Chapter Eight
Tatum
It’s been a week. A long, quiet, empty week.
Everything’s gone dull now. The world has been stripped of color, leaving behind shades I no longer recognize. I still go to class, still sit through lectures, still take notes like I’m supposed to, but none of it sticks. None of it matters anymore.
Because he’s not there. Lachlan. The thought of his name alone is enough to make my chest ache.
I miss him in ways I didn’t think were possible. It’s not just the physical—the way he touches me, the way his presence fills a room. It’s everything. The quiet moments. The small conversations. The way he looked at me like I was the thing holding him in place.
Except maybe I imagined it. All I know is that I’m in love with him, and he doesn’t love me back. Not the way I need him to.
The realization sits heavy in my chest again as I walk down the hallway toward my dorm. My steps are slower than usual, like I’m delaying the moment I have to step back into that empty room. My fingers tighten around my bag strap as I stop at my door, exhaling softly before I push it open.
Then, I freeze.
He’s there. Almost like the first time.
Lachlan stands near the window, his back half-turned, shoulders tense. His hands are shoved into his pockets like he doesn’t know what to do with them. For a second, I think I’m imagining it.
Have I finally reached the point where my mind is filling in the space he left behind?
Then he turns. And it’s real.
My breath goes out of me, my heart slamming against my ribs. He looks tired. Worn. Like the past week hit him as hard as it hit me. I feel a small, ugly satisfaction that I’m not the only one hurting.
“How did you—” I stop and look at the door. Look at the deadbolt he put in himself, on a Saturday, at nine in the morning.
“I kept a key,” he says.
“Of course you did.”
Then my mind moves past my initial shock. “What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice softer than I intend, betraying me immediately.
His gaze moves over me slowly, lingering long enough to warm my skin before he speaks. “You’ve lost weight.”
I blink at the concern in his tone. “That’s not your business anymore,” I reply quietly.
Something flickers in his eyes. Pain. It’s gone as fast as it came. “Yeah,” he says, almost to himself, like he’s reminding himself of that.
I close the door behind me. Silence stretches between us, thick and uncertain, neither of us moving, neither of us quite sure where to start.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I add after a second, my voice steadier now, as I walk farther into the room and drop my bag on the bed, standing even closer to him.
“I needed to see you,” he says.
The words hit harder than they should. I hold still and refuse to let the small spark of hope grow into something bigger.
“Why?” I ask.
He hesitates. Just for a second. “I joined the lawsuit,” he says finally.
My brows pull together slightly. “What?”
“Against Bardon. It was in the folder you left behind.”
His voice sharpens into something more certain.
“That company supplied the parts we put in the car that day. Greg’s got an engineer on it. The tie rod failed before I lost control—it was cracked before we ever pulled out of the shop, and the photos in my own crash report show it.”
When I don’t say anything, he goes on. “It wasn’t reckless driving. It was never reckless driving.”
“But you pleaded guilty.” My voice comes out thin. “Doesn’t that—”
“That’s what I asked him.” He shakes his head slowly, like he still doesn’t quite believe the answer.
“He says a plea doesn’t close the door. There’s a motion for evidence that didn’t exist when I entered it and couldn’t have been found. Their own internal testing data qualifies. He says it’s exactly what that motion is for.”
“That means…” I trail off, my pulse picking up for a completely different reason.
“It means the conviction can be vacated,” he finishes.
Silence falls. It’s heavy as I process what I just heard. Hope and fear, all of it collide at once. I swallow hard, my mind trying to catch up with what he’s saying. What this could mean. And how everything could change.
“That’s… good,” I say finally.
Because it is good. It’s more than good. It’s everything we never thought we’d get. But that’s not all I want from Lachlan.
I look at him again, really look. At the tension still in his shoulders, at the way his hands flex like he’s holding something back.
“Is that all?” I ask.
The question hangs there. Because if that’s the only reason he came, then nothing has changed.
He doesn’t answer right away. And that hesitation, although it hurts, tells me everything.
“Okay,” I say quietly, stepping back, creating distance between us. “Then you should go.”
His head lifts sharply. “Tatum—”
“You came, you told me, thank you,” I cut in, forcing the words out before I start feeling them too deeply. “Now you can stop blaming yourself. But there’s nothing else here.”
