Page 8 of I Do, You Don’t (You Don’t #1)

Lara

I ’m supported, but that doesn’t make the loneliness any less consuming.

Days bleed into weeks, each one dragging under the weight of everything left unsaid. I’m trying to heal, but it’s slow, like wading through mud. My body moves forward, but my heart sinks deeper with every step.

I stay inside most days, wrapped in the low hum of the apartment.

Calvin and my sister are the only ones I see.

They check in, make sure I’m eating, sleeping, but it’s all surface.

I can’t bring myself to talk about the mess I’m in.

Not in a way that feels real. Not when every word feels like it might splinter me.

I don’t answer calls anymore. I respond to texts only when I have to. I don’t need to hear how sorry everyone is, or how things will get better. They won’t. I know that. Their pity is heavier than silence.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate their concern, I do. But their words don’t reach me. Not when I’m already drowning.

Each morning, I wake late and lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. Even my own breath feels heavy, pressing down like stone. My thoughts loop endlessly, Gideon, betrayal, regret. They hurt too much to face, so I don’t.

Then my phone buzzes. Another missed call. This time, it’s work.

“Lara, if you call in one more day, you’re fired,” my boss says, his voice more weary than angry. “Get in here. We’re short-handed.”

I groan and sit up. I don’t want to go. I don’t have the strength. But I don’t have a choice. The bills are piling up. I need this job.

I drag myself out of bed. My limbs feel packed with sand, every movement a negotiation. I stumble to the bathroom, and freeze when I catch my reflection.

The woman in the mirror isn’t me.

She’s hollow. Lost. A version of myself that never learned how to be happy.

I twist my hair into a messy bun. Strands fall across my face, and I let them. My eyes are red, the skin beneath bruised with exhaustion. I pull on my uniform, black shirt, jeans that once fit better. Now they hang off me like borrowed clothes.

I grab my keys and head for the door.

A knock stops me.

I don’t have to look. It’s Calvin.

He steps inside, steady and grounding. He doesn’t look at me like I’m broken. His eyes don’t pity; they wait. Quiet. Careful. Watching.

“Lara, you need to pull yourself together,” he says, firm, but not unkind.

He’s not wrong. I want to argue, to tell him he has no idea how deep this pain runs. But I can’t. Not when his eyes hold that kind of gravity.

“I’m going to work,” I whisper. The words feel like a spell I’m trying to cast on myself.

“You’re not,” he says, stepping in front of the door. “I’m sorry, but you’re not. The goal is to process what you’re feeling. Not to bury it.”

I stare at him. This man who shares a bond with me I can’t explain to anyone.

“Are yo u part of the mafia or a therapist?” I ask. It would be funny if my chest didn’t ache with every word.

He sighs, regret softening his features. “Mafia who cares about you. I should’ve told you sooner. I’ve been trying to protect you. Keep you safe from the world I belong to.”

I blink. “What do you mean? I’m safe.”

His jaw tightens. “No. You’re not. I kept you and Delilah a secret so you wouldn’t be dragged into my world. But now here we are. And the secret is destroying you.”

My legs give out, and I sink onto the couch. His words land, but they don’t fix anything. I’m tired. Bone-deep tired. Every breath feels like a battle.

“Calvin…” My voice cracks. I can’t finish.

He sits beside me, steady and quiet. His presence fills the space without crowding me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he says. “When I was shot… when I was in the hospital, that’s when I made you and Delilah promise to keep it quiet. I needed you both. But I couldn’t risk anyone finding out.”

The memories return like a tide: sterile hospital rooms, Delilah’s hand in mine, Calvin pale and bleeding. I thought that secret would bring Delilah and me closer. A shared history. A bond.

Especially now, with me about to marry her best friend.

But I was wrong.

Now I see the lies for what they are—and just how far off the mark I was.

Calvin watches me. He always knows what I’m thinking.

“You deserve better than this,” he says, his voice softer now. “Better than all of this. But we’ll figure it out. You’re not alone. We’ll make sure he pays.”

I turn to ward him, guilt and gratitude twisting inside me. “I thought keeping the secret would bring us closer. I thought it was the right thing.”

“You didn’t know the whole story,” he says. “But we’ll fix it. Together.”

And for the first time in weeks, I let myself believe him.

Maybe I’m not as alone as I thought.

I stand by the door, jacket in hand, the weight of the moment pressing against my chest. The apartment feels too small, too still. Even the hum of the fridge sounds like a heartbeat I can’t match. The quiet is oppressive, but the world outside feels worse.

