The Grand Pact (The Grand Men #1)(21)

“Nothing. I’m going to go.”

“Luce.” I grasp her wrist, and she turns towards me.

“What?”

“I’m—”

“Don’t apologise.” She frowns accusingly. “Why would you apologise?”

“Well, with what happened on Saturday night, it’s shitty of me, and I’m sorry you walked in on this.”

“Saturday was just a bit of fun, right? You said it didn’t matter.”

“I don’t think I said—”

“It’s fine. Seriously.” She watches me as if I’m wasting her time. “We’re friends, you helped me, and I came to tell you I accepted the offer.”

My heart seems to do something wild in my chest. “You did.”

“Yeah, I did.” She pulls her shoulders even squarer. “I quit at the shop.”

“You did?” I repeat.

“Yep.” Her eyes glisten as we stare at one another, and I swear I can see hurt in them. I dip my head and scuff my shoe along the floor as I step back to lean against the desk. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.” Her lip trembles, and I tighten my gaze on her.

“Tomorrow?” I question with a frown. “Why so soon?”

“I should have left three years ago.”

“No. You shouldn’t have. What are you doing, Luce?”

“Stop asking me that!”

“Why?”

“I know what I’m doing. Why I’m doing it, and I want to do it. I want to go to New York, Elliot.”

I nod, my arms crossing against my chest.

I should let her go without questioning it, but something feels off.

I didn’t give Harriet a second thought in the moment, but standing here now looking at Lucy as she tells me she’s leaving—something I told her to do—why do I feel like utter shit?

“How are you getting to the airport?”

She frowns as if she hasn’t thought about it. “I’m not sure. Mum and Dad will be working, but I’ll probably be able to get a lift with one of the girls.” Her eyes flutter as she thinks about it. Realisation seems to flash on her face, and then she nods. “Or I can get a taxi or something.”

“I will take you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I want to. What time is your flight?” I round the table and open up my diary, my knee bouncing. When she doesn’t answer me, I lift my head. “Luce, what times your flight?”

“I… I, umm… I haven’t booked it yet. I plan to do it when I get home.”

The fuck is this woman up to?

“Come here.”

She watches me but doesn’t move.

I go to her and pick her up. Nothing sexual, just a defiant child getting carried to where they’re supposed to be. I sit in my chair and pull her into my lap. I wrap my arms around her shoulders like I have many times before, and she slips her arms around my back, slotting against me.

Neither of us says a thing for a good minute.

She breaks the silence first. “Do you think Nina will be okay?”

I think about that before I answer because it’s not an easy one. “We will make sure she is.”

I feel her nod against my chest. “I know.”

“You can’t worry about everyone else.”

“I know.”

I smooth my hand over her back, wishing she didn’t walk in here like she did. “Ell,”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me something no one else knows—a secret or fear. Something I can think about when I need something to fixate on that will make me feel less alone. I want something important to take with me.”

I frown down at her, my face as hard as stone. “I don’t have any fears. You know I live every day as it comes.”

“You’re lying,” she hums, and it smothers across my chest, making me feel like Sundays, blankets, and warm apple pie. “Everyone’s afraid of something.”

“What are you afraid of?” I counter.

She lifts her head from my chest, looking up and cutting me in two. “You already know. I mean, there’s a list.” She laughs, but I don’t flinch. “I’m afraid I won’t get to have children, that I’ll be too old, and it won’t happen for me.”

I smile and take her chin, bringing her face closer than I probably should. “We have a backup plan for that.” She pouts and then snuggles back into me. “And your secret? Something unknown.”

She sighs, and I know she has her eyes closed. “Okay… I hate that I can’t stand lying in your arms knowing someone else was in them ten minutes ago.”

I try not to move. Try to calm my blood as it rushes through my body and towards my heart like a wildfire. If I don’t, she’ll hear it—feel it beat out of rhythm.

“And I don’t want you to apologise. If anything, I’m sorry.”

I shake my head, still catching up. “What are you sorry for?”

“For telling you that.” She chuckles. “And for being so irrational.”

She’s jealous?

“You don’t have to tell me your fears,” she whispers. “I know you’re strong and live on an ever-changing track, but if you need someone, like those nights you sneak over and spoon me because you feel like it.” She says it so frankly I worry I might’ve let my guard fall a little too low and let her see too much. “You can call me. FaceTime. I’m still going to be here for you. It’s probably going to be a much healthier friendship.”