Page 107 of Trustfall

“I went back that night,” his voice interrupts my thoughts. He tosses the book on my bed. “I was up all night on Nate’s floor. I couldn’t sleep. Our conversation kept replaying in my head. So, I went back to the library. I thought maybe you would still be there. Maybe you fell asleep while you were reading, and I could look at you one last time. But you weren’t there. Your book was, though, still sitting on the windowsill. I opened it and smiled when I saw your name written in those loopy letters girls were obsessed with back then. The cover was so worn, like you’d read it a hundred times and the ‘y’ in your name was smudged, like something had spilled on it. Then I saw your notes, scribbled in all the margins. I read every single one, Emory. They didn’t make sense because I hadn’t read the book yet, but I loved hearing your voice in my head, knowing your thoughts. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew it was wrong, an invasion of your privacy, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I croak, my voice thick with unshed tears.

“Because you make me do things I would never normally do. I’m not the perfect guy everyone thinks I am. I make mistakes and have weak moments. Sometimes I regret them, sometimes I don’t. I don’t regret reading your notes. I don’t regret beating the shit out of the son of a bitch who hurt you for years. What I do regret is how I went about it. I…just…” He takes a deep, controlled breath as if trying to choose the right words. “can’t help the way I act sometimes when it comes to you.”

“That’s exactly why we shouldn’t be together.” Every single word stings as it comes out of my mouth, but I don’t have a choice. I can’t be in another toxic relationship. I barely survived last time. I have to choose myself.

Luke’s expression suddenly changes, his eyes blazing with intensity. He moves towards me, and I instinctively step back, causing his eyes to pool with regret. He doesn’t do this. This isn’t him, and he knows it. He’s not aggressive. But he’s desperate. Just like he was that night I was in Ashton’s car.

“Emory,” he breathes. “I’m angry and frustrated, but you have to know I would never hurt you.”

“Jaxon never hurt me physically, either,” I whisper.

“I’m not him, baby.” He takes a step back and sits on the edge of the bed, giving me space. “Emory, I’ve known you were it for me since that night in the library. Maybe longer. I broke your trust, and I’ll spend the rest of my life earning it back if that’s what it takes, but I won’t give up on us. Take as long as you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

It happens too fast, I don’t even realize my feet are moving until I’m across the room. Luke stands just as I reach him, and I wrap my arms around his torso, gripping the back of his shirt. I let the tears fall freely, knowing I couldn’t hold them back anymore if I tried. Luke lets out a shaky sigh.He’s crying.“I’ll give you anything, Emory.Everything.All you have to do is ask.”

I bring my hand up to wipe the tears from my face, keeping my head held high. “I already did,” I whisper, and it takes every molecule in my body to bring my hand down to his chest and gently push him back. “I asked you not to break my heart.”

His red, puffy eyes search mine, but I don’t let them linger. I flick mine toward the door.

“Please be gone when I get back,” I say as I turn around and walk out.

35

LUKE

I walk backinto the living room from the kitchen for the hundredth time. It’s been twenty-four hours. Twenty-four fucking hours since she walked out on me. I swear to God when I get her back, I’m never letting her leave my side again. She’s going to have to bring me to work with her every day. I’ll gladly break my no-hospital rule if it means not letting her out of my sight.

I walk back into the kitchen again. It also doesn’t help that I’m basically unemployed. Dad sold the construction company, which I guess is for the best even though I didn’t end up needing the bail money. But then my boss at the bar I was working at part-time somehow got wind of my arrest. He called me last night. Even though the charges were dropped, he still doesn’t feel comfortable with me staying on. I guess I can’t blame him. It is a pretty high-end bar, especially compared to the Coyote Ugly dupe I was working at in the city. But it means I literally have nothing to do but pace around my house and replay everything that has happened in the last few days on loop in my head. I need to think about my next move. I need to get a job. But I can’t think about anything else until I get her back.

As I make my next pass through the living room, I surprise myself by veering off toward my bedroom instead of going back to the kitchen. I guess it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise. I’ve been coming in here every twenty minutes or so to look at the box on my nightstand. The little black box. My grandmother’s ring. She gave it to my mom a year ago after my grandpa passed. She said it had served its purpose in her life and now it deserved to symbolize love in someone else’s. She wanted my mom to give it to me when the time was right.

I went back to my parents’ house yesterday when I was first released. I wanted to go straight to Emory, but my mom said she wanted to talk, and I owed it to her. A lot had happened since I last spoke to her. I ended up telling my parents—both of them—everything. About Emory, what happened at the Gala with Nate, her douchebag ex. I didn’t go into specifics about what he did to her. That’s not my story to tell. But I did tell them he was toxic as fuck and that he pushed me into getting physical. I’m not proud of how I reacted, but I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again in a heartbeat. That piece of shit deserves so much worse.

After I was done talking, my mom got up and walked out of the room. She came back with the black box and told me to hold onto it for whenever I’m ready.

God, I would put it on her finger this second if she’d let me.

She has every right to be angry. I broke her trust. Right after I told her I would guard it with my fucking life. I invaded her privacy. I didn’t treat her like a partner. That’s the part I regret the most. I should have told her my plan.I would have driven the fucking getaway car.Her words replay in my head. She’s such a badass; I know she would have. I’m the asshole who took the choice away from her. Just like Nate. It’s why I’m giving her space. As much as the fantasy of dragging her out of her house kicking and screaming, and locking her up in my bedroom, has played on loop in the back of my head for the past twenty-four hours, I can’t do that. This relationship has to be her choice.

Of course, when Nate filled me in on everything and told me that she went to see the douchebag by herself, I almost caved and broke down her door so I could yell at her. How could she be so reckless? Then I realized I was doing it again. Not treating her like an equal. She knew what she was doing. She had backup. People who knew exactly where she was and a plan to get out if she needed to. My girl doesn’t half-ass anything.

When Nate told me about the recording, I wasn’t surprised. It made sense with how weird Jaxon was acting. One minute he was the slimy sick fuck he had been in the gazebo; the next he was playing the scared little victim. He was baiting me and recorded the moment I completely lost it.

At least Nate and I got a chance to hash everything out. He was hurt that we hid our relationship from him, but I think he finally understands why we did it. He ended up telling Emory about what happened back in high school with that fucknut, Taylor. I was prepared to take that shit to my grave, but she deserves to know what made him go crazy back then. I’m not saying Nate and I are totally back to normal, but I know we’ll get there eventually. Just like I know Emory and I will. We have to.

I look back at the box. I haven’t even opened it yet. I know what it looks like. I’ve seen my grandmother wearing it my whole life, but it’s been a while. I decide I’m not going to look at it. Not until I’m putting it on her finger.

I run my hands through my hair. Fuck. I need to get out of here. I feel like a caged animal. It’s even worse than when I was in an actual cage a day ago.

That reminds me of the talk with my dad at the prison. You can’t patch up a relationship in the span of a twenty-minute conversation through glass, but it’s a start, I guess. He wants to work on our relationship, and I do too. I bark out a laugh at his comment about me getting tatted in prison. Now that I’m not fighting for my freedom, I guess it is kind of funny. I look down at the scar on my arm, running my finger along the red line. One of the few places on my body with no tattoos.

Then I get an idea.

I make a quick call to Marco. His boyfriend owns a tattoo shop in town and has done most of Marco’s ink, which is super detailed. He answers right away, and after some muffled conversation between him and who I assume is his boyfriend, he says he can get me in at eleven. I look at my phone. It’s only nine.

Guess it’s back to pacing until then.

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