Chapter 19
Annie
Somewhere between Luke reaching into the shower this morning to get his toothbrush wet rather than use the sink that was right there, and him shutting the guest room door with a literal growl , I told myself that I couldn’t avoid this conversation we need to have any longer.
But it’s not the conversation I thought we needed to have.
I let my feelings for Luke get the best of me last night. I don’t regret it. I don’t think there’s anything wrong about what we did. It was one of the best orgasms I’ve had.
Knowing Luke was there watching me while I got myself off was a literal wet dream come true, but it definitely complicates things.
It was so much more than something physical.
It felt so good to let the walls I’ve built so high come down, and now that I know what it feels like, I don’t want to put them back up.
Letting people in is hard for me. I learned early on in my life that people tend to use your weaknesses against you, especially the people closest to you. It happened with my parents; it happened with my four closest friends.
It even happened with Luke.
When you let people in, you give them total power over you.
It’s taken me years to build walls tall enough that people can’t climb over them and strong enough that no one can break them down, but I am exhausted.
I thought keeping people at arms-length was the only way I would feel safe, but I was wrong.
People like Mia and Drew, Eddie and Emmett, they make me feel safe. I can let my walls down around them—I willingly give them the power to hurt me because I know they never will.
And last night, Luke made me feel that way too.
But my mind can’t help but spiral when I think about our history, the memories, his betrayal. I can’t go through that again. I don’t think I’ll make it through it alive this time around because there’s so much more to lose.
I thought it would be easy to put space between us.
And when that didn’t work, I thought the answer was closure.
But there’s no such thing as closure when it comes to Luke.
It’s time to tell him—tell him everything .
I look over at Luke at the front desk of the local ice rink. He’s making the middle-age receptionist blush as he gives her his golden smile and devastating ocean eyes all so she lets him reserve extra rink time for his rec hockey team’s September practices that start Monday.
The whole way here, I wanted to just rip off the Band-Aid. I wanted to tell him that we needed to talk—that I hate him for making me love him; that I love him enough to dig up the memories I bury the deepest because I’m slowly realizing that he’s my biggest weakness of all.
But I couldn’t.
My mind was too busy spinning from all the times he looked over at me from the driver’s seat and his face lit up at the mere fact that I agreed to run these stupid errands with him.
And that I would do it over and over again if it made him smile like that.
My mouth felt dry when I let him reach over his center console to put his hand on my thigh, his thumb rubbing lazy circles against my skin as he drove, my hand itching to take his in mine, neither of us saying anything about it.
I turn back to the rink, slipping my hands into my pockets as I lean back and watch the kids and parents skate across the ice, opting for a cooler summer activity.
I see a little blonde boy with his dad, struggling to keep his balance for a moment as he holds his dad’s hand. After a few skates together, the boy lets go of his dad, picking up speed as he glides along the ice, a huge smile on both their faces.
The little boy reminds me of the first time I saw Luke on the ice. We were just kids, and it was during the simple times where you just invited your whole class to your birthday party. Mr. and Mrs. Owens rented the whole rink in our hometown for twenty first-graders to skate around for Luke’s seventh birthday, and Luke had a permanent smile on his face, caring more about going around the rink as fast as he could than any of the guests, presents, or cupcakes.
“All set,” I hear, and I didn’t even realize he walked over to where I was waiting for him.
“Oh, great.” I shake my head, bringing myself back to the moment. “Pet store time? ”
He looks out to the rink and then back to me with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “What size shoe are you again?”
***
“I haven’t seen you on the ice in years,” I tell Luke as we return our rental skates.
He looks out to the rink and then back to me with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.
We spent an hour or so on the ice, and it was more fun than I’d ever admit to him.
Luke is a natural on the ice, gliding in his skates with the same ease of walking. Me, on the other hand, has the same amount of gracefulness as a baby giraffe trying to walk on its new legs.
He was skating circles around me. Literally .
It took me going around the rink twice before I let go of the siding, just to hold on to him so I wouldn't fall, and I’m positive his arm will be bruised tomorrow.
I don’t feel bad about it though.
He left his own marks on me last night.
“You never accept my invites to come watch my rec games.”
I scoff. “Liar. Mia, Drew, Ed, Emmett and I have been at the last three. You just haven’t gone to one all summer.”
We wave to the receptionist as we walk outside, the sun is high with no clouds to block it, the blue sky being just a shade lighter than Luke’s eyes.
“Well, excuse me for having a bar to run,” he answers, pulling his car keys from his pocket.
I laugh, but the sound comes out hollow. My voice takes on a more serious tone. “You never told me what you decided to do about your dad’s firm. ”
Luke’s smile fades. He runs a hand through his hair, as we walk to his car. “Well, the spot is ready and waiting for me. It has been since I graduated.”
“Duh,” I reply.
He stops mid-step in the parking lot and turns to me. I stop walking and find a shocked expression on his face. “Wait a second. No ‘who would ever want you as a lawyer’ or ‘wow, so you are smarter than you look, Lukey-poo’?”
