Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Broken
When we return to work the next day, Luke and I effortlessly fall into our typical Monday routine as if my world hasn’t experienced a monumental shift.
It feels particularly strange for me to dip back into my rut when I know I’ve expanded so far beyond its borders, but for now, I’ve decided to keep up the pretense until I’ve found the right moment to reveal everything to Luke.
However, within the first hour of the day, things take an unexpected turn, throwing the delicate balance out of whack.
There’s a sudden fuss as Mike, the foreman, meets up with Denise, the office manager—a woman we rarely see out of her workspace—and they take to the floor, heading through the shop on a mission.
It’s so unusual to see her, and even more so seeing the two of them together, that everyone immediately knows what it means.
There’s only one reason Denise is ever involved in a meeting with someone from the floor, and that’s because she’s the closest thing we have to HR.
Someone is getting fired.
The shop nearly reaches a standstill as we watch the two of them walk toward their unsuspecting victim, trying to figure out who it could be. I seriously hope it’s Frank.
It turns out to be Luke instead.
I freeze in shock as they stop at his workstation and ask him to follow them back to the main office.
Luke looks between them, completely confused, before glancing at me, trying to gauge the meaning of this—he’s still too new to pick up on the gravity of her presence in this situation.
But he must be able to see the panic on my face because he frowns, though he doesn’t say anything as he follows the superiors to the little room for privacy, where they can discuss their business.
As if everyone doesn’t already know what’s happening.
I can feel my blood boiling with confusion and anger as I grapple with the reasons why something like this would be happening now, of all times.
Luke hasn’t fucked up at his job, and his production has been fine.
Apart from the few minor run-ins with Frank, there haven’t been any fireable offenses.
The only other thing that comes to mind is bigotry.
And it seems I’m right. After a few minutes, Luke angrily storms out of the office and heads back to his workstation, his cheeks flushed red.
Mike’s on his heels, struggling to keep up with his pace.
But he has the common sense to stand a reasonable distance away as Luke furiously gathers his things from the bench, almost like he’s worried Luke might hit him if he gets too close. I might hit him anyway.
“What did they say?” I ask, moving closer to Luke.
“Somebody fucking snitched on me,” he snaps, the anger rolling off him like a wave.
“They showed them my Instagram account, and all the pictures I took while we were in New York. Since I called off sick without the PTO to use, and obviously don’t have a doctor’s note to corroborate my lie, they’re firing me. ”
“What? Who the fuck would have done that?” I demand, my eyes scanning the shop. Who would even know Luke had an Instagram account to follow?
“They wouldn’t say. But it doesn’t matter. I get no second chances.”
“They’re firing you just like that? No write-up, no warning?” My mind runs straight to Luke’s money problems. He needed this job. What will he do now? Would he let me pay his bills?
“Just like that. But let’s be honest, they’ve been waiting for the opportunity to get rid of the queer, so they’re taking it. They only hired me in the first place as a favor to my dad’s memory, but now they feel they’ve done their part and can wash their hands of me.”
“Maybe if I talk to them….”
“No,” Luke orders, snapping his eyes to mine, his jaw clenched.
“I was on that trip, too.”
“It’s not worth it.”
“But it’s not right,” I growl, surprised at the vehemence behind my words.
“Yeah, well… Welcome to my life. The Universe: proudly serving injustice since 1993.”
“Well, then I’ll quit.”
“Absolutely not.” Luke laughs humorlessly. “I’m not letting you quit your job because I lost mine. That’s pointless.”
“It’s not pointless.” I shake my head, frowning. “Luke, I don’t even need—”
But before I can finish saying the words, Luke groans exasperatedly, dropping his head. “Fuck, Ethan,” he snaps, the irritation in his voice sharper than I was expecting. “Stop being so ridiculous for once in your life. I don’t want you to do that.”
“What about what I want?” I bark back, my frustration getting the better of me.
I can feel rage running through me, my whole body buzzing with the energy. I’m aware we’re right in the middle of the shop, within earshot of every bigot and asshole who probably has some idea of what’s happening between us by now. They’d be stupid not to. At this point, I don’t care if they do.
