Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LUKE
Damn, infuriating woman.
I’ve called. I’ve texted. I’ve left voicemails. I’ve banged on her door at hours that should qualify as criminal. Nothing. Not one response. Not one crack in the wall she built to keep me out.
The last thing she said to me implied I was only with her to help my dad get what he wanted.
That hurt.
It also made me see red.
Then she disappeared behind silence and wouldn’t even let me defend myself. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
Shane’s barely spoken to me for the past couple of weeks. He’s known something was wrong. Today I finally told him everything, and I swear he almost tore my head off. He went into the gym like a man possessed and broke a bunch of equipment just to avoid breaking me.
He did eventually threaten to have my balls stuffed and mounted if I didn’t make this right. I believe he would do it, too.
He loves Andi as a brother should. Like I should have. But when it mattered, when the pressure hit, I caved. And now the press is getting worse around her, circling like sharks because they smell blood in the water.
She amazes me. She’s holding her head up through all of this, and I don’t know how.
I waited at the club because I knew she’d show up. Shane told me the girls were meeting there, and I took full advantage. I watched the TVs when her face was on every screen again, watched strangers dissect her life like it was their right, listened to people who don’t know her call her dangerous.
Then she walked past our table without even looking at me and went straight for the stage.
I almost followed her. Almost stormed up there and carried her off just to get her somewhere private, somewhere safe.
But I didn’t.
I sat there and let the song kill me. She poured her pain into it, and the words hit like blows. She thinks I used her. She thinks I was part of my dad’s scheme. She thinks I didn’t stand up to him because I was in on it. She thinks everything between us was a sham.
And I’m sitting there with my heart bleeding out inside me, taking it because I deserve it. When she left the stage, she started dancing with another man, and that was it. All my restraint snapped. I marched toward her and demanded that she come with me. She refused.
Of course she did.
So, being stubborn as hell and refusing to let one more day go by without fixing this, I resorted to the only solution my body understands when my brain is failing: I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder.
People stared. Nobody interfered. I guess my "don’t even try it" face was at full strength tonight.
But the second I heard her voice, the one she uses with the kids at the center, the one that says, "Don’t push me,” it clicked.
I was about to walk outside with her over my shoulder, against her will, with cameras potentially waiting.
Mitch had already taken care of that threat inside the club, but there’s only so much control he has over the outside of the building.
And that would be the final nail in her coffin.
Actually, not hers. Mine. So I stopped and set her down, but I didn’t let go of her out of fear she’d get away from me as fast as humanly possible.
“Then walk with me like a normal person would,” I told her, because I didn’t trust myself to do anything else.
She sighed, as if she wanted to slap me, and agreed.
I linked our fingers together because I’m desperate, and because the sensation of her hand in mine is the only thing that makes me feel like I’m not drowning.
We’re inside now, and she heads for the chair like she’s trying to put distance between us in the form of furniture. I don’t let her. I guide her gently toward the couch instead, one hand light at her elbow, just enough pressure to redirect without forcing.
She sits at the far end, posture rigid, eyes trained on anything but me.
I know she expects me to sit at the other end like a respectful stranger.
I sit beside her instead and close the space between us.
Not touching. Not crowding. Just…present.
Close enough that she can’t pretend I’m not here, close enough that I can’t pretend I’m not terrified.
She looks perturbed for half a second, then turns slightly toward me and waits, guarded and silent, as if she’s bracing for impact.
“I’m not really good at this, Andi,” I say, my voice strained and rough. “So I’m going to say I’m sorry right now in case something I say comes out wrong.”
She gives one small nod, nothing more.
“Saying I’m sorry isn’t enough, even though I mean it,” I continue.
“I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry for leaving you there.
I’m sorry I didn’t listen when you begged me to.
” I swallow, forcing myself to keep going.
“But I need you to understand why I reacted the way I did, because it wasn’t about you being untrustworthy.
It was about me being a coward with old wounds. ”
“Brandon told me something that shook me,” I say. “He told me to stop using Megan as the standard I judge other women by.”
My throat tightens. “And I did it, anyway. I did it to you.”
The words hang between us, as heavy as concrete.
“When Dad showed me those pictures and that court document, I put you in that category,” I admit.
“Andi, I’ve always felt guilty for how Megan and Carl’s scheme hurt my dad’s business, because if I hadn’t brought Megan into our lives, none of it would’ve happened.
So when my dad handed me something that looked like proof, I didn’t question it.
I didn’t ask you anything. I didn’t give you a chance.
I jumped straight to the conclusion that you were using me and lying to me. ”
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t let the tears fall yet.
“I was completely wrong,” I say, voice rougher now. “And I’m sorry, even though I know that doesn’t fix what I broke. But I swear to you, on my life, I had nothing to do with my dad’s scheme. I didn’t know he hired the PI. I didn’t know he was going to threaten you. I didn’t know any of it.”
I shake my head once, disgusted with myself. “He knows how furious I am. Brandon does, too. My dad feels terrible, and the only time I’ve ever seen him cry was when he talked about hurting you and me.”
I lean forward slightly, hands clasped like I’m holding myself together.
“I know I broke my promise to you,” I say quietly. “And as much as it hurt you, it hurts me every day. It’s the kind of mistake that changes a man, Andi. I should have stood by you no matter what. I should have trusted you. I didn’t… and I hate myself for it.”
I hold her gaze, steadying my voice with pure will. “I will spend every day of the rest of my life doing whatever it takes to make it up to you. You’re worth it. And I will never make that mistake again.”
