Page 102 of Cross Checking

My throat jumps as I swallow down even more guilt that’s rising from my core. Luke was all smiles when he called me. He spent the last five minutes excited to be closer to me, justifying his actions, and in my nonexistent wisdom, I fired back with reasons why he shouldn’t.

Running a hand over my face, I try to turn things around. “I’m sorry if I’m being weird about this. This is the first time a guy has, I don’t know, moved mountains to spend more time with me.”

“I get it.” Luke pauses, taking a long sip of water. “I know this is a lot, but again, I want to do this. I’m going to apply for that visa later today.”

“How’d you manage to get an appointment this quickly?” I decide to ignore my still-spiraling thoughts in favor of talking logistics. It’s a convenient distraction, if anything.

“Oh, I don’t have one. My dad told me to show up with a bunch of documents and they’d tell me what to do.”

That doesn’t sound like a plan.

“That’s very ambitious. Good luck,” I say instead, suppressing a frown.

“Thanks. I’m trying not to get ahead of myself or anything, but I’m excited to live in France now. If I go to the south, you can visit me in the winter if you want to thaw out a bit.”

That manages to make me laugh, even if it’s drier than usual. “Maybe. That’d be nice.”

A notification on my phone interrupts me, saying that I have to prep for my first set of drills. “Anyway, I have to lace up soon—I’ll talk to you later.”

Luke offers a weak smile, which softens the twisting coil of stress from the conversation we wrapped up. “Bye, Erik. Good luck out there today, you’re gonna kill it.”

“Thanks. Take care.”

The screen of my phone goes black after Luke hangs up, and I sit motionless in my room for a few more minutes.

Luke is thinking. Hard. He’s finding ways to move closer to me, to be with me, that I wouldn’t have thought of in a million years. I’ve never applied for a visa before in my life because my old team in Toronto handled the work permit for me. On the other hand, Luke is about to march into a foreign consulate armed with nothing but fifty-year-old documents and determination.

He’s so motivated, driven, and selfless, which is why I?—

Oh, god.

Which is why I love him.

The realization hits me like a pile of snow falling off a roof.

Holy shit. I love Luke.

And realizing that? It makes me jump onto my bed, grab my lumpy pillow, and hug it tight while grinning into it, ignoring the conversation Luke and I wrapped up not a minute ago.

Deep down, the feelings were already there, and it still seems early, even though I know it isn’t. We met nine months ago and have been dating for almost three, and throughout all that time, Luke has managed to be there for me, even when he’s an ocean away.

He’s the whole damn lovable package of kind, caring to a fault, and so fucking hot. He thinks he’s the lucky one? Nah. That’s me. I get to love a guy who’s about to fight the French for a chance to live not with me, but on the same continent as me, and he counts that as a win. And itisa win.

And I ended the call on a grouchy, dismissive note after trying to tear his complicated plan apart. The complicated plan that he’s enacting because he wants to be with me.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, mangling my pillow into a ball.

Christ, I’m such an asshole.

I still need to get ready for training, so I can’t call Luke back. I send him a hurried series of texts instead.

Really sorry if I was dismissive with you

I wasn’t expecting your plan but that wasn’t an excuse for me to be like that

I really appreciate you doing all this, for real

I heave myself off of the bed, slip into a camp sweater, and make my way to the staff offices, still kicking myself for being a shitty boyfriend. Luke adores the hell out of me, and this is how I treat him?

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