Chapter Eight
Ana
I find myself holding onto Luke the way I wish I would have held onto him in the past, my fingers flexing against the taut muscles in his shoulders, but unbidden, my mind now as alive as my body. And I’m not thinking about the hot encounter we just shared, as I wish I were, but rather how Luke’s reaction to Parker’s disappearance led to me half naked to my present state of undress on top of a random kitchen island.
If the past two years have taught me anything it’s that silence isn’t always kinder or sweeter than conversation.
“You didn’t get Parker killed,” I say again. “This isn’t your fault.” When his hand settles on my side, his fingers gentle where they rest at my waist, I’m encouraged enough to add, “You aren’t responsible for Kasey’s death. Kasey made that happen. I know that, Luke. I need you to know that, too.”
He noticeably tenses, and before I can stop it from happening, he pulls out of me, lifts me, and sets me on the ground before handing me a roll of paper towels. His eyes meet mine, anger burning in their depths. “And yet you don’t know how to be with me anymore.”
“Luke,” I whisper, but it’s too late. I’ve gone too far, too soon, by treading into the Kasey territory. He’s shut down and shut me out, proven by the fact that he steps backward, placing space between us and offering me his back as he rights his pants. I’m still standing there in shock when his hands settle on his hips, and his gaze lifts upward. “Get dressed, Ana,” he orders softly.
His words hit me like an emotional slap when I’m quite certain Luke has digested my words with the same impact, and I don’t know how to fix this or us. That was the point I was trying to make to him in the shower yesterday. I don’t know how to fix two years of emotions on either side.
Especially not right here and now.
I grab my pants and walk around the island, doing what I have to in order to put myself back together.
Luke snatches up his shirt, and still facing the other way, pulls it over his head, ripples of tense muscle flexing all the way down his upper torso. I walk about to the end of the island and almost as if he’s timed it as such, the moment I find my position there again, he turns to face me. “Luke, I know you couldn’t control Kasey. I know you didn’t intend to kill him. I know you had no other choice.”
“If you knew Kasey’s death wasn’t my fault, you wouldn’t have such a hard fucking time figuring out how to be with me, Ana.”
A pinch in my chest becomes a blast of adrenaline and emotion, my voice lifting with my reply, my hand cutting through the air. “You forget there’s more to this than one emotional night. You left me, Luke, you, my ride or die, left me. I spent two years dealing with this alone, and while I know you did the same, I didn’t make that decision.”
“You pushed me away.”
“I was emotional and hurt.” The reply rasps through clenched teeth. “I didn’t need you to leave. I needed you to hold on tighter. That’s what married people do. They hold on tighter.”
“We weren’t married, Ana.”
I can almost feel the color drain from my face. “No,” I croak out, hugging myself against the blow he’s just delivered. “No, we weren’t. How did I forget that? And I have your ring locked away safely to do with what you want.” I rotate with the intent of escaping.
He’s there quickly, catching my arm, turning me to him, his touch both fire and ice somehow heating my skin and still chilling me inside and out. “You took that wrong,” he murmurs. “You didn’t want to marry me,” he claims.
“Says you, not me,” I reply, my tone softer now, the energy to yell or shout drained out of me, but I have the misfortune of still feeling too much where Luke is concerned. Just too much.
“Ana,” he says, his tone gentler now, rough with emotion, the deep baritone of his voice doing funny things to my belly, stirring a reaction to him that is all about heat and love.
He steps a little closer and I tell myself to back up, to move away, to run away before he cuts what’s left of my heart into pieces and watches me bleed out.
His cellphone rings and he grimaces, cursing under his breath. “I have to take this.”
“I know,” I say, “and maybe that’s for the best anyway.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks and he releases me, reaching for his phone. It buzzes with a text message that he reads before glancing at me. “Savage and Adam just pulled into the garage.”
“I really need to wash the death off me anyway. I’ll leave you to them.” I turn away.
“Ana,” he says, his voice a firm demand that I halt.
I do, but it’s a mere pause without a turn. I glance over my shoulder. “Yes?”
“We’re not done talking.”
“I think we should be, Luke. I think I am.”
It’s at that moment the door opens and I turn away, rushing toward the staircase, eager to be anywhere but in this room with Luke. And yet, I’ve spent the past two years wanting to be anywhere I could find Luke.