A sorrowful nod. “I was going to tell you tonight. We had to get the installation done, and—”

“Bullshit, Luke. She’s why you were late. You should have told me. If you had told me, I wouldn’t have been blindsided. I could have prepared myself for this, but now … now…” My throat closed, choking off the words.

His dark brows came together. “I should have called you in the middle of all this and told you I was going to Wendy’s? That I didn’t know what she’d do to herself if I didn’t? What was I supposed to do, Tess? And then … then she told me … she told me she’s…” The words died in his throat.

He couldn’t even say it, and in that moment, I wanted to feel sorry for him. I wanted to understand.

But I couldn’t. It was too fresh, too raw, and I was too tired to be reasonable or logical.

“I can’t do this,” I said, my voice broken.

And his face crumpled. “Do this? With me?”

I shook my head. “I can’t talk about this right now. I can’t. There’s nothing I can say, no way I can be rational. I … I need … I need to think and I need to try to understand and I need to get away from you to do that.”

He searched my face, took my hands, and I let him, too tired to fight. “This happened before you, before I left LA—”

“Stop,” I sobbed, removing my hands from his. “Please. I don’t … I don’t want to know the details. Not yet, not when I just…”

“Tell me it’s going to be all right. Tell me you trust me still.”

“I … I can’t.”

He stilled. “Because you don’t?”

“Because I don’t know.”

Something cracked behind his eyes. “I don’t love her, Tess. And she knows I’m in love with someone else.”

My eyes widened, locking on his. I was made of stone. “Luke, do not finish that thought. Do not say those words right now.” Shaky words. Shaking hands. Knees locked. Feet stuck.

The knot of his throat rose and fell. A nod, small and resigned. His gaze fell to the ground.

And I did the only thing I could.

I turned and ran.

20

Heart Burn

LUKE

I watched my heart walk out the door.

A space in my chest opened up, empty but for tingling static, sharp with electricity, frenetic and edged with pain. One day ago, my life had been on a different trajectory, one lit with hope and possibility. Twenty-four hours ago, my biggest concern had been a sunflower supplier and the length of time I’d have to endure before I could hold Tess.

Now I’d lost her.

She needed time—unsurprising, as well as I knew Tess—time to get her bearings, to figure out what she thought, how she felt about the succession of bombs that had detonated. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that time would not fix this. Time wouldn’t reverse the impact. It wouldn’t change the fact that Wendy was pregnant.