Page 42 of I Still Love You

“Baseball,” Luke explains. “He’s a shortstop.”

“I’m also one of his patients,” Jett explains, reaching over and clamping a hand on Luke’s shoulder, “so I can actually vouch for the miserable ass when people come over to his booth and start asking questions.”

I’m impressed that Jett knows Luke on so many levels. “And you’re his friend.” I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth and wisecrack, “Who knew someone liked Luke enough to claim that title?” It comes out as a playful jab, one that induces a stream of energy in me.

“No wonder you’ve kept her a secret all these years. She’s beautiful as hell and a damn firecracker.”

And there’s my answer. Jett does know about us, though I’m still not certain about the extent of intel that’s been shared with him. I arch a brow and watch Luke, hoping he’ll offer me an answer or direction in the conversation. He doesn’t.

“Uh-oh,” Jett comments, looking between us. I’m willing to bet a hundred bucks that he knows what he did. He raises his hands, palms out. “I didn’t mean to cause a problem.”

I understand how painfully awkward this can get with Jett putting things out in the open, so I say, “Keeping us a secret, Luke?”

Luke pinches the bridge of his nose. “I told you not to believe a word he says.”

“Oh, so you have been talking about me?” I retort, cracking a grin and waiting for an answer. I know he hasn’t been thinking of me. He’s been too busy hating me. All a ploy to badger him, to make him sweat a little in his friend’s presence.

These interactions we share would be enjoyable if they weren’t fake. If there wasn’t a conversation that needed to be had regarding our status and what happened in that lab room.

Jett grins and digs Luke’s hole deeper for him, “He hasn’t been.”

“You’re a goddamn troublemaker,” Luke says, whipping his head to his friend.

When I take in Jett’s carefree smirk, I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t listen to every word that comes out of his mouth. I have only known him for five minutes. However, there’s something that about him that makes me want to open up from the start, that makes conversation easy. Maybe it has to do with getting to know another piece of Luke.

Jett’s phone rings and he pulls it from his pocket. Holding a finger up, he disappears in the same direction Crystal did less than ten minutes ago.

Just like that, Luke and I are alone, and whatever Jett was trying to cause between us turns to dust. Without an audience, our ruse ends, and it’s two exes wondering what the hell comes next. “Does he…?”

Luke rounds the table, resting his backside on it. I force myself to keep my eyes to myself, to not appreciate his physique, but I’m so glad for the closeness. It may be years since we’ve been together, but I remember all the plains and curves of his body. The subtle dips between each pair of abs. The rippling of his shoulder muscles. The way his forearms tense when his hands graciously glide along a woman’s body, my body.

It’s fleeting, but I watch him, my stomach coiling and wavering on the edge of letting go and hanging on to all the things that make us who we are, that bind us and keep us from walking away from one another.

“He knows we’re dating.” He swallows, his thumb flicking against the curve of his nose. “He must have just put two and two together that you’re the Layla from my past, though.”

I shift on my feet and glance over at the divider, slightly uncomfortable because it means he got Luke’s side of the story. I’m not the bad person he’s made me out to be. I made a choice that affected both of us, and I regret it, but it shouldn’t be the only thing a person knows about me.

Peeking around him, I make sure no one is nearby, and there isn’t. Lunch did a decent job of clearing most people from their tables. I ask, “He thinks it’s real? And what about…” I trail off, unsure of how to word it. “He really knows what happened…the past?”

“He thinks it’s real,” he confirms. “As for the rest,” he dips his head down for a beat, “yes. He knows what went down.”

My stomach tightens, and I think I might be sick. It’s one thing rehashing what I did with Luke, but it’s another if Luke is going around telling people about it. It makes what happened in the lab room a farce. “What does that mean? Knows what went down. He knows everything?”

“I don’t recall the exact conversation. A lot of time has passed, but after you left…” He trails off, and I hang on to each of his words like I’m dangling from a cliff, and they’re the only rocks secure enough to save me from the fall.

I curl a hand around his bicep. “Luke.”

It’s almost as if he’s at war with himself. His face blanches, and his eyes move to the section of white plastic wall behind me. Realization dawns that the unfamiliar emotion in his eyes is heartbreak. “It was chaotic, Layla. When I wasn't working, I was a fucking mess. I…” he breathes in deep and exhales. “Eventually, I pulled my head out of my ass, but when I wanted to forget—and I wanted to forget a lot—I pulled away from things I cared about. That period of my life is hazy. So, that’s what I mean when I say I don’t recall specifics, but I did confide in him. He was here after Mason and Mackenzie left.”

Rather than my stomach spiraling into a medical report worthy clench, my heart seizes and waits a second too long to pump blood through. A zing of pain bursts in the center of my chest and moves through my arms, inducing a tingling sensation comparable to an electric shock. I’m almost certain I experience my very first heart palpitation, and I hate that it comes from knowing what Luke went through after I left. Why didn’t he tell me it was so bad?

The frustration from the intense emotions winds through me like a lion on the loose. We need to sit down and talk about what happened. As much as it’ll hurt to rehash the past, it’s the only way to work toward a clearer future.

And there’s no better time than now to suggest it, no better time than when he clearly has a portion of his armor down. Maybe this is my chance—our chance—to let go of it all and move into a future more promising and healing.

To let go of the guilt I’ve carried all these years. To finally put to rest the hurt in his eyes…

While my voice is brittle, it’s strong. “Luke, we should sit down and talk about things.”

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