Page 26 of I Still Love You

Andrew walks off a second later and only looks back once to give me that stupid grin of his. I wish I could say there was a reason for his poor behavior, but outside of me declining his advances, there’s not. Nothing ever happened between us for his rude remarks, for this kind of torment.

When my coworker—if we can even call him that since he works in a different department—is far enough away, my eyes turn to slits at Luke, and I lift my hands, palms facing the sky. “You could have said something, you know. The old Luke wouldn’t have let another man hit on his girlfriend right in front of him.”

He steps closer. My guess is so that the people walking by don’t hear the hatred behind our words. “What would you have liked me to say?”

Is he kidding? I scoff and let out a humorless laugh before turning my back and grabbing the canvas. I need to busy my hands before I rip his ears off his head and give him a valid excuse as to why he didn’t intervene.

When Luke speaks again and says my name, it’s way too close for comfort. Too near for the newest developments in our relationship. Then, I remember the front we’re putting on, how him closing in on me probably seems normal to watchers. Up close, it’s anything but. “Layla,” he clips, voice surprisingly taking on a hint of warmth.

“No.” I shake my head and close my eyes, defeat sinking in. If he feels bad about not stepping in, that’s on him. I won’t stand here and listen to his worthless apology. “Forget it.”

He rests his hand on my arm, causing my emotion to waver, to lean and tilt and almost give out. It’s bad enough that I had to listen to Andrew spew shit from his mouth. I can’t listen to Luke do the same. Not when he’s supposed to be my boyfriend—fake or not—in public.

But I guess that one paltry word means all the difference to him. Because if what we were doing was real, he would have laid into Andrew. A glare alone would have put him in his place. One steady stare and Luke would have had him pissing his pants.

So, yeah, I’m angry—no, pissed—at him for staying quiet while another man not only checked out his girlfriend but insulted her. I’m also livid with myself, too, for allowing a situation like this to take root. For giving it the water it needs to not only survive but thrive.

“When we got here, you asked me if I wanted to turn back. That it was the last chance to back out of our deal.” He averts his gaze, then settles back on me when I continue. “I stuck to my word, but I’m telling you, Luke. I’m not doing this if you can’t hold up your end of the bargain. I will not be treated like I’m less than, nor am I going to stand here and take looking like a fool by you. You want me gone when my contract is up, then you give me what I want. You act the damn part whether you want to or not.”

12

Luke

“Heard Henderson is back.”

I press my fingertips into Jett’s elbow, applying a cross-fiber technique. I’m careful where I push, making sure I’m reaching the right tendons without triggering more inflammation. “I met with him last week. Hoping we can square away the issues he’s having.”

“And if you can’t?”

Jett already knows the answer, but his low, unsteady voice tells me he’s just as worried about Henderson’s arm as the man himself. They’re teammates, after all. If one of them goes down, the entire team does. Their brotherhood is admirable. “He could be looking at surgery,” I answer honestly, knowing Henderson doesn’t mind me chatting to the guys about his condition. If there’s one thing about my job, it’s that I don’t beat around the bush. I’m not paid to give the answers people want. My answers lead to solutions that deal with the issue at hand, whether it’s from simple overuse or an injury during sport.

“Shit,” he breathes out. “That isn’t good.”

“No, but it might be worth it. Physical therapy can help with a lot of things, but sometimes can only go so far.”

As much as I hate referring my patients to surgeons, at times, it’s vital.

“You think that’s going to happen?”

I roll my finger along the tendon near his elbow and apply minimal pressure. “That’s why he’s back,” I say. “To see if there’s anything else that can be done before we resort to it.”

Jett’s dark eyebrows lower. It’s the opposite of how he normally looks when he’s sitting in this chair, but he’s not his happy-go-lucky self today. Not when I’m sure he and his entire team are wondering if they’re going to have their pitcher for the second half of the upcoming season. “I don’t know what the fuck we’re gonna do if he’s out for good. Coach is sweating.”

I nod and lift my hands from his elbow. I grab my towel, wipe the gel off my fingertips and toss it into the dirty hamper feet away. “What about the backup? He any good?”

“Between you and me, the guy he has lined up is a total newb.”

I lift a brow and head over to the ice station. “What’s wrong with that? Fresh meat can be beneficial.”

“It’s just risky, is all. Henderson is the best in the league. How the hell do you think we made it to championships last year? We wouldn’t have been able to without him.”

I scoop enough ice into a mesh bag and walk back over to Jett, grabbing a clean towel on the way to act as a barrier between the ice and his skin. “If he needs surgery, who knows how long he’ll be out.” Recovery is an important part of healing, especially for athletes who are hard on their joints. Henderson is going to need to recoup. Getting back out there too soon could just lead to more issues, and if Henderson wants to protect his career, that’s the last thing he should do.

“That’s what Coach is worried about. It’s what we’re all shitting our pants over.” He shakes his head in defeat. “Henderson’s horrible fucking attitude just makes matters worse.”

I nod and listen, understanding Jett needs to vent. Henderson hasn’t been his upbeat self since he got hurt. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were depressed and has been pushing off that he’s fine with anyone that asks about his well-being. It’s reassuring he’s showing up to practices daily, though.

My head rears back in surprise the second Jett says, “Did you hear that Lilian dumped his ass? For good this time.” When the mesh bag almost slips off his arm, he readjusts it, and I shake my head in answer. He met Lillian in college, and the two of them have been dating off and on ever since. This last on period lasted two years. It’s horrible that he has to deal with that on top of his shoulder. Heartbreak fucking sucks. “Yeah, a few weeks ago. Turns out she was after his money this entire time. He was just too blind to see it. Now, he’s injured and alone. Damn, I feel for the guy.”

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