“God fucking damn it, Ethan!” Luke admonishes with a raised voice. “When are you going to get it that I don’t want your fucking help? I’ve never needed your help. You can’t fix it every time something bad happens.”
That shuts me up like a slap to the face.
I clench my jaw and look away, a pang of hurt moving through my chest. I can tell Luke immediately regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips, and his expression softens slightly.
Whether it’s for the sentiment, or the harshness in which he spoke, I can’t say, but he looks like he wants to reach out and say something else.
We don’t have the chance before Mike gets pushy, demanding that Luke hurry up.
Then he’s escorted from the premises, and I’m left standing in the aisleway, feeling a wave of unease wash over me.
My soul is desperate for me to go with him—to stand for what’s right and leave this place for good.
My feet disobey the command, firmly planted on the ground like roots so entrenched in the soil that I’ll never be free.
Luke gives me one last long look as he makes it to the front doors, and I can feel my chest constricting with the wrongness of this whole situation.
Go with him, my heart screams. Don’t let him leave without you.
And yet Luke’s last words ring through my ears.
I don’t want your help. Roughly translated: I don’t want you.
Then he’s gone, and it’s too late for me to go after him.
There’s a paralyzing moment of anxious dread when I think about how I’m supposed to just turn around and go back to work as if nothing happened. How could anyone be expected to do that?
While I’m frozen, staring at the last spot where I saw Luke before he disappeared, I notice someone else quietly leaving the building. At first, I don’t realize who it is until he stops at the door and turns to stare at me with intention from across the shop. That’s when I see that it’s Frank.
Our eyes meet briefly, and his lips twist into a terrifyingly wicked grin—almost like he’s gloating—before he slips through the door, unnoticed by the rest of the shop. Instantly, my heart drops into my stomach.
I don’t stop to think as I break out into a sprint toward the door after Frank.
Everyone’s eyes are on me, and Mike even calls after me as I go outside, but I ignore him, focusing only on finding Frank.
Only, he’s nowhere to be seen. Neither he nor Luke is anywhere in the parking lot. Both of their cars are gone.
My heart races in my chest, my imagination running wild with all the things that could be happening.
I pull out my phone and try calling Luke, hoping to catch him in time—to warn him of what’s coming—but the call goes straight to voicemail.
He must not have turned off his do-not-disturb before he left.
“Fuck!” I shout angrily, a sense of powerlessness washing over me.
I try to calm myself down, rationalizing that I’m jumping to conclusions.
Maybe Frank left work for reasons unrelated to Luke, and it’s only a coincidence that he left immediately after him.
Maybe there’s nothing nefarious going on, and there’s no need to worry.
My mind races back to all of the bruises and injuries that have marked Luke’s skin over the last few weeks, and I know without doubt that Frank’s involved.
Now that they’re god knows where and alone together, there’s no way this won’t end badly.
Mike eventually follows me outside like a self-important little weasel, demanding to know what I’m doing.
I don’t dignify him with a response. Instead, I turn to glare at him, the full force of my rage tied to the motion.
He must be able to see the murderous intent in my eyes because he recoils, putting his hands up as he backs away, mumbling something about ‘take your time’ before slipping back through the door like he was never here.
I stare at the entrance to the shop after him, feeling nothing but trepidation when I think about going back inside.
It’s like staring at the walls of a prison after I’ve been given the taste of freedom.
The only thing waiting for me beyond that door is monotony and the same old rut I’ve dug for myself after fifteen years of moving on autopilot.
There’s been nothing but toxic masculinity, locker room talk, debasing innuendo, and bigotry within these walls for as long as I’ve worked here.
I don’t know how I survived as long as I did having to listen to it. Why did I stay?
But I know why… I was afraid that if I didn’t, I’d lose everyone I ever loved. Being here with my friends every day gave me a way to see them and ensure that our relationships didn’t fizzle out, fading into the background like I never existed. I stayed because I couldn’t see myself leaving.
Why the fuck are you still here?