His body tenses. I watch the conflict move through him. But I can’t do this again.
“Please leave,” I add, softer this time, because if he stays any longer, I might break all over again.
He doesn’t move. “Tatum,” he pleads.
I shake my head, taking another step back. My fingers curl into fists like I need something to hold. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“It’s already hard,” he says, and the honesty in his voice wrecks me.
I look away because, if I keep looking, I might fold. I might forget everything I told myself this past week just to get through each day.
“You said enough already,” I add quietly. “I understand now.”
“You don’t.” The certainty in his voice pulls my eyes back to him. “You think this was an obligation?” he continues, taking a step forward. “You think I ignored you for four years because I didn’t feel anything?”
Relief hits first. What comes after it is uglier, and it comes fast—he’s free now. Free men don’t need anyone.
“I stayed away because I felt too much,” he says, his voice rawer than I’ve ever heard it. “Because every time I looked at you, all I could see was what I took from you. I couldn’t stand in front of you and pretend I deserved to be anywhere near you.”
My heart stutters at the words, at the way he’s looking at me now, like everything he’s been holding back is finally breaking through.
“That’s why you wouldn’t see me?” I ask softly.
He nods once. “Yeah.”
I stare at him. “You didn’t let me decide that,” I say after a moment. “You didn’t let me choose whether you were worth having in my life.”
“I know,” he admits, his gaze dropping briefly before coming back to mine. “I was wrong.”
The words nearly bring me to my knees. Because Lachlan doesn’t say things like that.
“And when you came back,” he continues, his voice growing raspier, “I tried to keep it the same. Tried to keep you at a distance.”
A small, shaky breath leaves me. “I know.”
“You made it impossible.” Something that’s almost a broken laugh gets out of him.
“Not by pushing. That’s what I couldn’t get past. After that night in this room, you never asked me for one thing. You just kept turning up and leaving it to me.”
He shakes his head slowly. “And you kept looking at me like I wasn’t what I know I am. That was the part I couldn’t hold out against.”
“Because you’re not,” I whisper.
He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, the tension radiating off his body. “You asked me if any of it was real,” he says, his voice more intense now. “If this…” his hand lifts slightly, hovering between us, “was just me paying something back.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I did.”
His gaze locks onto mine. “No. It’s not an obligation.
It never was." I didn’t plan this. I didn’t want this.
Not because of you, but because I knew what it would do to you if I couldn’t give you everything you deserved.”
He pauses. “And I still don’t think I deserve you. But that doesn’t change the fact that I—” He stops. Just for a second. “I love you.”
The words land between us, heavy and undeniable. Everything inside me stills.
“I’ve loved you longer than I should have,” he continues. “Longer than you think. It didn’t start when you came back. It’s been there under all of it—under the guilt, under everything I didn’t know how to deal with.”
Tears blur my vision.
“In prison, you were the only thing that made any of it bearable. And when I got out, there wasn’t anything left. No reason to do anything, care about anything.” His hand finally lifts, brushing lightly against my arm. “Then you came back. And suddenly there was.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and I don’t wipe it away. I can’t. Because everything I’ve wanted to hear, everything I was too afraid to hope for, is right here.
“I’m not doing this because I owe Tyler,” he says, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin. “I’m doing this because you’re the only thing that feels right when nothing else does.”
My breath trembles as I look up at him, my heart wide open in a way that feels terrifying and freeing all at once. “You mean that?” I whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.” The certainty in his voice breaks something in me. In the best way.
“You broke me, Lachlan,” I confess.
“I know.”
“You broke my heart,” My voice goes to pieces, and then so do I, both fists coming down against his chest with no strength behind them at all.
He takes it. He pulls me in and holds me. “I know, kitten,” he says into my hair. “Forgive me,” he whispers.
I pull back and gaze at him. “I love you too,” I say.
And for the first time since all of this started, everything feels aligned. The words settle between us, heavy and fragile at the same time. We stand there, breathing unevenly, staring at each other.
Then he moves. Slowly. Deliberately.
His hand slides from my arm to my waist, drawing me in with a care that feels different from before. My breath catches as I step into him without hesitation.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispers. His forehead rests against mine, his breath warm against my lips.
“I’ve missed you too,” I whisper back.