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Chapter Twenty-Three

Lucy

I hang up the phone from Connor and I’m halfway down the stone steps when the sound of tires crunching over gravel makes me stop cold.

A sleek black Mercedes glides into the circular drive, polished and perfect—just like its passengers.

"No," I mumble under my breath. "Not now."

The door opens and out steps my mother, her hair flawless, pearls gleaming, those thin lips painted the same blood-wine red she wore to my high school graduation.

And much like that day, she’s barely looking at me.

My father follows, buttoning his coat like he’s got somewhere far more important to be. He glances up at me then looks straight back down at his phone, like I’m a meeting he forgot to cancel.

Like he hasn’t seen me in months and didn’t even notice I was gone.

“Lucinda,” my mother says, shutting the door behind her. “Ethan’s gone off the radar again. If you're looking for him, we don't know where he is.”

I arch a brow. “Oh, hello to you too, Mother.”

She smooths her blazer like my sarcasm is just lint she can brush away. “I assumed you weren’t here for pleasantries.”

“I’m not,” I say evenly. “And you don’t need to worry. I already found him. He’s at Connor’s.”

That name makes her mouth pinch like she just tasted something sour.

“Well no wonder he's getting into mischief,” she mutters.

I feel the irritation spike in my chest, but I school my expression. Just like I’ve always done. Because that’s what you do around people like them.

I grip the strap of my tote bag tighter, fingers aching.

Mother adjusts her watch. “And how long were you planning on hiding him? Until the media circus arrives at our front door?”

I blink. “I’m sorry— what ?”

Dad sighs, like I’m a child who failed to carry out basic instructions. “Your brother’s choices are his own, but they reflect on all of us. You know how this works. Just go about your day, Lucinda.”

Of course I know how 'this' works. Legacy above all.

“I’m not hiding anything,” I say. “I came to make sure he was okay.”

“Well, clearly he’s not,” my mother says, eyes scanning the estate like it's her only pride and joy in this world. “He’s made a spectacle of himself again. And now you’re back here, stirring things up, dragging this family’s name further into the gutter—”

That stings.

But I don’t flinch.

Not anymore.

“I didn’t drag anything ,” I say, voice even. “I'm helping my brother. Your son. ”

My mother lifts her chin. “That’s the problem. You always help . Always insert yourself into situations that should’ve been handled discreetly. Like an adult.”

“Discreetly,” I repeat. “Right. With lawyers and hush money and a new PR agency on retainer.”

“If that’s what it takes,” my father says.

“We raised you better than this,” my mother adds, lips curving into that perfect, practiced smile. “You were always so emotional. Always trying to save what can’t be saved.”

And there it is. The line that's carefully constructed in my parents fucked up mind to gut me. To put me firmly back in my place.

And maybe that used to break me. Maybe I used to twist myself into knots, chasing their impossible approval.

But not anymore.

I square my shoulders and look my mother dead in the eyes.

“No,” I say, calm and certain. “I’m strong because I care. I’m strong because I don’t walk away.”

I pause, my nose twitching as I look them both up and down, disgust crawling across my brow.

“Except for just this once," I add.

I turn. Walk straight down the drive, scuffing my boots across their perfect gravel and I don’t dare look back.

Not when my father calls my name. Not when my mother sighs like I’ve just disappointed her for the last time.

Because I haven’t. I disappointed them for the last time a long time ago. And now I’m done carrying their shame. I’m done being the girl who takes the hit while they play pretend behind shiny car doors and gated facades.

From this moment forward, I choose me . I choose Ethan.

And I choose Connor.

They might not be perfect, but this time, I choose the people who show the fuck up.

By the time I get to Connor’s apartment, I’m trembling. Not just from the cold, but from everything I finally let go.

My fists are clenched inside my coat pockets, nails digging into my palms. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to fall apart.

I just want him.

I don’t knock but the door swings open before I can even touch the handle, and suddenly Connor stands barefoot in the doorway, hoodie slung loose over his frame, hair tousled like he’s been raking his hands through it all morning.

His brows lift when he sees me, and something breaks across his face—surprise, relief, worry, all wrapped up in the kind of fierce, beautiful devotion that makes my knees go soft.

