Page 7 of Meet Me in the Blue

“I know,” he said again, his mask slipping as he stepped toward me. “I never liked Graham. He wasn’t good for you.”

“He was, though, and when he left, I had to prove to myself I didn’t need him.”

“You never needed him, Luka.”

“I did.”

He exhaled a gruff breath and shook his head. “I thought when your dad found out he had cancer you’d—”

“He told me to stay in California. He said he was fighting it. That he was fine.”

“He was... for a while.” Rook rubbed his forehead, shadows stealing the light from his eyes as he stared at me. “What happened… with us? Why did you shut me out?”

Because I failed. Because I couldn’t admit it. Because I was afraid of disappointing everyone.

Disappointing you.

“I don’t know. I just… I fucked up.”

“Yeah… okay.”

He started toward his car and the space growing between us hurt more than the loss of him over the last five years combined. The hope of fixing our friendship withered away and cut deep.

“Rook,” I called out his name, pleading. Undeserving. “I’m… I don’t…”

“I’m here, Luka.” Without looking at me, he opened his car door. “We’ll figure it out.”

ROOK

“DO YOU EVER THINKabout dying?” Luka asked, his head in my lap as usual, and I opened my eyes to stare down at him.

“What do you mean?”

Luka laughed but it didn’t sound right. It was heavier somehow. Heavy like the humidity clinging to our skin. The rain poured against the roof of our run-down fort, seeping its way into the cotton of my t-shirt where I rested my back against the wall.

“I don’t know,” he said, his fingers busy picking at the hem of his hooded jacket. “I wonder what it would be like sometimes. Wonder if it would be easier than living. Like white clouds and rainbows all the fucking time.”

I probably shouldn’t have smiled, but I did. “Clouds and rainbows?”

He grinned up at me. “And rock giants.”

“Aren’t you too old to still believe in rock giants?”

He shrugged, the humor in his eyes fading. “I miss those days. It was easier being eleven. Being a teenager sucks.”

“Yeah…” Out of habit, I brushed the mop of brown hair from his forehead, and he stared back at me. It felt different. Heavy like the rain. Heavy like his laugh had been. “But there’s good stuff too.”

He sat up and exhaled an angry breath. “Not for me.”

“What’s going on?”

He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, casting his eyes to the small puddle of water forming near the edge of my shoe. “Everyone likes you. You and your brother are hockey jocks, you’re popular.”

“Reese is popular. I’m just me.”

“I know.” His chest heaved as he inhaled and flopped against the wall, his shoulder brushing mine.

He was taller than he had been last year, like he’d turned fifteen and grew two feet or something. But I still had a few inches on him and had to tilt my head to look at him. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face.

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