Page 74 of Save the Game

“Oh?” He says again, tugging on my sweatpants.

“It’s nothing bad. I just wanted to run something by you and…well, today just isn’t the day.” I hold a hand out to him as he tugs my shirt down over his chest. “Come on. I have a feeling Marcos is waiting to have a talk with us.”

The following week seems to creep by, all of us feeling as though we are waiting in limbo. Every time my cell phone rings, my body feels like it’s been doused in ice water—is it the police? Luke reminds me that Officer Reynolds said it would take a few weeks for the DNA results to come back from the rape kit, and that we don’t really need it anyway. We know what happened. Even so, we wait. The last piece of the puzzle, and it’s the one that has to wait in line for more important cases. I wonder if it will be Officer Reynolds who tells me what the results are and who they belong to; I wonder if he remembers me from the hospital, so many months ago.

“Hey, Max,” Marcos calls, letting the front door close behind him and dropping his bag to the floor with a thump.

“Hey.” I’m in the kitchen, standing at the counter as I wait for a couple pieces of bread to finish toasting. Marcos pokes his head around the wall. “How was practice?”

“Eh.” Grimacing and jerking his shoulder in an irritated shrug, he pulls a Gatorade from the refrigerator. “We’re scrambling a little bit, trying to replace Luke. Nobody we’ve got on reserve is quite as good.”

“Oh? So we’re a Luke fan now, huh?” I ask mildly, smiling when he snorts so violently it sounds painful.

“Don’t get carried away,” he says, watching as I butter my toast. “Is that all you’re eating?”

“I’m not that hungry.”

“You need protein. Want me to make you some eggs?” He’s already making his way back over to the refrigerator. Breakfast for dinner is our usual go-to.

“Really, I’m fine for now. I just needed a snack. I think I might go over to Luke’s tonight—do you have any plans?”

“Nah.” Snagging one of my slices of toast, he takes a bite out of the corner.

“Dude.”

Smirking, he puts it back on my plate. “Hey, all joking aside, I’m happy for you, you know that, right? I’m glad you and Luke are so good together. You deserve to be happy. So does Luke, even though he drives me up the fucking wall.”

He touches my shoulder—a quick, barely there brush—and leaves the kitchen before I can reply. I watch his back as it disappears into his bedroom, the door clicking quietly closed behind him. Though he’d never say it to my face, I have a feeling he’s still taking the Theo situation hard. He’d sat on the couch and listened to Luke’s story in stony silence, hands clenched on his knees and shoulders stiff. He’d asked questions I hadn’t thought to ask, questions about jail time and testifying. Dread had stiffened my spine; none of us knew the answer to that question. Let’s not worry about that until we hear about the DNA results, Luke had suggested, bandaged hand resting across my leg.

I could still see it on Marcos’ face, when I glanced at him and caught his expression before he was able to adjust it—the guilt of being the one who brought me to the party and left me alone. The regret of not being the one who’d gotten to beat out his anger and frustration on the perpetrator. No amount of reassurance from me about how nothing that happened was his fault would heal the wound; time was going to have to be responsible for that one.

Pulling my phone out of my back pocket and taking a bite from the toast that Marcos had sampled, I text Luke. He responds immediately, as though he’d been in the process of reaching out to me at the same time.

Hey, how’s work?

Too much decaf, not enough Maxy.

You want a visitor?

Meet me at home instead? They’re sending me early. Slowwww as shitttttt tonight. I’ve only made two friends.

Should I be worried?

Oh yes. You absolutely run the risk of being replaced by two octogenarians.

Snorting, I chuckle around my mouthful of toast and shake my head. Leaning a hip against the counter, I slide a foot up and down the opposite calf, idly.

All right, what time can I come over and start earning your favor?

Now. If you get there before me, just wait for me on the bed.

Naked.

Still laughing, I finish off my toast and slide the plate into the dishwasher. After brushing my teeth and grabbing my backpack, I call out a goodbye to Marcos and jog to my car. Luke ends up beating me to his house—I can hear the shower running through his open doorway as I walk down the stairs. He’s whistling a jaunty tune, making me smile as I lean against the wall and listen. I think about joining him for a few seconds, before deciding against it. I want to speak to him and having so much wet, smooth skin at my disposal wouldn’t be conducive to talking.

While I wait, I walk around his room and tidy. Luke’s clothes always seem to leave his body in a minor explosion: pants on the floor, shirt thrown over a chair, socks trailing toward the bathroom. I pick up everything he’d been wearing at work, checking the pockets of his jeans before tossing them in the laundry basket. Before throwing the shirt in after them, I press it to my nose and inhale. I have become increasingly aware that what I had before been labeling ‘obsession’ might actually be tipping over into ‘love’ territory.

The water shuts off and the whistling becomes sharper now that Luke doesn’t have to contend with the noise of the shower. I’m sitting on his bed when he steps out of the bathroom a minute later, towel tied across his hips and brown hair in spiky disarray from running a towel over it. My insides perform a chaotic shimmy at the sight of him, stomach clenching as his face breaks out into a wide smile. Might as well pitch a tent and call ‘love territory’ home.

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