“Lucy,” he breathes, like he wasn’t sure I’d really come.

I fall into him, arms wrapping around his torso so tight it must hurt, but he doesn’t flinch. He catches me without hesitation, without question, just holds . One arm curls around my waist while the other cradles the back of my head.

I bury my face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent that's perfectly comforting as it settles in my chest. It's the scent of safety. Of belonging. Of finally, finally coming home.

I pull back just far enough to meet his eyes. My chest is shaking. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips.

“I love you, Connor,” I say, steady and clear.

His breath catches as he looks down at me. "Everything ok, Lucy Lou?"

I nod. "Just… my parents."

For a beat, he just stares, eyes wide, like he wants to ask questions but sees in my eyes that I'm done with that shit for now.

Then his lips part, and his whole face softens before it crashes into mine. He kisses me. I rise up onto my toes, melting into him, into us , into the thing that’s been simmering between us since the very beginning.

When we finally break apart, our foreheads rest together.

And then, of course, my brother appears at Connor's side and fake coughs.

“Well damn,” he drawls, one brow raised. “Maybe I should’ve let someone outbid me at that auction after all.”

“Maybe not the best time to joke about money, big bro.”

His smirk falters just enough to remind us exactly why I came. Because I get the chance to look at him, and fuck, it's a sorry sight to see.

He’s always been the golden boy, the charmer, the one who could spin any mess into a party trick. But one look at him tells me that day's not today.

And it guts me.

Because no matter how angry I am—no matter how much he’s screwed up or how much wreckage he’s left in his wake—he’s still my brother .

The same boy who used to steal cookies for me when I cried. The one who held my hand when I was scared of the dark. The one who stopped coming home because he was too ashamed to look me in the eye.

I step forward before I can second-guess it.

He tenses like he’s expecting a punch, not a hug. But I wrap my arms around him anyway, tight and fierce, my face pressed into his shoulder like I can still find the pieces of him I used to know if I just hold on long enough.

He freezes.

Then slowly, his arms come around me. His chin drops to my temple, and his chest rises with a shaky inhale.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“I know,” I breathe. “Me too.”

Connor clears his throat softly behind me. When I pull away from Ethan, he’s standing just a few feet back, watching the moment unfold with that quiet, storm-eyed look of his.

“Come inside.” He opens the door and holds it for me. “It’s cold as hell out here.”

I nod, brushing at my cheek as I step past him. Ethan follows without a word, and together we shuffle into the familiar warmth of Connor’s apartment.

Connor heads toward the kitchen, muttering something about grabbing drinks, but the second he opens the fridge, he lets out a low groan.

“Are you kidding me?” he grits. “Ethan, did you drink all my beer?”

Ethan flops onto the couch with a guilty shrug. “I was stressed. I'll buy more, I swear.”

I raise a brow at him. "With what money exactly?"

Ethan shrinks under my scrutiny as Connor shuts the fridge, straightens, and turns back toward us. He walks slowly toward the couch, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie, and then exchanges a long, loaded glance with Ethan.

Oh no.

I know that look.

“We’ve been going over the details,” Connor says carefully, coming to a stop just a few feet from me. “And we might’ve figured out a way to handle this.”

“What kind of way?”

I move to sit beside Ethan on the couch, waiting for the rest. Waiting to be looped in, like always.

Connor steps forward and gently places a hand on my arm. “Lucy,” he says softly. “Why don't you let us handle it this time? We’ve got it.”

I blink up at him. "What do you mean we've got it?"

Connor glances at Ethan again. Then back at me. “Me and your brother. We’ve got a plan.”

Something splinters low in my chest. “A plan ,” I repeat.

He nods in a way that's apparently supposed to be calm. Reassuring. Like that tone of his is supposed to fix everything.

I pull my arm out from beneath his hand.

Ethan shifts awkwardly, like he's sensing my rising temper better than anyone ever has. “We weren’t trying to—”

“Weren’t trying to what ?” I snap. “Involve me in my own life? In my family’s disaster?”

Connor frowns. “We didn’t want to drag you deeper, Luce. You're already stressed.”

I stare at him like I don’t even recognize the man standing in front of me.

