Page 13 of Meet Me in the Blue

“Yeah.” He licked his lips, and I looked away, picking at the edge of the menu.

“I needed you too much. After Graham left, after I decided to go to Los Angeles. Every time I called you, it got harder and harder to hang up. And then Dad got sick, and I needed you… fuck… more than I should. I should have come home then… I know that, but Dad wanted me to stay, and I used that as an excuse. I had to find my own way. Shit, I’d never been on my own before. Not really. I had to try. I had to stop depending on everyone else. I know that sounds like a shit ass cliché excuse, but it’s the truth, Rook. I never fit in here. And—”

“You did. You just didn’t want to.”

“That’s fucking bullshit. You know I didn’t.” I’d spoken louder than I should have, and the room took notice. Some of the patrons stared at us and I lowered my voice. “After I graduated, I had this great job. I had this great guy and I fit. Portland felt like home, and I finally fucking fit. This town has always been too small, it’s stifling. Everyone’s always in my business, always asking me why I didn’t become a doctor, and all the expectation and disappointment because I’m not my dad. I would have drowned if I came back here then. I wasn’t ready.”

“And you’re ready now?”

“My dad…”

Rook exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for five years, and I noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

“Luka…”

“I wasn’t ready then, and I’m not sure I’m ready now. But I want to be here. I’m a selfish asshole. I shut everyone out and wasted so much time.”

He reached across the table and covered my hand with his. I hated how my fingers trembled.

“He’s my family too… you’re my family, Luka.”

Family.

Why couldn’t that be enough?

“I know.” My throat burned. “I missed everyone and I was scared. I just… I couldn’t come back, I couldn’t…”

“Couldn’t what?” he asked, and he sounded bone tired.

As much as I was terrified to say it, I had to tell him the truth.

“I failed. At everything and I couldn’t come back here and prove everyone right.”

His jaw flexed, and a flash of something crossed his eyes. More of his anger, maybe? But definitely not forgiveness. He moved his hand, taking the steadying heat of his touch with him. “You’re right about one thing,” he said, his grip tight around his menu. “You are a selfish asshole.”

ROOK

“I FEEL STUPID,” HEsaid, tugging on the hem of my hockey jersey. I didn’t know why, but I kind of liked having him wear my number. Pride swelled inside my chest as his fingers traced the logo on the front. “I hate hockey.”

“I thought you said hockey players were hot?” I stole another glance at my best friend and hid my smile as I zipped up my gear bag. “And it’s the last game of the season, we need all the fan support we can get.”

“Fan support?” Luka turned away from the mirror and glared at me. “I’m not one of your groupies.”

Chuckling, I nodded as I took in his appearance one last time. My spare jersey, the one I usually wore at away games, swallowed him whole, hanging partly off one shoulder and covering the majority of his torn skinny jeans. I loved it.

“No… you’re my best friend. And I need you there.”

His annoyed grimace crumbled, giving way to a sheepish smile that made my stomach warm. “Yeah… alright. But for the record, I hate jocks and all jock bullshit, and if any one of your dude bro buddies talks shit to me, I’ll—”

“No one will talk shit to you.” I adjusted the collar of the jersey and he bristled. “Not anymore… I’m sorry I didn’t know about… everything. But it stopped, right?”

“You didn’t have to go all aggro on your teammates. I can take care of myself.” Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m used to everyone talking shit, being the only out kid in school… it sucks, but it is what it is.”

“That’s stupid. No one should care. And if they start their shit again, you better tell me… no hiding this time.” I dragged him into a hug. His skin was warm and soft, his hairline tickling my fingertips where they rested on his neck. “I’m sorry they hurt you.”

Luka didn’t say anything at first. He was quiet, his arms tight around my waist, his face buried in the fabric of my hoodie. I closed my eyes, trying to wrest away the images of him bruised with a busted lip and tear-stained cheeks. It had been weeks since the assholes attacked him in the bathroom at school, weeks since they’d been expelled, weeks since the bruising had faded. But I had a feeling Luka hadn’t healed well at all.

“The guys on my team,” I said, and squeezed him harder. “They’re not like those assholes.”

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