Page 18 of I Still Love You

If it weren’t for Andrew’s lingering glances and prodding into my life, then Luke wouldn’t be here with his unannounced visit.

Before I can twist on my heel and get a good look at him, he announces, “My coworkers are asking me things. Why I never shared that I was engaged once before or that I’m back with the same woman.”

I glance over my shoulder, then finally relent, turning to face him. I’d rather not go up against him right now, but... “Tell them it’s gossip, hearsay, a lie.” I’m quick to put up a shield and maintain a straight face. Truth is, I can’t deal. If it were any other day, maybe, but I’ve just been through hell these last few hours with constantly running between patients. What little energy I have left, I need to save for whatever circumstances come up before my shift ends.

“I wouldn’t have to tell them anything if you didn’t lie.”

Because I don’t want the nosey triage nurse, Tracy, who sits around the corner from the vending machine to hear our conversation, I say, “Can we talk about this later?”

“No, Layla. We can’t.”

Coming out clipped or not, my heart beats overtime when I hear my name on his lips. Still, I don’t allow it to knock me off track. I glance down the hall and lock eyes on a door. “Fine,” I mumble with a brief pause. “Follow me.”

I’m quick, turning the knob and sighing in relief when it opens. It’s dark and musty, smelling like mothballs and something I can’t place, but it’s better than Tracy sharing our conversation with this side of the hospital.

“Jesus, what is that smell?” Luke coughs out a breath and eases the door shut behind him. Through the dark, I feel for the light switch but have a hard time finding it without being able to see a thing. Regardless of the amount of lighting we have, I realize we’ve crowded into a tiny broom closet. His hand brushes my arm, and I accidentally bump into his foot with my own when I shuffle to the side.

“Would you turn on the light already?” he snaps impatiently, his breath fanning over the spot at the back of my neck that meets my scrub top.

I huff out a breath. “What do you think I’m trying to do?”

“How the fuck should I know? I can’t see you.”

“Why are you being an ass?”

A humorless laugh comes from him, and I feel the hump in the wall where a light switch would be. I flip it up. “You’re really asking me that?”

The overhead light flickers on. “Fina—” Then it goes out. Once again, total darkness cloaks us, and my skin crawls with the want to get away. No different than when I feared the dark as a child. Rather than sitting in it, I’d leave my bedroom and dart in the direction of light streaming through the house until my parents put a nightlight in my room. I’m inclined to do it now—old habits die hard—to follow the slant of light coming in underneath the door.

His body heat wraps around me, and his breath hovers above my ear. The hairs on the back of my neck stand tall, and my fingers press into my bag of chips, causing a crinkle to sound.

“Why the hell did you pull me in here if you weren’t sure the lights worked?”

“How would I have known that was going to happen?” My nostrils flare. I try to suck in a deep breath, but it’s hard when I’m this close to a raging asshole. “Can we just get this over with? I need to get back to my patients.” Sierra can’t cover for me forever.

“Fine,” he relents. “How do we fix your screw up?”

“I’m sorry,” I say condescendingly. “You act like I’m enjoying this.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Am I enjoying my friends asking about us? No. I most definitely am not.” Not even a little. My stomach clenches with discomfort every time it happens. I’ll be a pro at inactive listening in no time, and I don’t like that because words matter. People matter. “I hate it as much as you do.”

“Then start telling everyone who asks that it didn’t work out. That we tried and failed.”

I narrow my eyes, even though it’s fruitless. It’s as dark as night with full cloud coverage in here. “Why do I need to be the one to do it?”

“Because you started this mess, which means it’s on you to clean it up.” The bossiness in his voice rubs me the wrong way. I’m not entirely surprised that he’s placing blame because, yes, it is my fault this is going down, but we’re technically a team now. And I’m not ready for Andrew to find out that I’m single. Sadly, I’d rather deal with this, with Luke.

But also, I have the slightest urge to push back, to give him a dose of his own medicine, and show him that just because we had a rough break-up doesn’t mean he has to be a jerk every time he speaks to me. We could be cordial, can be, if only he allowed himself to forgive.

“No,” I say flatly, shaking my head. “I’m not doing that.”

“What do you mean?” he questions instantly. “I’m not doing this with you, Layla. I’m not being your,” he pauses, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist—just an ex-fiancé—to hear the sneer on his lips, “pretend boyfriend.”

“You’ve treated me like shit since I saw you in Texas, so screw you, Luke. People will eventually see that we don’t even talk and draw up their own conclusions. Let them watch and write up their own observations.”

I try to move around him, but he gently catches my arm. “And deal with whatever comes of it? Not a chance.”

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