Chapter 6
luna
I was a horrible person. I already knew that about myself—had known it, honestly. I’d decided I was a horrible person the moment I invited myself over to Will’s house, fully aware I was going there to end things. Smiling like nothing was wrong. Pretending I hadn’t already made up my mind.
The worst part was, I’d known long before that night. The truth had been creeping in for months. It started in moments like—
It was the first properly warm weekend after a long, gray winter.
The kind of rare London day where the sun actually stuck around long enough to make plans for.
Nova had suggested a double date—me and Will, her and Ollie—insisting it would be fun since her in-laws were visiting and she needed an excuse to get out of the house.
Ollie had found this little pub garden tucked away off a cobbled side street in Battersea. Wooden benches. String lights overhead. The smell of fried chips and beer in the air. It had that charming, slightly grimy feel like half the tables might give you a splinter, but that was part of the appeal.
Will had his arm around me as we walked. He squeezed my shoulder, smiled like this was the life he’d always pictured for himself. I told myself: This should feel good. I should be happy.
We sat on a weather-worn bench under a canopy of fairy lights, the sun dipping low behind the buildings.
Will kept nudging me with his knee, laughing at whatever dumb story Ollie was telling.
Nova was already tearing the crust off her cheese toastie like she did it without thinking, and I caught myself watching her—how easy she was with Ollie. How seen she looked.
When the waitress came, I parted my lips to order, but Will jumped in before I could.
“She’ll have the battered perch, mushy peas on the side, extra tartare.” He winked.
I smiled like it was cute. Like that wasn’t the exact kind of meal that made my stomach turn.
I ate a few bites to be polite. Nova slid me half of her chips under the table without a word. She knew, but Will never noticed. He was too busy rattling off beer names with Ollie and bragging about how he’d managed to book the “perfect spot” before the pub garden filled up.
It was supposed to be a good night. And technically, it was.
Yet sitting there, surrounded by laughter and fading light and people I loved . . . I’d never felt more quietly alone.
Years earlier
It was a blur of humid air and tangled hair in my face as we cruised down the lakeside road, windows down, music thumping low through the speakers.
I was sunburned and barefoot, curled up in Jeremy’s passenger seat with sand still stuck between my toes and my hoodie draped over my lap.
Dirks was stretched out in the back, half asleep and pink from the sun, his hand lazily tracing patterns on my shoulder.
We pulled up to this roadside shack—barely more than a trailer with a sign that read FRIED EVERYTHING in chipped, hand-painted letters.
I wrinkled my nose the second I read the menu.
Jeremy didn’t miss a beat. “She doesn’t like fried fish,” he told the girl behind the counter, already stepping up. “You still got those grilled shrimp tacos from last week?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Great. We’ll take three. No slaw on hers, extra lime.” He glanced back once. “Dirks, you still want that nasty-ass root beer float?”
Dirks grinned sleepily and nodded. “Please.”
Jeremy snorted but added it to the order anyway and tossed cash on the counter.
Dirks leaned into my side, pressing a kiss to the curve of my shoulder. “You okay with tacos?”
I smiled. “Yeah.”
He took the drinks when they were handed over and let Jeremy carry the tray of food, moving through the crowd as if the whole place belonged to him.
We ate on the hood of the car, the three of us tangled in that kind of sun-soaked closeness that made the rest of the world feel far away.
My feet rested in Dirks’s lap, his fingers soft and aimless on my ankle.
Jeremy sat next to me, thigh against mine.
With one hand, he held his taco, and the other moved animatedly as he launched into stories about busted noses, locker room brawls, and suspension-worthy hits.
Jeremy always led. Dirks always soothed. I sat in the middle, feeling full, not from the tacos, but from them.
From being chosen. From being seen. From being theirs.
The memories faded as I reached Will’s front door. My palms were sweaty. My stomach twisted into knots. I already knew he didn’t deserve this kind of ending, quiet and unceremonious, but I couldn’t lie anymore. Not to him. Not to myself.
I raised my hand and knocked.
Once. Then again, softer.
The door opened, and there he was.
“You don’t have to knock,” Will said with a smile, stepping aside.
