He stilled.
“I didn’t tell you yet because I wasn’t sure it would even happen,” I continued. “It’s small. One wall. Maybe two pieces.”
His reaction wasn’t small. A grin broke across his face—unfiltered, fierce pride lighting his eyes. “Mila.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks despite the cold air.
“That’s huge.”
“It’s not huge.” I bit down on my lower lip before releasing it.
“It is.” He smoothed his thumb over the spot where my teeth had been, a soothing balm. “Don’t downplay this accomplishment.”
The certainty in his voice wrapped around the fragile hope I’d been guarding.
“They chose you,” he pressed. “You’re insanely talented.”
My chest expanded painfully.
“For months you’ve been fighting just to stay upright,” he went on. “And you’re still building something.”
The ocean roared its approval behind him.
“I don’t want this to ruin that,” I admitted, the ugliness of what seemed to infect our world creeping in as it always did—thanks to Elise, and Darren’s murder that caused Mom and I to leave the first time we lived in Blackwood. “All of it. The gallery. School. You.”
“It won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I can promise I won’t let them hurt you. I won’t let them destroy us.”
The words struck deep. I had spent too long adjusting to avoid detection. He stepped closer, closing the distance and bending down until our foreheads nearly touched.
“We walk into school together,” he said. “We confront Elise where she can’t pretend innocence. We don’t hide. We let them see we can’t be divided.”
“And if she doubles down?”
“Then she exposes herself for the desperate wannabe that she is.”
The logic felt solid. Risky, but solid. “And Drew?”
“I’ll talk to him tonight or tomorrow before school.”
“And Mom will confirm about Edwardo moving in.” It was a good start. I studied Luke for a long moment, memorizing the set of his shoulders, the steadiness in his breathing. “They’re going to come after your image,” I warned. “Your draft prospects. Sponsors.”
He huffed a quiet breath. “Let them try.”
“Luke.”
“My career isn’t worth more than you.”
The rawness in his tone stripped away any room for argument.
“You don’t get to decide that alone,” I replied.
His hand lifted, fingers threading into my hair, brushing strands away from my face with reverence that undid me. “I’m not deciding alone,” he answered softly. “I’m choosing.”
The moonlight pooled around us, turning the edges of the world silver and shadow. The waves crashed harder now, tide climbing incrementally. “I was ready to run tonight,” I confessed. “When Elise handed me that envelope.”