I roll my eyes and keep walking. “I’m not a total bitch. I know you’re smart. You made it through law school without even an ounce of interest in being a lawyer.”
“How do you know I don’t want to be a lawyer?” he asks, coming into step beside me.
“Are you kidding? You practically died of happiness when you got that hockey scholarship and then six months later you suddenly wanted to be a lawyer? Working with your dad of all people?”
He reaches his arm behind his head, his hand rubbing his neck as he rounds his car to the driver’s seat. I open the passenger side door, climbing in at the same time Luke turns the car on. “Sometimes I forget how well you know me,” he admits, and my heart skips a beat.
I try to mask the smile threatening my lips. “You’re not that hard to read.” And it’s true. Luke isn’t hard to read. He’s happy 99% of the time, and that 1% of the time he’s mad, sad, frustrated, or feeling any other emotion, it’s written all over his face.
“I like to think I can say the same about you,” he says, and I resist the urge to look anywhere but out the front windshield, feeling his eyes burn a hole in the side of my head.
The words are on the tip of my tongue.
I feel like my lips are about to burst with everything I need to say to him, all the questions I want to ask, all the answers I want to give him.
I want to tell him that we spent seven years apart because I was too scared to face him after I saw the video of him and Devin.
I want to ask him why he did it—why he threw away what we had and why he never told me that he cheated.
I want to give him a chance to explain.
And most of all, I want to promise him that I’ll ruin him for anyone else if he ever even thinks about hurting me, but I want him to see that, in reality, I need him to promise me he’ll never do anything to hurt me again.
But instead, I ask, “Did you tell your dad you’re not taking the job he has for you?”
Luke sighs, leaning his head back on the car seat. “I’ve been putting it off.”
“Shocking,” I deadpan.
He turns to face me. “Telling Daniel Owens what he doesn’t want to hear is easier said than done.”
I can’t help the protectiveness that overwhelms me at the thought of Luke with his father. The man used Luke as a power play against people who hurt him, keeping the truth from him until it was too late for him to have a relationship with his biological father.
To me, it’s simple. The man doesn’t deserve to call Luke a son.
But to Luke, it’s so much more complicated.
“Then why don’t you tell him to fuck off?”
Luke snorts. “Why don’t you ?” he jokes.
“There’s a lot more I’d rather tell him.” I huff. “Starting with how he barely acknowledged you as a son until he needed something from you. Not to mention how he took advantage of you and your need to gain his approval—which, by the way, was completely valid to want as a literal child —and ending with how much time and energy you put into something he wanted. Not what you wanted.”
Luke doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, so I finally turn to face him. His mouth is slightly parted and his eyes glisten.
“What?” I ask, feeling like I might have crossed a line.
He clears his throat. “Careful, Annie girl.” The tips of my ears heat at how low he keeps his voice. “Your feelings are showing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say instinctively. I cross my arms over my chest, looking back at the front windshield. “So if you’re not going to be a lawyer, what are you going to do?”
Luke shifts in his seat, his head falling forward until he hits his forehead against the steering wheel. He sighs. “I don’t know. I mean, I went through all the schooling, didn’t even have to take the bar because the state of Wisconsin doesn’t require it as long as you meet all the course requirements and character and fitness standards. I have a position at a firm that guys I went to school with would do anything for. It makes me feel like shit for giving that up.”
“Why?” I can’t help but ask. “Sure, it’s annoying watching someone have something handed to them that they don’t deserve, but that’s not the case with you, Luke. You worked your ass off to be deserving of that job for years, and you did it for someone who doesn’t deserve even a second of your time.”
Luke shakes his head, his forehead still resting against the steering wheel. I watch him from the corner of my eye. “I want something that’s mine . Something I can be proud of; something I can put the hard work into because I want to, not because I have to. I just don’t know what that something is.”
Neither of us acknowledge that he had that with his hockey scholarship—that he could’ve played on a Division 1 team, pursuing something he wanted—and gave it up.
“It’s not too late to find it,” I answer quietly, wishing I had something more to say to him.
“Yeah, maybe,” he responds before letting out an exhale. “Either way, I know I have to tell my dad. I just know that when I do, I’ll most likely never talk to my parents again.”
“Parents are overrated anyway,” I say it as a joke, but it’s the truth to me.
People deserve parents who want them, who love them, who cherish them. I’ve never had that, and neither has Luke. He just held on to the idea of them longer.
“So,” he starts after a few quiet moments, “what do you say we end this heart-to-heart here and get our dog some food and maybe a new toy or two?”
As always, Luke knows how to brighten a space, always being the one to lighten the mood when it begins to dim.
He’s like the North Star, shining brighter than everyone else around him, and you can’t help but follow him through the dark.
“She’s not my dog.” I laugh, but the argument feels moot at this point.
I turn to look at Luke, my heart feeling like it’s seconds away from bursting from my chest from how much I hope he never loses his shine.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey.”