I’m still broken. But I’m going to work.

Calvin’s voice cuts through the silence—calm but firm. “I’ll drive you.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to. I can take the bus.”

He doesn’t move. “I’d rather drive you. Please, Lara. I’ll just feel better about the whole thing.” His tone is softer than usual, almost pleading.

I sigh, glancing at him with a hesitant frown. “Aren’t you worried about being seen with me? What if someone connects us to your enemies?”

His expression softens, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got an unmarked car. No one will know. I just want to make sure you get there safely.”

The silence stretches between us. I hate that he’s trying so hard to make things easier, but I can’t deny the quiet relief of knowing he cares.

“Okay,” I murmur, the word slipping out like surrender. “But you’re calling me an Uber back. No questions.”

His smile widens, the tension in his shoulders easing. “It’s a deal.”

He steps aside, holding the door open. I brace myself for the morning air, but it feels less like a breeze and more like a warning, cold, unyielding, full of things I can’t control.

As we drive, I notice the tension in Calvin’s posture, the way his hand grips the wheel a little too tightly. The car is spotless, sterile, as if it’s hiding something dangerous beneath the surface. But I don’t mind the quiet intensity that surrounds him. If anything, it makes me feel safe.

“You know,” he says, breaking the silence, “soon everyone will know about us. I’ll tell the world we’re siblings. I should’ve done it sooner. I feel guilty for keeping it from you.”

His words carry the weight of regret but also something steadier: the truth.

I swallow hard. “It’s not your fault, Calvin. It’s Delilah. She’s the one who twisted everything. She’s the one who manipulated it all.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m disgusted by her, Lara. You deserve better than this. I’m done with her. She’s on her own now.”

The anger in his voice is sharp, but beneath it, I hear the promise: he won’t let her win. And neither will I.

We reach the diner, and a familiar knot tightens in my stomach. Stepping out of the car feels like stepping into another kind of hell. The world is too bright, too loud, a reminder that everything has changed.

I glance at Calvin. His eyes stay on the road, but I know he’s just as worried as I am about what I’m walking into.

“Thanks,” I whisper, reaching for the door.

He doesn’t answer right away. He just nods. “I’ll call you an Uber when you’re done. And don’t let him get to you.”

I try to smile, but it barely holds. “I’ll be fine.”

Inside, t he diner hums with low conversation and clinking silverware. But the moment I step behind the counter, I feel it, the shift. The pitying looks. The sidelong glances. Like I’m a story they’ve all heard but don’t know how to end.

Still, I keep moving. I need the money. I need to pay for the wedding that never happened.

My boss waves me over, and I barely have time to collect myself before the bell above the door chimes.

All at once, I’m pulled back to the day Gideon and I met.

The bell had jingled as I pushed open the door, the scent of fries and burnt coffee wrapping around me like something familiar. It was that slow, sleepy hour when the world felt far away, when life softened into something quieter.

Yes, I worked at the diner. But I ate there too, thanks to the employee discount: one free meal a day, half off anything more.

I slid into the booth near the back, beside the cracked vinyl that always squeaked.

The waitress, older and kind, handed me a laminated menu, her hands trembling slightly as she passed it over.

I ordered black coffee, like always, and settled into the hush of the afternoon.

I wasn’t expecting anything. I never did.

And then he walked in.

Gideon.

At first, I thought he was just passing through. But when he sat at the counter, flipping through a notebook and scribbling with a mechanical pencil, I knew he wasn’t a stranger to this place. He had that quiet certainty about him, the kind that doesn’t need to announce itself.

His eyes met mine for a moment. Something shifted. A spark. A match struck in the dark. It didn’t make sense. We didn’t know each other, but somehow, I felt like I already did.

When I lo oked again, he was still watching. This time, he didn’t look away. There was a softness in his gaze, the kind that makes you feel seen without a single word.

I stood before I could talk myself out of it, my heart thudding as I walked toward him. He looked up, surprised, but not uneasy, just curious.

“Hey,” I said, my voice quiet but steady. “Studying for finals?”

He smiled, adjusting his glasses. “Yeah. Accounting.” His voice was warm, a little tired. “Not exactly thrilling, but it’s a path. What about you?”

“Budgeting,” I said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve always wanted to understand how people save, what they cut when there’s not enough. I grew up wondering what would be sacrificed each month.”