She’s quiet for a beat, then her voice comes soft, full of emotion. “Is that why you never thought your family accepted your career choice?”
I nod. “Yeah. I chose wrong once. I hurt my dad. I blamed Brandon. I got marked as the screwup.” I force out a humorless breath. “So when I didn’t go into development like my dad, when I chose something else, everybody just assumed I’d fail again.”
“You assumed you’d fail,” she corrects gently, and it rattles me how easily she sees through me.
I swallow. “Yeah. I did.” I look at her. “It doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t excuse any of it. But I need you to understand my reaction, because it wasn’t you. It was an old fear wearing your face.”
She studies me for a long moment, those sharp eyes boring straight through every defense I’ve ever had. Finally, she nods once. “Yes. I understand better now.” Her voice dips. “I still wish you had listened to me.”
“Andi, I should have—”
She lifts a hand. “Luke, wait.” Her breath shakes.
“I wish you had let me explain that night, but I should’ve told you before then.
” Her eyes shine, and she’s fighting not to break.
“I wanted to. I really did. But I was afraid. I kept putting it off because I wanted… a little more time with you. I was selfish. You should never have heard it from someone else first. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I realized how important you were to me. ”
Tears glisten in her eyes, and the word selfish doesn’t belong to her, not with everything she is.
“Andi, you’re not selfish,” I say, shaken. “You’re the kindest, most giving person I’ve ever met. How can you call yourself selfish?”
“Because you had a right to know,” she whispers. “If you wanted to be with me, you had a right to hear from me what you were getting into.” Her voice splinters. “I just wanted you a little longer. Every day, I wanted one more day.”
My chest aches like it’s being crushed.
She wipes at tears as soon as they fall, trying to keep control. “I never thought it would come out the way it did. But with my twenty-eighth birthday coming up, I knew it might surface somehow.” She swallows hard. “And I’m sorry if I caused problems between you and your dad.”
“Baby, no,” I say immediately. “None of this is your fault.” I lean in just enough for her to feel the truth in it. “I don’t know what happened, why they put you in that hospital, but I believe you. Unconditionally. You told me it wasn’t what it looked like, and that’s all I need.”
For a second, she goes still, like she can’t process the words.
Then she breaks.
The sobs hit her so hard that it was like something finally gave way inside her. I pull her into my arms and hold her tight while she shakes, while she cries like she’s been holding her breath for weeks.
Then something inside me gives way, sharp and silent, as I hold her.
Her sobs aren’t just about tonight—they’re the sound of years unraveling all at once.
I feel it in the way she clings to me, desperate and unguarded, as if she’s spent a lifetime bracing for disappointment and finally let herself collapse.
Each shuddering breath is a confession of birthdays spent alone, of holidays passed in silence, and of learning to swallow pain because there was no one to hear it.
I realize, with a helpless ache, that I am witnessing the breaking of the hope she’s built piece by fragile piece.
She let herself believe—just for a moment—that she was safe, that she was loved, that she belonged.
And now, in my arms, she’s mourning not just us, but every promise the world ever broke to her.
Guilt claws at my chest. I want to say something, anything, to make it better, but the words die in my throat.
I can only hold her tighter, feeling her heartbreak echo in my own body.
I ache for all the years she carried this alone, for every time she needed someone and found only emptiness.
I want to promise her she’ll never be alone again, but right now, all I can do is let her grief shake through both of us, and hope that my arms are strong enough to keep her from falling apart completely.
I want to say something, anything, to make it better, but all I can do is hold her tighter, feeling her heartbreak echo in my own chest. The heaviness of her grief settles between us, heavy and familiar, and I understand—maybe for the first time—how much she’s carried, and how easily it can all be lost.
It hurts to feel her hurt, and I hate myself for ever letting her go. And as I hold her, I know I’ll do anything to keep her from ever feeling this alone again.
When her crying slows, and she’s still pressed to me, I can’t stop the words.
“I have no right to ask this,” I whisper, voice wrecked.
“But I’m asking, anyway.” I pull back just enough to see her face.
“Please forgive me. Please take me back. If you’re selfish, then I’m greedy, because I can’t let you go.
I miss you so much I can’t breathe.” My throat tightens. “I love you. I love you so damn much.”
She pulls away slowly, and I feel it like losing warmth. She looks down at our hands as she threads her fingers through mine, as if she needs the contact but can’t risk eye contact.
I watch her face and know I’m not going to like what comes next.
She inhales, steadying herself. “I do forgive you. And I want you to forgive your father. He made a mistake, but he’s a good man. He did it for his family, and it’s hard for me to fault him for that.”
She pauses, and my whole body tightens.
“Why do I hear a ‘but’ in there?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm even as panic claws up my throat.
She lifts her eyes to mine. Tears sit there, unshed, and her jaw locks like she’s choosing pain on purpose.
“But I can’t take you back, Luke,” she says firmly. “We can’t get back together.”
Cold floods my chest.
“You don’t love me anymore?” I ask, barely breathing.
“No,” she whispers, staring at our hands like they’re the only thing she can control.
“You don’t mean that.” The words come out before I can stop them. “You don’t.”
Because she doesn’t lie well. I can see it in every fiber of her.
The irony of that thought guts me to the core. I can tell she’s lying because she’s not a good liar… and that should’ve been my first clue the night she begged me to listen.
“Look me in the eye and say the words,” I demand, my voice strained and my hands shaking. “Say, ‘I don’t love you, Luke.’”
Her tears finally fall, splashing onto our joined hands.
“Say it to my face, Andi.”
Her mouth opens. She tries. And then the truth breaks her.
“I can’t.”