around the crushing weight of what could have been.