Page 30 of Meet Me in the Blue

“I’m not.”

“Luka.” I reached out and took his other hand in mine, slotting my fingers next to his. “What can I do?”

“Nothing. This is what it is. I’m used to seeing him like this. Today is a good day. I’ll take what I can get.”

I didn’t want to know what a bad day looked like. I hated myself for not coming around more, hated that I stayed away to protect myself from the memory of Luka. A few more tears spilled down my cheeks, and Luka’s breath hitched. I let go of his hands, letting him wrap his arms around me. We stood like that, in the foyer, our limbs tangled, chest to chest, for what felt like forever. No matter how mad I thought I should be, Luka was broken. And I wanted to hold all his pieces together, and I wanted him to hold mine. Leaning back, I cupped his face in my hands, my thumbs wiping the moisture from his cheeks. His eyes were red rimmed, and I imagined mine looked the same. The flat palm of his hand rested against my chest. We searched each other’s expression, a quiet sort of armistice between us, breathing itself into our lungs, filling all those regretful spaces inside us with something more.Are we okay? We will be.We had to be. I wanted him back. I wanted to be done.Death had a way of making anger feel petty. What was five years of misunderstanding to a lifetime ready to be buried?

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered. “Ihatethat goddamn word, but I mean it, Rook. I fucking mean it more than anything I’ve ever said in my stupid life.”

My heart thudded and tripped as I wiped a stray tear from his trembling bottom lip. I couldn’t hang on to the past, not when everything was so suddenly fragile. Maybe it was all the years before, or the shell of the man sleeping on the couch in the living room, but I couldn’t find the spite or the will to hold onto a grudge. I’d always loved Luka, no matter how or why. Forgiving him was easy. But in a week or a month or an hour, Luka’s life would be irreversibly altered, and if I left him alone in that terrible void to fend for himself, I’d never be able to forgive myself.

“It’s done,” I said, and he tried to argue, shaking his head. I held his face, wiping the rest of the dampness from his skin. “No more apologies. No more anger. I know you, Luka. You did what you did, and we can’t change it. But it’s done, and we’ll deal with it.”

“We will?” The hand against my chest twisted, clutching my sweater.

I lowered my hands to his hips, and he held his breath. “I want to understand why you pushed me away. I want to know why you thought you didn’t need me.”

“I need you, Rook.” His voice was low and desperate, like if he didn’t get the words out fast enough, they’d disappear. “That’s part of why…” He swore under his breath, dropping his gaze. “I always need you… Shit… Rook, I lo… I…”

“Everything okay over here?” Eliza stared at her son, then at me, and then at my hands where I had them on his hips. I stepped away.

Luka wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, and I swiped a few from my own cheeks. “Yeah,” he said. “Just… catching up.”

“Ah-ha.” She nodded, a doubtful quirk in her brows. “Well, when you two are done kissing and making up, we could use some help in the kitchen.”

“Mom,” Luka groaned. “That’s not—”

“Not my business,” she said and held up both of her hands, a wry grin forming on her lips. “It’s nice to see you again, Rook.”

“You, too, Mrs.…” I stuttered as she shot me a glare. “Eliza.”

“That’s better,” she said and turned and walked away with a wave over her shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, that woman has an uncanny ability to make me feel eleven years old.”

“She’s always been that way. It’s a mom thing,” I said, Luka’s words still ringing in my ears.I always need you.“Hey, what were you going to say? Before she interrupted.”

“Um.” He looked away into the living room. “I… I feel like you’re letting me off easy.”

“I am. It’s exhausting, fighting, being angry. I’d rather work things out as we go than have this… cloud hanging over us. I don’t want to ignore it, Luka, but I don’t want to give it too much power either.” I reached for the collar of his t-shirt and moved it aside, my fingers tingling as I trailed them over the tattoo. “I need you too,” I said the four words in a shaky whisper. “You’re my best friend… I love you too much to throw that away.”

“I love you too,” he said, but it wasn’t like that. LikeI love you. Those three words for him meant growing up together, camping, s’more sticky fingers, Magic the Gathering, and awkward teenage angst. They meant forgive me and I’m sorry and I missed you. We were years together and years apart, and somewhere along the way, in the loss I’d felt in his absence, the lines had blurred for me, and I wished like hell they had for him too.

LUKA

THE SENSATION OF ROOK’Sfingerprints against my skin lingered throughout dinner. I’d catch myself, touching my collarbone, and drop my hand before he could notice. Everyone sat at the table, including my dad. Polite conversation hummed around us, laughter, and smiles, and we were years in the past, like the old days. My dad looked different, but it was easy to see the man he was underneath the fragility of his skin. I’d spoken to him about the interview, and he was more than happy to participate. A full-page piece in a newspaper would never capture all that this man meant to his family, to this town, to me. But it was something he deserved. Better than the single-column obituary we’d eventually have to write. I set my fork on my plate and reached under the table for his hand. His skin was cold, but his smile was warm.

“What’s this for?” he asked, and I shrugged.

“I’m glad you’re having a good day.” The table of people graciously ignored us. “Do you mind if I take a few pictures?”

“Not at all.”

I let go of his hand and wiped my mouth with my napkin, no longer hungry. “I’m going to grab my camera,” I said out loud to no one in particular. “I’d like to get a few shots for the article if that’s alright with everyone?”

After a chorus ofsuresandhow specialandyes, please, I stood and headed upstairs to grab my bag. I didn’t have to turn around when my bedroom door creaked open to know Rook had followed me. Something between us had shifted today. The practical part of my brain told me Rook was the way he was, and forgiveness and friendship meant more to him than anything. He had always been sensible and understanding, and the way he looked at me today didn’t mean anything more than a friend needing to throw down a white flag. But he’d never looked at me like that before, like his heart could finally,finally, hear mine. My stupid needy heart was a bramble of hope and years of yearning. The tight skin against my collarbone tingled again like the ink underneath had come alive with his touch.

“This place looks like it did when we were kids,” he said with a soft laugh, and I looked around at all of the framed pictures I’d hung on the wall in a neat pattern I’d found on some design website when I was fifteen. Some of the shots were my own work, but the majority were prints of Adams, Hyde, and Porter, hanging like a cliché over my bed. “Except it’s cleaner.”

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