Chapter 22 - Luke
Luke
The anger hadn’t burned off yet.
It sat heavy and hot in his chest, fed by the image he couldn’t shake—Grace frozen at the bottom of her steps, breath shallow, explaining in a voice too calm that a stranger had touched her.
He’d wanted to tear the world apart for that.
It hadn’t been about the crime. Or the rules. Or the report Mercer had brushed off.
It had been about her.
About the idea of her being scared and Luke not being there for her. About danger in her life when she was unguarded, unclaimed, exposed.
It took a long moment before Luke was able to walk away.
He could already feel the pull of wanting to turn back—the instinct to knock again, to say something else, to fix what he’d already broken.
Instead, he jogged back to where he’d parked his police car. He needed to get back to the station. He still had hours left on his shift.
He’d be back here in the morning, to walk her to school again. Walking beside her this morning had felt… right.
Not exciting. Not forbidden. Not secret.
Right.
The rhythm of it. Matching her stride.
Then walking her home after school—the same thing. Natural. Easy. Like it was something they’d always done and somehow forgotten.
The sex had been incredible. Addictive.
But walking with her—
Jesus.
That was better.
Being beside her.
Being a part of her daily life.
The truth hit him so hard he stopped jogging.
He bent forward slightly, hands braced on his thighs, breath coming sharper now.
He could have had this for real. The thought tore at him. He’d had her.
She’d asked him for more. For dinners. For mornings. For acknowledgment. For a hand held in public.
And he’d said no.
Because he’d been afraid.
Afraid of looks. Of whispers. Of his parents’ silence. Of Mercer’s jokes. Of the town deciding he’d made a poor choice.
Luke straightened slowly.
What a fucking idiot.
He started jogging again, faster now, anger rising—not at her, not at the town.
At himself.
By the time the school came into view, his chest hurt.
The lot was nearly empty now, teachers long gone. His cruiser waited where he’d left it.
Luke stopped beside it but didn’t unlock the door.
He wanted her with him.
Not behind closed doors.
Not in shadows.
With him.
At the grocery store. At the fall festival. On Main Street with her hand in his and nowhere else to be.
He wanted people to see her and know she was his—and more, that he was hers. Because he was hers. Even now, even when she wouldn’t look him in the eye. She owned him. Body and soul.
And he’d realized too late.
The thought hollowed him out.
She didn’t want him anymore. She’d made that clear. She’d closed the door with calm finality and not a single backward glance.
Luke exhaled hard.
He unlocked the car and climbed in, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.
He didn’t deserve another chance.
But if he got one, he’d do it right.
As he pulled away from the curb, one thought stayed with him—relentless, merciless, clarifying:
He wouldn’t hide her again.
Not for anything.
Luke was barely back to the station before Linda waved him down from the front desk.
“Luke! Hold on a second, honey.”
He stopped automatically, still half-wound tight. “Yeah?”
She smiled—the bright, approving kind that made him feel twelve years old again. “You’re needed in the community room. Just for a minute.”
His stomach tightened. “For what?”
“Oh, nothing bad,” she said quickly. “Town council’s in there. Chief too.”
That didn’t help.
Luke followed her down the short hallway, past the bulletin board plastered with flyers—Fall Festival Volunteer Signup, Chili Cook-Off, Pie Judging, Pumpkin Carving Contest.
Normal.
The community room door was open. Voices spilled out. Laughter.
When he stepped inside, the room quieted just slightly.
Chief Harper stood near the long folding table, coffee in hand. A handful of council members, all of them familiar faces from town.
“Ah,” the chief said. “There he is.”
Luke straightened. “Sir?”
“Relax,” Harper said with a grin. “You’re not in trouble.”
A ripple of chuckles followed.
Eleanor Matthews stepped forward, clasping her hands together. “We’re finalizing plans for the fall festival,” she said. “And we wanted to ask you something.”
Luke nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“We’d like you to be this year’s Festival Marshal.”
He blinked. “The… what?”
“It’s an honorary position,” she said. “You wear a sash. Say a few words. Be visible.”
Visible. He’d spent months making sure Grace wasn’t.
She smiled wider. “You’ve been a real credit to the department this year, Luke. Professional. Reliable. Folks trust you.”
Someone behind her added, “You’re good for the town.”
Grace gave this town her time, her energy, her patience. She poured herself into it without asking for applause.
And here they were, applauding him.
The chief clapped him on the shoulder.
