Page 25 of Crossed Lines

Luke is the closest thing I have to that.

So yeah, I get it. But that doesn’t mean he gets to push me away when he wants.

“What about after the semi-finals?”

He purses his lips. “What about them?”

“We could revisit this.” I clear my throat, tugging on my sword piercing. “Revisit us.”

“It was just a bet, Spence. Nothing more.”

The measured, sterile words shouldn’t hurt as much as they do. Luke glances away, refusing to meet my gaze, and somethinglike hope pools in my stomach.Liar.He’s just too scared to admit it. That’s fine. I can be man enough for both of us.

“Really? Because I thought we were getting along pretty fucking well.”

“And we were. As best friends, like we’ve always been. Let’s just go back to that.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“What?”

Taking a deep breath, I take grab one of his hands resting on the tile. “I like being with you, sweetheart, and I kind of want to keep doing it. Officially, this time.”

Luke’s eyes widen, mouth parted in shock. After a second, he shakes his head, visibly collecting himself before tearing his hand away.

“I’m sorry, I—I can’t. I have to go.”

The splash of cerulean water as he climbs out is a gunshot in the heavy silence. My heart thuds in my chest, and something hot curls in my stomach. Shame and embarrassment rolled up into one. Luke leaves me staring at the empty water, my hands clenched into fists by my side. A cruel reflection of the last time we were at the pool together.

But instead of a tentative beginning, this feels like the end.

9

Luke

The day of the semi-final match dawns with the distant toll of bells. At least, that’s what I hear in my head all morning.

Or maybe that’s just the headache that appeared last night and has refused to leave since. Things have gotten more awkward between Spencer and I.

There’s this unfamiliar, grating tension whenever we’re in the same room together. I’ve taken to hiding in my room because I can’t handle the look on his face. It tugs at my heart like barbed wire.

I just want things to go back to normal. It’s been two days since I’ve seen his stupid smile directed at me, and I miss it.

A string of curses echoes from Spencer’s room and I wince. I’m sitting at the kitchen island, trying to down my protein shake before we leave for the coach driving us to the stadium. A protein square sits on my plate, more pushed around than eaten.

Every time I look at it, an image of Spencer with flour dotting his nose pops up in my mind. All I can think about is how much I want that again; us laughing together, doing silly things, and kissing sweetly in the kitchen.

I toss my fork next to the plate, giving up on the protein square as Spencer storms into the room. He’s half-dressed, as always, asleeveless hoodie tossed over his bare shoulder. Anger rolls off of him in waves, visible in the clench of his jaw and the vein threaded over his forehead.

He tears across the living room, upending every sofa cushion, lifting the fluffy rug under the coffee table, and doesn’t spare me a glance.

“What’s wrong?” The words are out before I can stop them.

“I can’t find my lucky cleats, and the damn match is in a few hours.”

“I’ll put my breakfast away and help you find them.”

“No.” He winces, as if hearing how harsh he sounded, and takes a deep breath. When he speaks again, it’s much softer. “Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t gonna wear them, anyway, just wanted to bring them with me for support.”

---