Chapter 10
ten
. . .
Lucas
The front door slams behind Mrs. Peterson, but the sound might as well be a gunshot.
Reality crashes back into the room, shattering the perfect bubble Kate and I have been living in for the past week.
What the fuck have I done? I look down at Kate, still on her knees, lips swollen from sucking my cock, eyes shining with pride and defiance.
She thinks she's made some grand statement, claimed what's hers in front of the world.
But all I can think about is how this looks.
How I look. A forty-two-year-old man fucking his teenage ward.
His best friend's daughter. The girl he was supposed to protect, not corrupt.
The girl everyone in town watched grow up.
The panic claws at my throat like a living thing.
It's all going to come crashing down now.
And Kate will be the one who pays the price.
"Lucas?" She rises gracefully, still flushed with triumph. "What's wrong?"
I step back, tucking myself away, zipping up my jeans with hands that aren't quite steady. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"
Her smile falters slightly. "I showed her I'm not ashamed of us. That I'm proud to be yours."
"Christ, Kate." I run a hand through my hair, pacing away from her. "Mrs. Peterson is on the town council. She's friends with half the county. By tonight, everyone will know—"
"Good," Kate says fiercely. "Let them know. I don't care."
"Well, you should care!" The words come out sharper than intended. I lower my voice with effort. "You don't understand what people will think. What they'll say."
She crosses her arms, chin lifting in that stubborn way that usually makes me want to kiss her. Now it just adds to my growing panic. "So tell me. What will they think?"
"They'll think I groomed you," I say bluntly, the ugly word hanging in the air between us. "They'll think I've been waiting for your father to die so I could get my hands on you. They'll think I manipulated you, took advantage of your grief, your vulnerability."
Her face pales slightly, but her stance doesn't waver. "That's ridiculous. I wanted this. I wanted you."
"It doesn't matter what you wanted!" I'm nearly shouting now, fear making me harsh. "All they'll see is a middle-aged man fucking a teenage girl who was put in his care. Do you understand? They'll think I'm a predator."
"You're not—"
"Aren't I?" The question tears out of me, giving voice to the guilt that's been building since Mrs. Peterson walked in.
Since the first time I touched Kate. Hell, since the first time I looked at her with anything other than platonic affection.
"What kind of man lusts after his best friend's daughter?
What kind of guardian fucks the girl he's supposed to be protecting? "
Kate reaches for me, but I step back, avoiding her touch. If she touches me now, I'll break. I'll pull her into my arms and never let go, consequences be damned. And I can't do that to her.
"Lucas, please," she says, hurt clouding her eyes. "Don't do this. Don't pull away from me."
"We need to think about this rationally." I force my voice to be calm, controlled, though I feel anything but. "About what happens next. About the repercussions."
"The only thing that matters is that we love each other," she insists. "Everything else is just noise."
Love. The word hits me like a physical blow.
We've never said it, not in all our frantic couplings, our whispered words in the dark.
I've felt it—God knows I've felt it—but hearing it spoken aloud makes this all the more terrible.
Because I do love her. So much it terrifies me.
Enough to know I might need to let her go.
"It's not that simple," I say, each word costing me. "People will talk. They'll judge. It could affect your future, your opportunities—"
"I don't care about any of that."
"Well, I do!" I slam my hand against the wall, frustration boiling over. "I care about what happens to you. About the life you deserve to have."
"The life I want is with you," she says, tears gathering in her eyes now. "Why can't you understand that?"
I look at her—really look at her. She's so young, so beautiful, so full of fire and certainty. And what am I? Scarred. Damaged. Twice her age with a past full of violence and darkness. What right do I have to claim her? To taint her brightness with my shadows?
"You deserve better than me," I say quietly.
"Don't tell me what I deserve," she snaps, anger flashing through her tears. "I know exactly what I want."
"Do you?" I challenge. "Have you thought about what this means?
Really thought about it? No college experience.
No dating guys your own age. No normal life.
Just stuck here with a man old enough to be your father, becoming the subject of town gossip, having everyone look at you and wonder what he did to make you want him. "
She flinches at my words, and I hate myself for hurting her. But better a clean cut now than a slow bleed later.
"You think I care about 'college experiences'?" she asks, voice trembling with emotion. "About dating boys who don't know who they are or what they want? I know what I want. I've always known."
I turn away from her, unable to bear the naked emotion on her face. "Maybe you just think you do. Maybe this is just…gratitude. Or proximity. Or your first experience with desire."
"Don't you dare," she whispers, voice dangerously low. "Don't you dare try to diminish what I feel for you."
I close my eyes, fighting for control. "I'm trying to be rational. To think about your future."
"My future is with you.”
The certainty in her voice nearly breaks my resolve.
But then I think of James—of his trust in me, of his face if he could see me now.
I think of Kate in five years, ten, realizing what she missed because she tied herself to me so young.
I think of the whispers that will follow her, the judgment, the speculation.
"I need some time," I say finally, not looking at her. "To think. To figure out what happens next."
"Lucas—"
"Please, Kate." My voice cracks on her name. "Just…give me some space. I need to clear my head."
I don't wait for her response. I can't. If I stay in this room with her another minute, looking at her tear-stained face, I'll take everything back. I'll gather her in my arms and promise her the world, consequences be damned.
Instead, I grab my keys from the side table and head for the door. Running again, like the coward I am. But this time I tell myself it's not selfish. This time, I'm running to protect her, not myself.
As I start the car, I catch a glimpse of her in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself, watching me leave. The sight carves something vital out of my chest.
I'm a monster for wanting her. For taking her. For ruining her.
But as I drive away, I wonder if I'm not a worse monster for leaving her.