Chapter 24 - Luke
Luke
Luke moved through Grace's house, checking every window latch, every door frame, every point of entry with the kind of focus that came from years of training and a fear he couldn't quite swallow down.
Mercer had left with a look that promised this conversation wasn't over, Sullivan had avoided eye contact entirely. Luke didn't care. Let them talk. Let the whole department know.
He tested the back door lock. Solid. The window pane had already been smashed, and the wooden panel that had replaced it was harder to get through than glass. But the window beside it—
Luke's jaw clenched.
The house was old. Charming in daylight, probably. But security-wise? It was a nightmare.
Grace sat on the couch where he'd left her, blanket pulled tight around her shoulders, watching him move through her space. Her eyes tracked him—wary, exhausted, still a little shaken.
He hated that look on her.
Luke crouched by the living room window, checking the frame. "When was the last time these locks were replaced?"
"I don't know," Grace said quietly. "They were here when I moved in."
Of course they were.
He stood, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. The adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving something rawer behind. The image of her alone in this house, hearing footsteps, calling 911 because there was no one else—
His chest felt too tight.
"Grace," he said carefully. "You can't stay here."
She blinked. "What?"
"It's not safe. Your locks are forty years old. Your windows are single-pane. Anyone who wants in could get in."
Grace's fingers tightened on the blanket. "So I'll... get better locks."
"Good. But that'll take time," Luke said. "Days, maybe. And you can't stay here alone while you wait."
She stared at him. "Where am I supposed to go?"
The answer was immediate. Obvious.
"My place," Luke said.
Grace's expression shifted—surprise, then something harder to read. "No."
"Grace—"
"No," she repeated, standing now, blanket falling away. "Absolutely not."
Luke took a step toward her. Stopped himself. "Just listen—"
"No, you listen," Grace said. Her voice was steady, but he could see the tremor in her hands. "You don't get to swoop in and reorganize my entire life because you're feeling guilty."
"This isn't guilt," Luke said.
"Isn't it?" Her eyes flashed. "You didn't want me in your life. You made that very clear. And now because I'm in danger, suddenly you care?"
"I've always cared—"
"No," Grace cut in. "You cared about getting in my pants. About the sex." Her voice cracked. "You didn't care about me."
Luke felt something in his chest split open.
"I was a coward," he said.
It wasn’t enough.
“I didn't treat you the way you deserved. I cared more about my reputation than about you." He took a breath. "I'm not asking you to forgive me right now. I'm not asking you to take me back in this moment. I'm asking you to let me keep you safe."
He wanted her in his arms. He kept his distance instead. She didn’t want that from him. Not now. Not after he’d fucked it all up.
"My house has a security system," he said. “Locks on every window. Motion-sensor lights."
"Luke—" He could see the war happening behind her eyes—exhaustion versus pride, fear versus anger.
“I have a guest room," he added quietly. “You wouldn’t have to… This isn't about… This is about keeping you safe.”
Grace's expression wavered.
"Please," Luke said. "Please, Grace. Just until we catch whoever's doing this."
The silence stretched.
Grace looked away first, toward the window, toward the dark street beyond.
"Okay," she said finally.
Relief crashed through him so hard his knees almost buckled.
Grace added, voice harder now. "I'm not—we're not—"
"I know," Luke said quickly. "Separate rooms. I promise."
She studied him for a long moment, like she was trying to decide if he was capable of keeping that promise.
Luke held her gaze. Didn't flinch.
"Pack a bag," he said finally.
Grace hesitated one more second. Then she turned and walked down the hallway toward her bedroom, shoulders squared, spine straight.
Like she was walking into battle instead of accepting help.
Luke exhaled slowly and sank onto the arm of the couch.
She was coming home with him.
Not in the way he wanted. Not wrapped in his arms, not laughing against his mouth.
But she was coming.
As long as she was safe, he would be able to breathe.
Luke unlocked the front door and stepped aside.
“After you,” he said.
He followed, setting her bag down by the door, and locking it behind them.
He watched Grace take in his living room with careful, assessing eyes.
Leather couch. Coffee table. Television mounted above a gas fireplace. Hardwood floors.
It looked exactly like what it was: a bachelor's house. Functional. Clean. Empty of anything that mattered.
Grace's gaze traveled slowly across the space.
She didn't say anything.
Luke felt the silence like pressure. Did she like it? Would she be happy here?
He picked up her bag and nodded toward the stairs. "I'll show you where the guest room is,” he said.
Grace nodded.
They climbed the stairs in single file, her footsteps soft behind him. He flipped on the light when he reached the hallway—and suddenly he was seeing his own house through her eyes.
Beige walls. Neutral carpet. Three closed doors and nothing on the walls.
He wanted it to be nicer for her.
Luke stopped at the guest room and pushed open the door.
The room was bare but clean. Queen bed with a blue comforter. Nightstand. Lamp.
"Bathroom's across the hall," he said, setting her bag on the bed. “There's—" He gestured vaguely. "Shampoo and stuff under the sink. Help yourself to whatever you need."
He went into the linen closet, pulled out a stack of towels and handed them to her when he came back.
“Extra blankets are in there too,” he added, nodding toward the closet. “If you get cold.”
Grace stood with the towels in her arms. "Thank you."
The formality of it cut. He'd had his hands in her hair, his mouth on her skin, his body inside hers—and now they were saying "thank you" over towels like polite strangers.
He pointed down the hall.
“That’s my room,” he said, indicating the door on the right. “If you need anything, anything all, you can knock. Wake me up. Anytime.”
Luke stepped past her into the hallway, giving her space. "I'll be downstairs. I want to double check the locks before bed.”
"Okay."
Luke stopped, hand on the bannister, and closed his eyes.
She'd never been here before. He had never invited her. Not into his house, not into his life.
He'd gone to her place dozens of times. Knew which floorboard creaked near her bedroom. Knew she kept her coffee mugs in the cabinet above the sink.
He knew her space intimately.
And she knew nothing about his.
Because he'd never invited her. Never once said, Come see where I live. Let me make you breakfast. Let me give you a drawer.
Christ.
Luke opened his eyes and stared down at his living room—at the couch where he'd sat alone for years, at the kitchen where he'd never cooked for anyone else, at the house that had never felt like a home.
She'd offered him everything.
And he'd given her nothing.
He descended the stairs slowly, each step heavy with the weight of his own stupidity.
Luke heard the bathroom room door close softly. The shower start. The small, ordinary sounds of Grace existing in his space.
It felt good. It felt right.
The living room felt even emptier now.
He'd cared about protecting his reputation. His priorities had been a joke.
Luke sank onto the couch and dropped his head into his hands.
He'd had her.
Warm and willing and brave enough to ask for more.
And he'd said no.
Luke sat in the dark of his own living room and felt the full weight of what he'd lost.
The way she would've looked curled up on his couch with a cup of tea, comfortable and easy, like she belonged there.
She did belong there.
But he'd never given her the chance.
And now she was here—finally, devastatingly here—and it was all wrong.
He pressed his forehead into his palm.
Fucking dumbass.
Tomorrow, he'd drive her to work. He'd bring her home. He'd prove he could show up, that he could be relied on, that he wasn't going to disappear when things got hard.
But tonight?
Tonight he'd sit in his too-big house with the woman he wanted sleeping upstairs in a guest room, and he'd live with the consequences of his own cowardice.
It was exactly what he deserved.