LUKE
“Andi.”
She stops but doesn’t turn. The words of her song still echo between us—every lyric a wound I know I deserve. I want to call her back to say something that might matter, but nothing comes to mind.
She speaks first, her voice rigid, trembling at the edges. “What do you want, Luke?”
I see her shoulders shake once, as if she’s holding herself together by sheer force of will. I want to reach for her, to apologize, to beg her to stay, but all I manage is, “Are you—” The question falters. “Are you okay?”
A pause. She doesn’t look at me. “I’m fine.” The words are brittle, a lie we both hear.
She walks away, her pace quickening, and I stand rooted to the spot, watching her taillights disappear into the night. The ache deep in my chest is sharp, hollowing me out.
“Are you kidding me?” Brandon snaps. “You asked her if she needed someone to drive her home after some guy just assaulted her in the parking lot. How many times have you been hit in the head?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. He shakes his head and walks away, leaving me alone with the weight of what I’ve done.
Shane told me a little about that douchebag Brad. When I saw him lift Andi up off the floor tonight, I wanted to wipe the floor with him. After Shane told me why he hates Brad so much, I wished I’d done it.
Andi went on a couple of dates with him but wouldn’t sleep with him. Shane said she knew almost immediately he was trouble. When she turned Brad down, he tried to drag her off anyway, just like he did tonight. No doubt to rape her, but something else is off in the guy’s head too. He thinks that if he can just get her alone long enough, she’ll change her mind.
When I saw Brad pulling her, and she was fighting with everything she had, my body moved before my braincould argue. I went to her first. Shane wouldn’t let Brad walk, and I knew it. I couldn’t stand the thought of her being afraid for even one more second.
I drive to her house, the silence in the cab thick and punishing. Her bedroom light is on. I sit in my truck, staring up at her window, wishing I could take back every word, every moment I let her down. I rake my hands over my face, force myself out of the truck, and walk up to ring her doorbell. I don’t expect her to answer. I’m fully prepared for her to look out the window, see my truck, and tell me to go to hell.
Still, I ring it again.
Nothing.
After a couple more tries, I sink down on the porch with my back to the door. I tip my head against the wood and stare at the doorknob as if it might turn out of mercy.
“Andi, baby,” I say to the door, because I don’t deserve to say it to her face. “I’m so sorry. God, I don’t have the words to describe how sorry I am.”
The words come out clumsy, useless. I press my forehead against the wood. “I screwed this up. I ruined it. I ruinedus. I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve shut up and let you talk. I should’ve believed you when you asked me to. I should’ve kept my promise to you. But I failed you.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t stop. I don’t get to stop. “I left you there. I just—” I swallow hard. “I didn’t stay. I didn’t fight for you.I walked away like a coward. I chose my fear, and I let it make me cruel. I let it turn you into something you never were, and I hate myself for it.”
The silence on the other side of the door is unbearable.
“I should’ve driven you home tonight. I should’ve been the one standing between you and everything that tried to hurt you. I keep telling myself I wanted to protect you, but the truth is—I protected myself.” My voice breaks completely. “And I lost you because of it.”
I drag in a breath that doesn’t go all the way down. “I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve another chance. I just… I miss you so much I can’t breathe.”
I sit there for I don’t know how long, hoping she heard me. Hoping she’ll open the door and let me in. But the house stays quiet. The knob doesn’t move. No footsteps. No latch.
So I leave.
On the drive back to my apartment, it hits me hard that I’ve lost her for good. This isn’t me being pissed or being stupid again. This is me realizing the rest of my life might be spent without her.
After two nightsof no sleep, I stumble into my living room and turn on the TV for the Monday morning news. I flip through the stations until a familiar face catches my eye. The local news is showing an older picture of Andi, but it’s still her. My brain stalls because it can’t make the words fit the image.
“In entertainment news, Andrea Morgan, daughter of the legendary Maxwell Morgan, will officially assume control of her family’s various properties and their mass media conglomerate, with assets estimated to be in thebillions, for her twenty-eighth birthday, only three weeks away,” the reporter says.
“An elegant, A-list, invitation-only gala will be held at the Hyatt Regency Atlanta Ballroom to celebrate her birthday and the completion of Max Morgan’s will. If you were lucky enough to be on the invite list, you’re in for a treat. If you weren’t, you can count on us to bring it to you live.”
That’s my Andi on the screen.
This is one thing my dad was right about. Her birthday is a big deal, and she never mentioned it to me. But Brandon’s voice loops through my head again, relentless.