Luke felt the old version of himself respond automatically—shoulders straightening, pride clicking into place.
And underneath it, something colder.
This was what he’d been protecting.
This was why he’d kept things clean. Quiet. Contained.
No complications. No whispers.
Just this.
“Of course,” he said woodenly. “I’d be honored.”
Eleanor beamed. “Wonderful. Your parents will be thrilled.”
His parents.
Of course they would be.
The meeting dissolved into chatter—logistics, booths, traffic flow—and Luke nodded along, adding where he was needed.
The fall festival always drew everyone.
Kids in costumes. Teachers volunteering. Music on the green.
Grace would be there.
She’d be somewhere in the crowd, existing just beyond his reach.
And he would be walking down Main Street alone.
Keeping her secret had kept everything else intact.
His reputation.
His standing.
His future.
The town had just proved it.
And yet—
What good was being celebrated by the town if the woman he wanted couldn’t stand beside him while it happened?
Luke sat at his parents’ dining table, fork moving mechanically through mashed potatoes he couldn’t taste.
Across from him, his mother beamed.
“Festival Marshal,” she said again.
His father nodded, pride barely contained. “That’s a big deal, son.”
Luke swallowed. “It’s mostly ceremonial.”
“That’s not the point,” his mother said briskly. “It’s an honor. People notice things like that.” She reached for the gravy boat, still smiling. “Your grandfather would’ve been so proud.”
“I heard Eleanor Matthews pushed for you,” his father added. “The town trusts you.”
“They do,” his mother added quickly. “And rightly so.”
Luke pushed a piece of carrot around his plate.
“You’ve worked hard for this,” his father said. “Kept your nose clean. Stayed focused.”
Luke set his fork down.
“I’ve been seeing someone,” he said.
His mother's eyebrows lifted. His father's chewing slowed.
“Oh?” his mother asked, voice careful.
"Grace Hart," he said.
His mother set her fork down slowly, like she was defusing a bomb.
"Grace Hart," she repeated.
"Yes."
The silence that followed was too long.
His mother dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. "Well," she said finally. "I see."
“Is it serious?” his father asked carefully.
Luke felt a sharp pain of regret. Yes, he thought. Yes, it’s serious.
"It's over,” he said instead.
His mother relaxed visibly. "Well. These things happen. Plenty of fish in the sea, as they say."
His father nodded. “Good to figure out it's not right early on and cut her loose.”
"How long did this go on?” his mother asked. Was it public, Luke translated. How bad is the damage.
“Long enough,” Luke said.
Another silence.
His mother exchanged a glance with his father—one of those married-couple telepathy moments that said a thousand things without words.
“Oh,” she said again, voice gentler now. "I'm sorry it didn't work out, sweetheart." She reached over and patted his hand. "It's probably for the best. You have to think about your future. Your career. The kind of life you want to build."
"A Hart," his father added, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t see how it could work longterm.
"She's not her family," Luke said.
"I'm sure she's a perfectly nice girl,” his mother added quickly. "But you know how this town is. And with your position—"
"My position," Luke repeated.
"You're a Bennett," his father said, like that explained everything.
And it did.
It explained exactly why Luke had kept Grace hidden. Why he'd parked around the corner. Why he'd treated her like a secret he was ashamed of instead of—
Instead of what she deserved.
"Luke?" His mother was watching him now, concern creeping into her expression. "Are you alright?"
"No," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"I'm not alright." He pushed his plate away. "You asked if I'm alright, and I'm not."
His parents stared at him.
"It's over," Luke continued, voice tight, "because I messed up."
His mother’s eyes widened. His father frowned.
"I kept her hidden," Luke said. "I treated her like she was something to be ashamed of. Like she was a problem I needed to manage instead of—" His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. "Instead of being the best thing that ever happened to me."
His mother opened her mouth. Closed it.
“Son—“
"She ended it," he said. “And she was right to. She deserves better than what I was giving her."
His father cleared his throat. “You're being too hard on yourself—"
"Am I?" Luke stood, chair scraping against the floor.
"I don't want it to be over," he said. The admission felt like ripping something open. "I want her back. I want to fix it. I want to be better than the man who treated her like something to be ashamed of.”
His mother's face had gone pale. "Luke, think about what you're saying—"
He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. "I've been thinking about nothing else since I got here.”
"If you pursue this," his father said carefully, "people will talk."
"Let them."
"Your reputation—"
"Fuck my reputation," Luke said.
His mother gasped.