Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
LUKE
It’s been four weeks since I first wore his hoodie.
Four weeks of sneaking into his bed after practice, of memorizing every look he tries not to give me in public, of pretending like we’re not something when everyone’s watching—and then being everything when no one is.
We’re… not official. Can’t be. But we’re more than secret hookups and definitely more than what we were.
At least, I think we are.
Even if I haven’t breathed a word of any of it to any of my friends. It’s hard. Especially for me. I’m so used to just sharing, of being so over the top, that keeping it quiet is strange. I sort of crave public affection, and that’s not something I’ll get with Silas. I know that. I do. But—
He cuts off my thoughts with a sharp blow of his whistle. “Maddox, pick it up, you’re slacking.”
Right. Maddox. That’s who I am in public to him. A player.
I haven’t said those three little words that have been chasing themselves around my brain on repeat for weeks. I love you. And he hasn’t either.
I force a grin, tossing him a lazy salute as I jog back to the drill line. “Yes, Coach.”
His eyes don’t linger on me, not even for a second. It’s fine. Normal. Whatever.
Except…it’s not. Not really.
Because the last few weeks, even with all of the sneaking around, there were still moments that made my heart flip over inside my chest. A brush of our hands when no one was looking.
His voice going soft when he told me to hydrate.
That one time he gave me a warning glare but his lips twitched like he wanted to laugh.
But today, there’s nothing. He’s all business, and it’s rubbing me in the wrong way.
By the time practice ends, I’m sweaty, frustrated, and overthinking every second of it. I slam my helmet into my locker and glance toward his office. The lights are on. I can see them glowing through the half-shut blinds, but the door’s closed.
Fine.
I head for the showers, dragging my feet and pretending that might stall the moment. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe it’s just a bad day.
Colton and Micah flirt their way through a shower, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous. They laugh as if nothing in the world could touch them. Like it’s normal to kiss your boyfriend in front of the team. Like it’s safe.
I want that. I want him. And it fucking sucks that I can’t have both.
Ty and Will finish quick, tossing half-jokes at me about skipping lunch and disappearing lately, but they don’t push. They know something’s up. Probably because I haven’t slept in my own bed most nights. Haven’t been to Riot. Haven’t shown up for game night in over two weeks.
Because Silas has been everything. My gravity. My escape. My whole damn world lately.
And right now, it feels like he’s pretending I don’t exist.
I towel off, pull on clean clothes, and run my hands through my damp hair before I finally cross the locker room to his office. My heart’s pounding like I’m about to get benched.
I knock once then push the door open.
Silas doesn’t look up.
He’s behind his desk, typing something. His shoulders tense when he sees me, but he doesn’t move to wave me in.
“Something you need, Maddox?” he asks without looking away from the screen.
I blink. Maddox. Not Luke. Not hermoso or good boy or you’re mine. Just my last name. Like I’m anyone.
“Uh…” I clear my throat, suddenly way more nervous than I should be. “Just wanted to see if you needed help with anything. Or, y’know. Lunch. Coffee. Company.”
Now he looks up. But it’s that blank, unreadable expression he uses when he’s pissed at some of the guys when they slack during practice.
“I’m good,” he says. “But thanks.”
Something inside me twists. Tightens. I lean against the doorframe, forcing a smile. “Okay. Well… I can hang out until you’re done.”
“Not today,” he says, voice clipped. “I’ve got plans.”
Plans. Right.
“Cool,” I say too quickly. “Yeah. That’s… fine.”
He nods once. “You should hang out with your friends. I'm sure they miss you.”
I blink.
Then I mouth the word —Wow—so quiet it doesn’t even reach the air. Just the shape of it. The kind of reaction you give when you’ve just been slapped and you don’t want to make a sound.
I don’t know if he sees it. I hope he doesn’t. And yet… maybe I do.
Because it hurts. Like a punch to the ribs I didn’t brace for. Like I opened up everything and handed it to him—only to be told to go hang out with someone else.
I nod again, but it’s slower this time. Mechanical. I can feel the heat behind my eyes building, pressure like a storm surge.
I blink fast. Not here. Not now. I won’t let him see me cry.
“Right,” I say, swallowing hard. “Wouldn’t want my… neediness to get in the way.”
His mouth opens slightly, just for a second—but I’m already turning. Because if I stay, if I stand there any longer, I might say too much. I might ask—what plans? Why not me? Why now?