He was wearing a navy polo and khakis, clean-shaven, hair still damp like he’d just showered.
“You changed after practice?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, pulling me into a kiss before I could say anything else.
It was soft, familiar, practiced.
I leaned into it for a second, then slipped past him, stepping inside.
The house was as grand as ever—elegant in a way that didn’t quite feel lived in. Ornate wallpaper, gold accents, spotless surfaces. His mum had helped decorate it; he told me once she’d picked out every detail.
I’d miss this house.
“Come in,” he called out warmly behind me. “I made your favorite.”
I blinked. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
He smiled, proud of himself. “Remember that place we went in the spring with Ollie and Nova? That little fish place by the lake? I got the recipe for the fried perch from there.”
Yay, I deadpanned silently.
On the outside, I smiled. On the inside, everything in me was screaming.
He didn’t know. He still didn’t know.
I hated fried fish.
I always had.
Suddenly, the thought of sitting across from him and pretending again—pretending this was love, that I could keep doing this—made my stomach twist even more. I was about to break a good man’s heart, and he’d made me dinner.
“Will,” I started, but he was already headed into the kitchen, grabbing the food.
My stomach roiled, both from the smell and the impending doom of what a breakup would mean.
“It’s been so long,” he said, turning off the stove and putting the fish on a plate for me. “Us dating, I mean.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, closing my eyes, not knowing where this was going.
“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, Luna.”
I swallowed, hard.
“You really put me through it when we first got together. Said I was too vanilla. That I wasn’t intense enough. That I didn’t know how to feel the way you did.”
He turned then, facing me fully, pride flickering in his eyes like he thought this was the part where I’d kiss him and say thank you.
“I changed you. Three years. Just me. No two-boyfriend weird stuff. No mess. I made you monogamous.”
That was the line. The invisible one I didn’t even realize I’d drawn, but now that he’d stepped over it, it sliced straight through me.
He thought that was love. He thought changing me was something to be proud of.
I was Luna fucking Pierson. I stood on stages and told women to be too much, take up space, run wild, be free.
I didn’t let men tame me.
Not unless we were in bed and there was consent and safe words and fun in the giving.
This was control dressed up as devotion.
“You’re right,” I said quietly, sitting down next to him. I reached for his hand and pushed my plate aside.
His brow furrowed. “What?”
“I did change,” I said softly. “Because of you, and I’m so sorry for that.”
“Luna—”
“No.” I cut in, tone still breezy. “Let me finish my big monologue moment.”
He shut his mouth.
“I’m sorry I let it happen. I’m sorry I tried to be palatable for you.
That I told myself stability meant silencing the parts of me that scared you.
” I stood up, smoothing my hands over my thighs like I was brushing off crumbs.
“And for the record? That two-boyfriend ‘weird stuff’? That was the happiest, most alive I’ve ever felt. ”
“Luna, that’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, standing and raising his hands like he could take the words and shove them back into his mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant . . . we’ve been together, and we’re happy, and I’m glad you—”
“No,” I said softly. “That’s the problem.”
He drew his brows together, confused and clearly already hurting.
“I did change, Will. You’re not wrong about that, but I didn’t change because you made me, I changed because I wanted to believe I could do this.
I wanted the kind of love Ollie and Nova have.
” I swallowed past the nerves. “I thought if I could stay, if I could quiet the parts of me that always ran, always needed more . . . Maybe I could become someone who was meant for this kind of love. Your kind of love.”
He didn’t say anything. Just watched me, eyes glassy.
“That’s not who I am. I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel the restlessness in my chest. I need space to burn and grow and be all the wild things I am. That’s not fair to you.”
He blinked slowly, like he was trying to make sense of the ending before it finished landing.
“I don’t hate you. I care about you so much, but I can’t keep shrinking myself to stay in something that doesn’t fit.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then said quietly, “I was going to propose.”
I froze and plopped back into the chair, flabbergasted.
“Will,” I murmured painfully softly. Tears burned my eyes, threatening to break loose.
He pulled out the chair next to mine. “I love you, Luna. I really do.”
I grabbed his hands. They were warm and familiar and comforting in the worst way.
“You know how I told you I was in the foster care system growing up?”
“Yeah.”