Chapter 25 #2
I blink at him, surprised at how little he flinches at my confession, at the chaos of my history laid bare. “You… you understand?”
“I do,” he says. His hand hovers again, closer this time. “And I’m not going anywhere, Lucky. Not now, not ever. You won’t have to face that alone again.”
My chest tightens, the weight of years of fear, neglect, and abuse pressing down. But for the first time, I let myself believe it.
“I… I just—” I swallow, tears blurring my vision. “I never wanted anyone to see this side of me. The real me. I was scared you’d leave, like everyone else.”
He reaches, finally, fingertips brushing mine. “I’m not like everyone else. And you don’t have to be afraid of me. I’ll protect what’s mine, Lucky. That’s you.”
I exhale a shaky laugh, a sob breaking through. “I think… I think I needed you to hear all of it. All the dirt, all the mess.”
“And I’ve heard it,” he says firmly, his eyes steady and unflinching. “And I’m still here.”
I drop my head into my hands, elbows digging into the table, and finally let it come—the scream that’s been clawing at my throat for years. Tears spill over, hot and relentless, the kind that leave your skin stinging and your chest raw. I can’t stop them. My whole body shakes.
“Shhh…” Ethan leans closer, hand finally resting lightly against my back. Not pressing, just there. Solid. Anchoring me. I flinch at first, because physical contact scares me, but his presence is… different. Safe. I don’t have to fight it.
“I… I hated it,” I choke out between sobs, voice trembling.
“I hated being Lucky Pink. That… that stage persona they forced me to be. On stage, off stage, even in my own apartment—I wasn’t allowed to breathe.
My label, Jett, the public, the paparazzi…
all of them deciding who I was, what I should do, how I should act.
I hated… I hated being nothing but a product.
A manufactured version of me that wasn’t me at all.
And I kept crashing because of it. They’d pump me with whatever the doctors or witches prescribe and brought me back to life to get up on that stage and perform. ”
I press my face into my hands, the tears soaking my fingers.
“I… I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’ve lived inside her for so long…
that persona. Lucky Pink. The bad-girl rocker.
The loud, reckless, untouchable one. I forgot there was a girl underneath.
A girl who just wanted to write lyrics, strum her guitar, and play music for people who actually…
wanted to hear what I felt. Not the image, not the brand. ”
I peek at him through my fingers. His eyes don’t blink; they hold me like a lighthouse through the storm.
“Being here… at the lake, with Lily, with you… I think I’m starting to remember.
To feel… myself. Lucky Vale. Not the stage act.
Just me. But I don’t… I don’t know how to let go of her entirely.
How to be one without losing the other. And I’m… I’m terrified I’ll screw it all up.”
His hand moves, fingers brushing over mine, a tether to reality. “I know,” he says quietly. His voice is low, calm, unshakable, like a wall I can lean against. “I can see how much you’ve carried. How heavy it’s been.”
I lift my face, and my hair, still wet from the shower, falls over my cheeks, clinging like a mask I can’t remove.
“And Michael Scheifer… the way he… he broke into my home… and the lawyers, and the parole… God, Ethan, I’ve been terrified every single day since.
Seven years, hiding, hotel to hotel, thinking…
thinking I’ll never be safe again.” My voice shakes.
I can barely breathe. “And now Lily… and this stupid post… I thought—maybe I could handle it. Maybe I could outrun it. But I can’t.
I can’t run from myself or the past or him or… anything.”
Ethan leans forward, cupping my face in both hands. His thumbs trace my cheekbones, gentle, deliberate, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel like I have to hide. I let him see all of it—the chaos, the terror, the raw mess of me.
“You’re not running,” he says, voice firm but low. “Not from me. Not from Lily. Not from what matters. I’m not letting that happen. You won’t face it alone.”
I swallow, chest heaving, the tremor in my hands slowing as his presence grounds me. “I… I just—” My voice cracks, words tumbling out. “I never wanted anyone to see this… to see the wreck I am underneath Lucky Pink. I didn’t want you to… to see me and leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” he says. His eyes are dark, steady, almost dangerous in a way that makes my stomach tighten. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. You won’t ever be alone in this.”
I close my eyes, leaning into his hands, feeling the warmth, the strength of him. “I’m… I’m so scared, Ethan. I’ve pushed everyone away for so long. I… I don’t know how to let anyone in.”
“You don’t have to know how yet,” he says. “I’ll show you. I’ll be here. Every step.”
I feel a shudder run through me, but it’s different than before—less fear, more release. I start to let go, sobbing into the warmth of his hands, and for the first time, the chaos inside me feels… seen. Acknowledged. Held. Not judged, not mocked, not abandoned.
“I… I want… I want to try,” I whisper, voice barely audible. “I want… I need you, Ethan.”
“You have me,” he says, voice low and absolute. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
I cling to him, finally letting all of it—the rage, the pain, the fear—spill out. And amidst the tears and trembling, there’s a spark of relief, a fragile sort of hope. The storm inside me isn’t gone, but for the first time in years, I don’t have to face it alone.
