Page 26 of Falling for Mr. Wrong (The Rules We Break #2)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Lyla

T he message I type is simple.

Hey. Can we talk?

I stare at it for a long moment before hitting backspace.

New attempt. I’ve been thinking about you.

Delete.

I miss you.

Delete.

I toss the phone onto the couch like it’s burned me, rubbing my hands over my face. I don’t even know what I want to say to him — or maybe I do, and I’m afraid of what he’ll say back.

Mom’s humming in the kitchen again, singing a half-forgotten verse of a song I recognize from my childhood. I grab the mail key from the hook by the door and step outside just to breathe something other than the stale, heavy air in here.

The sight across the street makes me stop cold.

The For Sale sign in the Lawson yard is gone. In its place: a new one, bright and bold. SOLD.

My stomach drops. I knew it was coming, but somehow, seeing the word in big block letters feels like another door closing between us.

I force my feet to move toward the mailbox, trying not to glance over at the empty driveway.

Inside, there’s the usual stack of envelopes — bills, a flyer for pizza, a postcard from the dentist. And one plain white envelope, no return address, my mom’s name written neatly in black ink.

I flip it over, tear it open.

The check inside makes my breath catch.

It’s… a lot. Enough to cover months of her medical expenses. Maybe more.

My first thought is that it’s a mistake. The second is that it’s from some charity I’ve never heard of. But there’s no note. No explanation. Just her name on the pay line, and a bank I don’t recognize.

I stand there on the sidewalk with the envelope in my hand, the ocean wind tugging at my hair, and feel a strange mix of relief and unease.

Because whoever sent this knows exactly what we need — and didn’t want us to know who they are.

Inside, Mom’s still humming, swaying a little in front of the sink as she rinses a cup.

“Hey, Mom,” I say gently, holding up the envelope. “This came for you.”

She dries her hands on a dish towel, squints at the check, and then at me. “Who’s it from?”

“There’s no name. No note. Just this.” I slide it onto the table in front of her.

Her brows pull together as she picks it up, her fingers brushing the edge like she’s afraid it might vanish. “That’s… a lot of money.”

“I know.”

For a second, I think maybe she’ll remember something — a clue about who sent it, or at least an idea. But her expression drifts, softens into confusion. “Do you think it’s safe to cash it?”

“I don’t know.” My voice sounds smaller than I mean for it to. “But it’s in your name. Whoever sent it meant for you to have it.”

She sits, still staring at it, the crease between her brows deepening. “Maybe it’s from a friend. Someone from church.”

I think about the dwindling number of people who visit her these days. The way she can’t always remember their names. “Maybe.”

When I head back to my room, the check is still lying on the table between us, stark against the wood grain. I sit on the edge of my bed, pick up my phone, and stare at Damien’s name in my contacts.

I want to ask him.

I want to ask him about the check, the house, why he disappeared, why it feels like he’s already decided to leave again.

But my thumb hovers over the call button for a long time before I put the phone down.

I’m not sure I’m ready for his answer.

The clock says 12:37 a.m., but it might as well be 4 in the morning for all the sleep I’m getting.

Every time I close my eyes, I see that SOLD sign. Or the check. Or Damien’s face the night he told me about Aaron — that look in his eyes like he was carrying the weight of a whole ocean in his chest.

By 1:00, I give up. I grab my keys, pull on a hoodie, and slip out the door, careful not to wake Mom.

The drive is short, but my pulse is a drumbeat in my ears the whole way. The moonlight paints silver streaks across the dunes, the wind pushing salt and sea into my lungs.

And then I see him.

Not on the deck. Not in a chair. But sitting right in the sand, barefoot, legs stretched out toward the water.

One arm braced behind him, the other holding a dark bottle loosely at his side.

His head is tilted, eyes fixed on the endless black horizon like he’s waiting for something to come out of it.

I kill the headlights and step out. The sand is cold under my sneakers, each step making a soft crunch in the quiet.

He doesn’t move when I get closer. Just takes a slow drink, swallows, and keeps looking at the waves.

“Damien,” I say, my voice nearly swallowed by the wind.

His head turns, the moon catching in his eyes. For a moment, he just looks at me, his expression unreadable.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says finally. It’s not sharp, not meant to push me away — more like he’s warning me about walking into a storm.

“Neither should you.”

