21. Chapter 21
Lorenz
“ L orenz.”
He flinched at the sound of his name. It was Charlie’s voice—her same voice—but he couldn’t recognize it. Just like he couldn’t recognize his own body.
Six years .
For six years, he’d carried one version of their ending. And now, suddenly, it was as if a veil had lifted. He suddenly understood —understood that every silence, everything they’d gone through, every step that had taken her away from him—could all be traced back to this .
“How long?”
His voice sounded distant, flat. Charlie flinched, but answered him.
“I knew right after the miscarriage,” she breathed.
Months .
Months before the divorce. Months in which they’d slept in the same bed, eaten at the same table, moved around each other so carefully.
“All that time. You knew.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Charlie said. Her face had gone pale. He could see she was hurting, but there was nothing he could do about her pain. His body had turned to stone.
He shoved back abruptly. He couldn’t stay here for a second longer.
Charlie startled, raising her hands in something like supplication.
The reaction cut through him, but only for a second. There was too much inside him. Anger, grief, disbelief, all tangled together.
“You let me think you didn’t want me.”
“Lorenz. Please. I was barely functioning.”
Self-pity filled him, the taste foreign and bitter. His pulse hammered in his ears, blocking out his reason.
“You don’t get to make excuses for yourself,” he spat out.
She recoiled against the cushions, and he hated himself for that, too.
“Please,” she begged, and it was unclear what she was begging for, but whatever it was, he couldn’t give it to her.
I can’t understand you.
I can’t forgive you.
“I can’t do this right now,” he said, turning away before he could see her expression. “I need some space.”
“Lorenz—”
“Please stay here.”
The night air struck his face, sharp enough to make him inhale. Surely the cold would make it easier to breathe. Surely—
He walked without choosing a direction, because the direction didn’t matter, only the movement. He walked for a long time, his legs moving automatically while his mind focused on blocking all thoughts.
The cold helped. It worked its way inside his T-shirt, sharp and immediate.
He crossed the first street without looking up. Light glowed from behind some of the curtained windows. Farther down the road, a dog barked, eliciting an immediate response from two or three others.
He kept walking, matching his breathing to his steps, using the same rhythm he used in races.
He did not allow himself to think about Charlie. Or the tears in her eyes as he’d turned away.
Walk.
Keep moving.
His body knew how to do that. It had carried him through exhaustion, through injury, through pain.
This was different.
Tonight, he had no direction. No finish point.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, fingers already numb from the cold.
Eventually, he found himself back on the Floria bridge. He could have turned away, but he didn’t.
Dead leaves shifted under his boots. He adjusted his balance automatically. He hated that competence, the way his body continued to function as it always had. As if nothing had happened.
As if Charlie’s words hadn’t just unraveled the last six years of his life.
He stopped in the middle of the bridge, watching the river rushing below.
The thoughts he’d worked so hard to push away forced their way back into his mind. Unbearable facts.
She’d lied to him.
She’d lied to him for months.
Then for years.
She had taken a choice from him, deciding for both of them.
He tried to hold on to the anger, because the anger was clean and simple. What Charlie had done was wrong. She had taken a choice from him. She had kept the truth from him for years.
Something wet fell on his cheek, and he wiped angrily at it, but another followed, then another.
His chest tightened.
He wasn’t angry. Not really. He was grieving. For their unborn child, but also for the years they’d thrown away.
He slid down until he was sitting on the wooden planks, his back against the steel railing.
His mind replayed her words.
You still don’t understand, Lorenz. What I meant was, I can’t have more children. Ever.
Something pulled tight inside him—not at her actual words, but at the fact that she’d carried this weight alone, that she’d built her decision around it, that she’d walked away from them because of it.
And that she’d done it for him. Because she thought that was what he needed .
And you sat by and let it happen .
He’d lost her because he hadn’t fought hard enough for them.
That was the truth.
For the longest time, nothing moved around him except the river. Shadows fell, but Lorenz barely noticed.
Eventually, a single light appeared on the far side of the bridge, cutting a pale path through the darkness.
The engine died. Lorenz narrowed his eyes, recognizing Beau’s motorbike an instant before the other man spoke.
“Lorenz?”
Lorenz stood up awkwardly, his legs protesting. Pins and needles shot through his feet. He reached out with a half-frozen hand, grabbing onto the railing before his knees could give way. Only then did he register the cold.
“I’m here.”
Beau’s long strides ate the distance between them in a matter of seconds. He took one look at Lorenz and immediately shrugged out of his uniform jacket.
“Put this on.”
“I’m fine,” Lorenz stammered, but the words came out slower than he’d intended.
Beau ignored him, placing the jacket over his shoulders.
The warmth felt foreign.
“What are you doing here?” Lorenz asked.
“Looking for you.” There was an edge behind Beau’s calm voice. “We’re all looking for you.”
Lorenz’s stomach tightened.
“Is everyone okay? Is Charlie okay?”
He’d promised to take care of her, and then he’d left her. Alone. Once again.
Beau sighed. “She’s fine. She’s the one who called, when she couldn’t reach you.”
Lorenz frowned. “I must have left my phone at home. What time is it?”
“A little after midnight.” Beau pulled out his phone. “Let me send a message to let everyone know you’re okay.”
“Charlie …”
“She’s at your place. Ry and Isla are with her.” Beau studied him for a long time. “What’s going on, man?”
“I … I needed time to think,” Lorenz said, realizing how pathetic he sounded.
“Are you done thinking?” Beau asked. “She was really worried.”
Lorenz thought of Charlie’s tear-streaked face as he’d left the house. He tried to imagine how scared she must have been to call his friends.
And he’d been the one to do that to her.
Lorenz closed his eyes briefly.
“I need to go home. I need to talk to her.”
“That sounds like the first smart thing you’ve said all evening.”