I let out this ugly, wet huff of a laugh, dragging my hand across my face. “God… I’m honestly surprised you’re not legging it across the whole damn state after hearing how damaged I am.”
Ethan looks at me like I’ve said the stupidest thing in the universe. Not angry—just… stunned.
“Lucky,” he says, voice low and infuriatingly steady, “if you ever uncover a person without damage, they’re probably not real.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. My chest folds in on itself.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them. He’s not touching me—not while he’s talking about something that still bleeds. I can feel that even from a foot away.
“Everyone carries something,” he goes on. “Life doesn’t hand out clean slates.”
I swallow. My lungs feel too tight for air.
“You think your damage scares me?” he murmurs. He lifts his eyes to me, and I swear I feel my heart try to climb out of my chest. “You don’t know the half of mine.”
The room shifts around us, like gravity’s suddenly uneven.
“I told you about Mara and me… and the fight we had,” he says. His voice changes—low, controlled in the way people get when control is the only thing holding them together. “It was a stupid one. I pushed when I should’ve listened. I got her angry, and she left to cool off.”
A beat. A jaw twitch.
“And you know what happened next.”
Oh God, yeah, I remember him telling me like it was yesterday.
Something breaks open behind my ribs—pain, empathy, guilt, all tangled together.
“For a long time,” he says, staring at his hands like they’re the crime scene, “I told myself if I’d shut my damn mouth, if I’d just been less stubborn, she wouldn’t have gotten in that car.” His throat tightens. “Wouldn’t have died.”
“Ethan…” I breathe, but it’s barely a sound.
“I know it’s not how it works. Accidents happen. But knowing and believing?” He shakes his head once. “Not the same thing.”
I want to crawl into his chest. I want to wrap my arms around him and hold the pieces together. I want to take the guilt out of him with my bare hands.
“I quit the army,” he says. “Moved home. Lily deserved a father who actually showed up. One Mara would’ve wanted her to have.”
A small breath, sharp. “I don’t regret that. Not for a second.”
My heart hurts so much, I don’t know where to put the feeling.
“And then you,” he says, looking up, “come crashing into my life like a damn hurricane with pink hair.”
Despite everything, something in me flickers.
“Sorry?” I whisper.
“You annoy the hell out of me,” he says, dead serious.
A watery laugh shoots out of me. “Likewise.”
“But I like you,” he says, quieter. “More than I meant to. More than I planned.”
My whole world stops.
“And whether you believe it or not,” he finishes, “your damage doesn’t make me want to run.”
My vision goes blurry again. “Ethan…”
He doesn’t look away this time. “I protect the people who matter to me.”
The words hit me like a physical thing—solid, warm, terrifying, perfect.
“And you matter.”
And for the first time in a very, very long time…I believe that someone means it.
I don’t think. I don’t weigh the consequences. I don’t analyze or protect myself or try to be clever.
I just move.
I lean in—slow at first, like I’m giving him time to stop me—but he doesn’t. His eyes flick to my mouth, just for a second, and that’s all it takes.
My lips press to his.
It’s soft at the start, trembling, a question. But he answers it instantly.
Ethan exhales through his nose—this low, rough sound—and his hand comes up, warm and certain, sliding to the back of my head. His fingers weave into my damp hair, holding me there like he can’t risk the universe pulling me away.
The kiss deepens, pulls me under.
He tastes like coffee and something steadier than anything I’ve ever known.
My whole body leans into him, as if gravity shifts around him. My knees bump his. My hands find his shoulders—broad and solid and stupidly comforting—, and I cling without meaning to.
He tilts his head, angling me closer, and the heat of him rolls through me so fast my breath stutters. His thumb brushes the base of my skull, gentle but claiming, and my heart just… gives up fighting.
I inch forward until I’m nearly in his lap, pressed against the firm line of his chest. He’s huge compared to me, all muscle and warmth, and for the first time in forever, the size of someone doesn’t intimidate me—it shelters me.
His other hand settles at my waist, fingers spreading, grounding me so completely I feel my pulse drop into rhythm with his.
God.
I didn’t know a kiss could feel like safety and desire and breaking open all at once.
I’m breathing hard when I finally tear my mouth from his, my forehead slipping against his cheek. His breath hits my skin, hot and uneven.
“Lucky…” he murmurs, voice wrecked and low.
I shake my head, fingers curling in his shirt. “I had to,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I couldn’t sit here one second longer without—without—”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hand still tangled in my hair, thumb brushing gently at the nape of my neck.
“Without what?” he asks, voice soft but edged with something deeper. Something he’s been holding back for too damn long.
I swallow hard, chest rising against his.
“Without showing you,” I say, breathless, “that you matter too. That you… that you’re not the only one who feels something. What I said earlier about you being the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I meant it.”
His eyes go darker—warmer—and his grip tightens ever so slightly, like my words land somewhere he didn’t expect.
He leans in again, mouth hovering over mine, close enough I feel the whisper of his breath.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
And I do—without hesitation.