For a moment, the only sound is the steady push and pull of the tide. Then I lower myself into the sand beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his arm next to mine, close enough to smell the cologne on his skin mixed with the salty air.

The lull between waves feels thick enough to touch, the kind of silence that could either heal or break something. I open my mouth at the same time he does.

“I—”

“I—”

We both stop, half-smiling at the awkwardness.

“You first,” I say, even though part of me is terrified of what he’ll say.

His fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle before he sets it down in the sand, like he needs both hands free for this.

“I’m so sorry, Lyla.” His voice is low, rough, but there’s no hesitation in it.

“I’ve hated myself every damn day for keeping it from you.

But I knew that if I told you the truth…

I wouldn’t be able to stand here and not try to make it better. ”

I swallow hard, the ache in my throat growing.

“I’ve spent my whole life screwing things up,” he continues, his gaze locked on mine.

“Picking fights, making dumb choices. But keeping that from you? That was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.

” He shakes his head, jaw tight. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was keeping my promise to Aaron. But all I did was lie to the one person I…” He stops himself, breath catching, like the words are too heavy to push out.

I don’t say anything. Not right away.

Because sitting here, watching the man who’s always been unshakable look like he’s one more wave away from going under… it does something to me.

I realize I don’t want the space I’ve been keeping between us. I don’t want the careful distance or the safety of not feeling too much.

What I want — more than anything — is him.

All of him.

“I don’t care about the promise anymore,” I say quietly, my voice shaking. “I care about you. And I don’t want this to be fake. Not for the cameras. Not for anyone else. Just… real.”

His shoulders drop, like something in him finally lets go, and I move closer until our knees bump in the sand. My hand finds his, fingers sliding between his like they were always meant to fit there.

Damien’s hand slides to my waist, and before I can breathe, he’s pulling me into his lap. The movement is easy for him, like I weigh nothing, like I’ve always belonged there.

His eyes lock on mine, the moonlight turning them to liquid steel. “You wreck me, woman,” he says, his voice low and certain. “You’re my heartbeat and my breath, and when I’m not with you, I don’t feel like I’m fully myself.”

I can’t look away. My pulse is a drum in my ears, my chest tight with everything I’ve wanted to hear from him and never thought I would.

“I love you, Lyla. I’ve always loved you.”

It’s not rushed. Not a plea. Just truth. Simple and solid and undeniable.

Tears sting my eyes before I even feel them fall. I cup his jaw with both hands, the roughness of his stubble scraping my palms, and I kiss him.

It’s soft at first, my lips trembling against his, but the moment I feel him exhale — like he’s been holding that breath for years — something in me breaks open.

When I finally pull back, my forehead rests against his. “I love you too,” I whisper, my voice ragged. “I’ve always loved you.”

The words are wet between us, my tears slipping down my cheeks, some caught by his thumb as he brushes them away.

And under the steady roar of the waves, I feel it — the shift. The point where the years of silence and distance crumble, leaving only this: him and me, nothing else between us.

Damien’s mouth curves — not just a smirk, not the guarded half-grin I’ve seen him throw at the world — but a real smile. The kind that hits his eyes, makes them light up in a way I’ve never seen before.

Before I can take in the full effect, his hands slide under my thighs and he’s lifting me effortlessly. I loop my arms around his neck, still a little stunned, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“Where are we—”

“You’ll see.”

The sand gives way to the worn wood of a narrow walkway, the wind tangling my hair as he carries me toward a dark shape nestled just beyond the dunes. My pulse spikes with every step until he kicks the door open with one boot and carries me inside.

It’s small. Cozy. The kind of place you could overlook if you weren’t looking for it. A couch, a kitchen table, the faint smell of salt and cedar.

And that’s when it hits me.

“This is where you live?” I breathe.

“Yeah.” He sets me down on the couch, his hands lingering on my hips. “I never left, Lyla. Not really. I’ve been here. Close.”

The truth of it sends a shiver through me. Before I can say anything, his mouth is on mine, the kiss hotter now, deeper, like the tide finally rushing in after holding back for years.

My hands are already pulling at his shirt, pushing it up, desperate for skin. His clothes come off fast after that — not careless, but with the kind of urgency that comes from knowing exactly what you want and not wasting another second.

When our lips break just long enough for air, I taste him in my mouth, feel his heat pressed against me, and know this is the real thing. Technically, it always has been.