Page 79 of The Fake Play

“Will do.”

As I leave his house, I feel a new sense of clarity, a new determination to take control of my life. I may not have all the answers, but maybe I don’t need to.

Chapter 33

Luke

By the time I get back to my condo, my entire body feels like it's gone through a meat grinder, and I can barely keep my eyes open. The endless drills, the sparring on the ice, and the pressure to prove myself drained every last bit of energy I had. I’d worked until I could hardly move. My legs feel like dead weight, along with the rest of me. A tight knot of pain in my back pulses with every step.

As I stumble to my place, the hallway seems to stretch out endlessly before me, each step heavier than the last. All I want to do is to collapse, hopefully on my bed, but I’ll even take the floor, and then maybe sleep for a week. As I approach the door, I see a familiar silhouette, her face bathed in the dim light from the hallway.

Keke. She was back.

She turns at the sound of my footsteps, and in that moment, I forget about the bruises and the dogged ache in my bones. All I can see is her. All I can feel is the memory of her tucked next to me in bed.

She takes me in, her eyes narrowing in concern. “What did you do to yourself?”

I let out a rough laugh, leaning against the wall for support. “Just a little too much practice and too many drills.”

She doesn’t buy it, her expression hardening as she loops an arm around my waist and guides me toward the door. “A little too much practice, huh? You look like you went twelve rounds in a boxing ring.”

“Feels like it, too,” I mutter, trying to ignore the way every muscle protests as I move. “But I’ll be fine. Just need to lie down.”

She opens the door and helps me inside, her hand firm and steady on my back as I stumble through the entryway. Her touch is warm, grounding. For the first time all day, I relax. The adrenaline from training, the competitive drive that had kept me going, it all fades under her touch.

“Let’s get you cleaned up first,” she says. “Let me draw a hot bath so you can soak.”

I shake my head, wincing as the movement sends a fresh hell of searing pain through my neck. I stretch it, and every joint in my neck cracks. “A bath sounds great in theory, but I don’t think I can get in and out of the tub right now. Standing’s already pushing it.”

“Then I’ll run you a shower. A quick hot one will do you some good.”

She walks into the bathroom, her movements quick and efficient as I slowly follow. She turns on the water, adjusting the temperature. She doesn’t hesitate, she just takes care of it. Takes care of me. And for a guy who’s spent most of his life dodging responsibility and avoiding real connection, the simple act feels like a revelation.

I lean against the sink, watching her as she readjusts the water, testing it with her fingers to make sure it’s just right. Even if she won’t marry me, I could get used to this, used to her being around.

“Come on,” she says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Let’s get you in there before you collapse on the floor.”

She helps me out of my shirt, her hands gentle as she eases it off my shoulders. Her fingers linger on a bruise near my collarbone, her touch so light it barely registers, and for a moment, I forget about the pain. It’s just her, her hands on me, her face so close I can see the worry in her eyes. “Don’t do this again, okay?”

“Do what?”

“Don’t let them hurt you like this.”

I shrug, shoulders barking at me immediately. “That’s the job.”

“Then it’s a stupid job.” God, she was full of fire when she said it. So angry and protective on my behalf that it almost felt like love.

I push the thought away as best I can. Whatever she feels for me, it isn’t enough to say yes. Not yet anyway.

I step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over my aching muscles, feeling the heat soak into my skin. I let out a groan of relief, closing my eyes as the tension begins to melt away, bit by bit. I don’t even realize she’d joined me until I feel her hands on my shoulders, her fingers moving in slow, careful circles.

I open my eyes, meeting her gaze as she stands in front of me, the water streaming down her face, her long red hair slicked back. Water runs down her breasts in rivulets and I want to lick each one off of her, inwardly cursing that I don’t have the energy. She looks at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch, her hands careful as she begins to gently wash me.

She doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t ask why I’d pushed myself so hard. She simply moves with a quiet determination, her fingers tracing over each bruise, each sore spot, as if trying to absorb the pain herself silently and magically.

I lean into her touch, letting myself relax under her care. It feels like a balm to every raw place in my soul. I let it all slip away, just for a moment, letting her shoulder some of the weight for me.

She leans in, pressing a kiss to a tender spot on my pec, her lips hot and soft against my skin. I close my eyes to focus on her touch.

---