Page 13 of I Do, You Don’t (You Don’t #1)

Gideon

H ands deep in my jacket pockets, I linger at the flower stall, watching the vendor arrange each bloom with care.

The air smells of damp pavement, laced with the faint sweetness of crushed petals.

A breeze stirs the lilies. The city hums behind me, cars, distant voices, the occasional horn, but none of it registers. Only the flowers. And Lara.

I already know how it’ll go. In my mind, I see her face when she opens the door, eyes wide, uncertain, then that flicker. The softening. Warmth rushing back. Just like before. The way she used to look at me, as if I’d hung stars in her sky. As if love like ours could bend the world.

I’ll remind her. Remind her of us.

I step closer, fingers brushing the petals. White. Clean. Familiar. Exactly like the ones I gave her on our first date. I remember that night: standing on her porch beneath a flickering bulb, her lips curving into a smile that could’ve lit the entire street.

Back then, I believed in us completely. We were meant to be.

Nothing could pull us apart. It wasn’t grand gestures, it was how we fit together.

Her eyes sparkling when she looked at me.

Our laughter over stupid things. Her finishing my sentences, like she knew me better than anyone else. She did. She loved me.

That never changed.

I can fix this. I have to.

My fingers skim the petals again. Honest. Fragile. These lilies are my apology, the only offering I’ve got. But they’ll be enough. I’ll make them enough.

My phone buzzes. I don’t check. It’s Delilah. Always her. Her chaos. Her distractions. I shove the phone back into my pocket and clench my jaw. She’s done enough. This isn’t her story anymore.

I pay the vendor with a muttered thanks, cradling the bouquet in the crook of my arm. A chill brushes my face as I step onto the sidewalk. The city fades until all that remains are my thoughts, and this bouquet.

I’m focused, no space for doubt. Lara loves me. She always has.

I walk with purpose. A father and daughter pass nearby, their laughter light and effortless. I smile. That could still be us. Lara and me. A family someday.

Soon, I’m inside her building. Around the corner to her apartment, the world narrows. My pulse spikes.

I stop at her door. Hers. Then ours. Now hers again since I left. I knock, three firm strikes.

She’ll open it. She’ll see the lilies. She’ll see me. Everything will fall into place.

The hinges creak. There she is.

Still magnetic. Not in the way that once commanded entire rooms. No polish, no styling, just Lara. Hair in a loose bun, strands brushing her face. Minimal makeup softening the exhaustion beneath her eyes. A gray T-shirt draped off one shoulder. Black leggings. Effortless. Completely unbothered.

But it’s her eyes that stop me. A distance I’ve never seen. Guarded. Deliberate. A wall I built, and one she learned to live behind.

“Gideon ?” Her tone is flat. Detached. As if she already knows what I came to say, and stopped caring.

I hold up the bouquet. My hand trembles. The lilies feel heavier now. They were supposed to fix it. Same flowers from our first date. Ones she cradled as if I’d handed her the moon.

Now they’re a ledger. Every mistake, every lie, pressed into stems and petals.

“I brought these for you,” I say, voice catching. “I know it’s not enough. But I need to apologize. Please.”

Her gaze pins me, cool and deliberate, and for a second she doesn’t see the flowers. All she sees is a sincerity she doesn’t believe I’ve earned.

“You’re sorry?” she asks, ice-cold. “For what? Leaving me at the altar? Lying? Making me think I was the one, when I was just a placeholder?”

Her words gut me. I swallow hard and meet her eyes. The judgment there makes me want to disappear. How is she still this angry? How can she not see how much I regret it?

I step closer. My pulse races. “Lara, please.” My voice splinters. “I know I messed up. I shouldn’t have let Delilah get inside my head. She twisted everything. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. I didn’t see us. You were never a placeholder. You were everything.”

I catch myself. “ Are everything.”

She says nothing. Silence stretches between us, hard and unyielding. I take another step, hoping she’ll see how much this matters, hoping something softens.

“You think this”—she gestures to the bouquet—“makes it better?”

I look down. The lilies suddenly seem small, childish. Not nearly enough. I know that now. But they’re all I have. The one gesture that might keep her from slamming the door.

“I don ’t know if anything can fix it,” I admit. “But I need you to know I’m sorry. Really sorry. I was so damn stupid. Pride and fear blinded me. I let Delilah twist everything. I didn’t see what I had. I only saw what I thought I was protecting.”

She folds her arms, face tightening as a bitter laugh slips past her guard.

“You didn’t see us? That’s rich.” Her voice hardens. “You’ve got some nerve, Gideon. Showing up with flowers like I’m supposed to forget. Like you didn’t leave me there, humiliated, alone.”

Every word lands like a blow. Yet more than the anger, it’s her finality that crushes me. She’s done. I didn’t just mess up. I broke her.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” I say quietly. “I don’t deserve it. But you need to know, this was my fault. All of it. I take full accountability.”

Silence crackles between us. I search her face for any flicker of warmth. Nothing.

Behind her, Calvin and Drew sit on the couch. Calvin’s jaw is locked. Drew’s eyes brim with pity. Their allegiance is clear.

Their judgment presses down on me. But I focus on Lara.

“Lara, please.”

“No. No more. You had your chance, and you blew it. You broke me. Don’t stand here with excuses and flowers, thinking they’ll fix anything. They won’t.”

The world tilts. Her words settle in my chest like concrete.

“Lara,” I say, desperation thick in my throat, “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Eyes flat, arms crossed.

“Then why didn’t you fight for me?”

The question guts me. I thought I did. I thought she betrayed me. That’s why I left.

“I thou ght you were with someone else,” I whisper. “I thought you betrayed me. That’s why I walked away.”

“Well, I didn’t,” she snaps. “I was loyal. And you punished me for it. I told you when you left that I’d never forgive you. And you walked out anyway.”

Her face is stone. Unreachable. I was wrong.

I hadn’t been betrayed, I’d been the one swinging the axe.

“I…” But there’s nothing left. No excuse worthy of air.

I hold out the flowers. My last chance.

She doesn’t take them. She steps back and slams the door.

The sound reverberates, a clean, cruel ending.

I stand frozen, the cold emptiness wrapping tight around my chest.

Well, shit .