And I’m scared I already know the answer. Because this was always the risk, wasn’t it? I’m too loud. Too much. I wear my heart on my sleeve and expect people to hold it gently. But they don’t. Not for long.
And maybe I should’ve known better than to hope he would.
Instead, I turn and walk.
Locker room door, hallway, sunlight. I don’t even realize I’m blinking hard until the breeze hits my face and a tear slips down my cheek. God. No. No.
I swipe it away as though it betrayed me, as if it means anything. It doesn’t. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not mine. We don’t even have a label. I knew that.
But still.
I felt like his. And now I feel like a fucking idiot.
“Luke—wait.”
I hear his voice behind me, closer than I thought. I don’t stop walking.
“Luke,” he says again, and then I feel his hand close around my wrist, pulling me just enough that I stop beside the bleachers.
“What?” I ask, not looking at him. My voice is tight. Brittle. “You forget to assign me extra drills?”
I know I’m being petty, but I can’t help myself. Geez, pull yourself together. He didn’t say he didn’t want you anymore, he said spend time with your friends. God, he probably thinks I’m the most immature, neediest guy he knows.
His jaw flexes. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” I shoot back, finally facing him. “You’ve barely looked at me all day. You acted like I didn’t exist during practice. And now you’re blowing me off like—like I’m some random hookup who got too clingy.”
His brows pull together. “Luke, that’s not fair—”
“Then what is it?” I snap. “You’ve got ‘plans’? What kind of plans? A date? A secret second hookup? Don’t worry, I get the dynamic—Coach-slash-closeted hookup doesn’t have time for the guy who sleeps in his bed and tries really fucking hard not to ask for more.”
He flinches.
Good. Because I’m already drowning in it.
His voice drops low. “I just have something I need to do. Something important. A friend I’ve been putting off visiting since we’ve been seeing each other.”
A friend. A friend.
Jealousy slices through me before I can stop it. “What friend?
He hesitates. Doesn’t answer, as if he’s weighing whether I deserve to know.
He shakes his head. “No one you need to worry about.”
And just like that, something in me snaps. Tears I didn’t agree to sting my eyes again, hotter this time. Fuck, no. Not here. I turn my face, swipe them away fast and vicious.
“Hey—hey, no,” Silas says quickly, stepping into my space. His voice drops, loses that clipped coach edge entirely. “Luke, look at me. Don’t cry.”
“I’m not,” I lie, breath hitching. I keep my gaze locked on the metal bleacher rail as if it personally offended me. “I’m fine.”
He reaches up anyway, fingers hovering near my jaw as though he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch me here. “You’re not fine.”
“Congrats,” I mutter. “You cracked the code.”
“Luke.” My name sounds different on his tongue now. Softer. Regretful. “It’s not what you think.”
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “People always say that right before it is.”
He exhales, long and heavy, like he’s been carrying this all day and finally ran out of places to put it.
“It’s Xavier,” he says quietly.
The world tilts.
“Oh,” I whisper.
Of course it is.
Xavier.
The name he messaged me late one night and spoke about another night, voice rough and raw in the dark. The name that lived in the space between us whenever Silas went quiet, whenever his eyes went distant as though he was somewhere else entirely.
The man he loved.
The man he lost.
The man I’ve never competed with, because you don’t compete with ghosts.
“I should’ve told you,” Silas says. “I just… I haven’t gone in weeks. And it’s been eating at me. I can’t keep ignoring that part of my life because I’m happy now.”
I nod, because that makes sense.
“So,” I say carefully, swallowing around the lump in my throat, “when you said you had plans…”
“I’m going to see him,” he finishes. “Today.”
I finally look at him then. Really look.
There’s guilt in his eyes. And something else too—fear, as though he’s bracing for me to turn away from him and run away again.
My chest aches. Not with jealousy. Not really. More with understanding. And that scares the shit out of me.
“I knew,” I say quietly. “I mean… I didn’t know today, but I knew he was still alive, in the picture, a part of you.”
Silas nods once. “He always will be.”
The words land gently. Honestly. And still, they sting.
I wipe my face again, slower this time. Less angry. “You could’ve just said that. Instead of acting like I was some distraction you needed a break from.”
“I wasn’t pushing you away,” he says quickly. “I was trying not to fall apart in front of you.”
I huff a weak laugh. “Too late. I already did that for both of us.”
His mouth twitches, but it doesn’t quite make it to a smile.
“I’m sorry,” he says. And this time, it sounds like he means all of it.
I nod. Once. Then again.
“I get it,” I say. “I don’t love it. But… I get it.”