Or the fact that he believed he could handle them alone.
CHAPTER 22
Luke
The anger hadn’t burnedoff yet.
It sat heavy and hot in his chest, fed by the image he couldn’t shake—Grace frozen at the bottom of her steps, breath shallow, explaining in a voice too calm that a stranger had touched her.
He’d wanted to tear the world apart for that.
It hadn’t been about the crime. Or the rules. Or the report Mercer had brushed off.
It had been abouther.
About the idea of her being scared and Luke not being there for her. About danger in her life when she was unguarded, unclaimed, exposed.
It took a long moment before Luke was able to walk away.
He could already feel the pull of wanting to turn back—the instinct to knock again, to say something else, to fix what he’d already broken.
Instead, he jogged back to where he’d parked his police car. He needed to get back to the station. He still had hours left on his shift.
He’d be back here in the morning, to walk her to school again. Walking beside her this morning had felt… right.
Not exciting. Not forbidden. Not secret.
Right.
The rhythm of it. Matching her stride.
Then walking her home after school—the same thing. Natural. Easy. Like it was something they’d always done and somehow forgotten.
The sex had been incredible. Addictive.
But walking with her?—
Jesus.
That was better.
Being beside her.
Being a part of her daily life.
The truth hit him so hard he stopped jogging.
He bent forward slightly, hands braced on his thighs, breath coming sharper now.
He could have had this for real. The thought tore at him. He’d had her.
She’d asked him for more. For dinners. For mornings. For acknowledgment. For a hand held in public.
And he’d said no.
Because he’d been afraid.
Afraid of looks. Of whispers. Of his parents’ silence. Of Mercer’s jokes. Of the town deciding he’d made a poor choice.