“You’re already in it. Both of you.” My voice cracks, and I hate that it does. “You think you’re helping by keeping me out, but after everything I’ve done—after walking away from my parents just now, standing up for Ethan, holding my breath through this entire goddamn media tour—you bench me ?”

Connor steps forward, hands up in that stupid peacekeeping way, but I take a step back.

"Nope. Not now, Connor."

My arms cross tightly over my chest, that old, ugly burn of humiliation creeping up my spine.

He was supposed to be the one who saw me. The one person who never made me feel small.

“You don’t get to decide when I matter, Connor,” I whisper.

I pace the living room, heart pounding against my ribs like it’s trying to crack its way out. The walls are closing in—Connor’s voice still echoing in my head, Ethan sitting there like this is normal, like this is fine.

It’s not fine.

"Lucy, please—"

“No, Connor! You don’t get to decide this isn’t my problem,” I snap, turning on him. “He’s my brother . This is my family . This is what I do, alright?”

“I know,” Connor says, trying to stay calm, but it just fuels the fire burning beneath my skin.

“No, you don’t,” I spit. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be trying to fix this for me.

He steps forward. “I’m just trying to protect you, Lucy.”

I let out a harsh laugh, rolling my eyes so hard they might get stuck. "Yeah, just like my parents did an hour ago. Just like everyone has my entire life." My voice cracks, but I don't care anymore. "And look where that's gotten me?"

I throw my hands up, gesturing at the disaster around us—at Connor's pristine apartment now littered with Ethan's clothes, at my brother hunched on the couch like a ghost of himself, at the mess we've all become.

"My brother might have gotten me fired from the only job I've ever actually wanted." My gaze cuts to Ethan, who at least has the decency to flinch. "And my parents?" I press my lips together, fighting back tears. "They couldn't give a single fuck about any of it unless it affects their precious reputation."

The silence that follows feels like glass about to shatter. Connor takes a step toward me, but I hold up my hand.

Maybe it’s not fair, maybe none of this is.

But I just walked away from the two people who gave me life. I stood in front of them and told them I was done . And I meant it.

I picked Ethan.

I picked Connor.

I picked us .

And now they're both shutting me out like I’m fragile? Like I can’t handle this?

Tears sting behind my eyes, and this time, I can't stop them from falling. So I grab my coat and turn for the door.

“I need air,” I mutter. “I need—space.”

“Lucy,” Connor says, low, pleading.

But I don’t stop.

I don't even remember driving to Chapter & Grind. The streets blur past in a haze of streetlights and neon signs, my hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

When I push through the door, the bell chimes overhead and Emma takes one look at my face and drops the book she's shelving.

"Lucy?"

My legs give out, and I crumple into my favorite armchair. The oversized blue one by the window where I've spent countless hours hiding from the world. The leather catches my tears as they fall.

"They're all gone," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Every single one of them."

Emma kneels beside me, her hand finding mine. "What happened?"

"My parents—" I choke on the words. "I finally stood up to them. Told them I was done with their perfect family act."

A bitter laugh escapes me as Emma hands me a cup of tea.

"And Ethan? He's drowning in gambling debts that could destroy everything I've built with the Icehawks."

Emma squeezes my hand, but I'm not finished.

"And Connor—" His name tastes bitter in my mouth for the first time ever. "He tried to shut me out. Like I'm some delicate flower that needs protecting."

Fresh tears spill down my cheeks.

"Just like everyone else."

"Oh, honey." Emma pulls me into her arms, and I break.

All those years of being the good daughter, the supportive sister, the perfect Daniels heir… in a matter of hours, they've crashed down around me. I sob into Emma's shoulder, letting go of everything.

"I have nothing left," I whisper. "No family. No Connor. Nothing but this chair and you."

Emma strokes my hair like she has so many times before, when life got too heavy and I needed somewhere safe to fall apart.

"You have me," she says firmly. "Always."

But even her unwavering friendship can't fill the Connor-shaped hole in my chest, or erase the look on my mother's face when I walked away, or fix whatever broke inside Ethan so long ago.

I'm alone.

And for the first time in my life, I don't know how to fix it.