Chapter 38 Luke
THIRTY-EIGHT
LUKE
The second I step inside and close the door behind me, the familiar smell hits: day-old pizza, fresh coffee, and that faint, lived-in scent of three guys who still haven’t figured out how to run the dishwasher on a schedule.
It wraps around me like a hug, steadying after the last twenty-four hours turned my entire world upside down in the best possible way.
Ty’s sprawled upside down on the couch, feet hooked over the backrest, head dangling off the cushion, and a half-empty bag of Lucky Charms balanced precariously on his stomach.
He’s mid-chew when his eyes land on me. A marshmallow falls out of his mouth as he jerks upright, swinging his legs around and knocking the entire bag to the floor in a colorful avalanche of cereal.
“Jesus, dude,” Will mutters from the armchair without looking up. He’s got a pencil tucked behind one ear and a journal open on the armrest, legs crossed like he’s trying to pretend he’s above the chaos. His scowl deepens at the mess on the rug. “You’re cleaning that up.”
Ty ignores him, grin already spreading wide and wicked. “Well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence. Have fun playing house with Coach?”
I roll my eyes, dropping my keys into the bowl by the door with a soft clink. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”
Will finally glances up, one eyebrow arched in that quiet, assessing way he has. “You’re wearing the same clothes you left in yesterday. You smell like sex.” He pauses, nose wrinkling slightly. “And… strawberries?”
I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip on reflex and toe off my shoes, nudging them onto the mat. “Strawberry jam. What are you, a bloodhound?”
Ty cackles, kicking his legs up onto the coffee table. “Oh my God. He fed you breakfast in bed, didn’t he? That’s so domestic it’s disgusting.”
“Shut up,” I say, but there’s no heat in it. I cross to the kitchen, grab a mug from the cabinet, and pour myself the last dregs of coffee from the pot. It’s lukewarm, but I don’t care. I need something to do with my hands. “And I made him breakfast in bed, thank you very much.”
Will closes his journal with a soft snap and sets it aside. “You okay?”
The question is quiet. Direct. The kind of check-in he’s been doing since the day after Silas left—never pushy, just steady. Ty might tease until the cows come home, but Will is the one who always knows when the teasing needs to stop.
I lean back against the counter, cradling the mug between my palms. “Yeah. I’m…really okay.”
Ty’s grin softens into something more genuine. He hops off the couch, steps over the cereal massacre, and comes to lean against the counter beside me. “So you didn’t just get laid. You got, like…reunited-laid.”
I snort into my coffee. “Poetic.”
“Accurate,” he counters. “You’ve got that post-sex glow and the ‘I’m emotionally compromised but happy about it’ face. Spill.”
I glance between them—Ty with his arms crossed, expectant, and Will watching me with that calm, patient gaze that always makes me feel as though it’s safe to say the truth. I’m not positive when we morphed into this little family, but I wouldn’t trade them away for the world.
I take a slow breath. “We talked. A lot. Like, actually talked. About why he left, how fucked up it all got, how much it hurt both of us. And then… yeah. We ended up back at his place. And it wasn’t just sex.
It was—” I search for the right words, cheeks heating.
“It was like coming home. Like everything finally clicked back into place.”
Will nods slowly. “He treat you right?”
The question is simple, but it carries weight. They both know Silas was our coach once—someone they respected, someone they looked up to on the field. The fallout hurt all of us in different ways.
“He did,” I say quietly. “He was…careful. Gentle. Kept checking in. Told me he loved me. That he never stopped.”
Ty whistles low. “Damn. Coach Gray pulling out the big guns.”
“He’s not Coach anymore,” I correct automatically. “He’s just Silas. And yeah…he meant it.”
Will studies me for another long second, then gives a small nod—like he’s satisfied with whatever he sees in my face. “Good. You deserve that.”
Ty slings an arm around my shoulders, squeezing hard enough to jostle me. “So what’s the plan? You two back together? Full-on boyfriends? Matching hoodies? Matching tattoos? Tell me there’s matching tattoos.”
I laugh despite myself, elbowing him in the ribs. “Slow down, gremlin. We’re…figuring it out. He wants to do it right this time—no secrets, no hiding. I’m going back over tonight. Mexican food. Fried ice cream. Probably more talking. Probably more…everything else.”
Ty waggles his eyebrows. “Gross. I don’t really need the details, but I love it.”
Will rolls his eyes, but there’s a small, genuine smile tugging at his mouth. “Just…be careful, okay? Not with him—with you. You’ve worked hard to get steady again. Don’t let anyone—not even Silas—knock you off balance.”
I meet his gaze. “I won’t. Promise.”
Ty squeezes my shoulder one more time before letting go. “Good. Because if he hurts you again, I’m not above keying his car. Or leaving passive-aggressive notes on his windshield. Or both.”
“Noted,” I say dryly. “But I don’t think it’s gonna come to that.”
Will stands, stretching, and heads toward the broom closet. “I’m cleaning up your cereal crime scene before the ants move in. You two owe me.”
Ty grins. “I’ll Venmo you for emotional damages.”
I watch them bicker—Ty grabbing the broom from Will’s hand, Will snatching it back—and something warm and steady settles in my chest.
These two idiots have seen me at my absolute worst. They dragged me out of bed when I couldn’t get up, listened to me cry in the shower, fed me pizza at 3 a.m. when the grief hit hardest. They never once made me feel like I was too much or too broken.
And now they’re standing here, ready to tease me into the ground or defend me to the death—whatever I need.
I finish my coffee, set the mug in the sink, and push off the counter.
“I’m gonna shower,” I say. “Then I’ve got class. And tonight…I’m going back.”
Ty salutes me with the broom handle. “Go get your man, Romeo.”
Will just gives me a small, steady nod. “Text us if you need anything. Anytime.”
“I will,” I promise.
And for the first time in a long time, I mean it without reservation.
I head down the hall, already thinking about tonight—Mexican food, fried ice cream, Silas’s arms around me again.
The apartment behind me is noisy with Ty and Will arguing over who’s sweeping properly.
It’s chaotic. It’s ridiculous. It’s home.
And tonight, I get to go back to another one. I smile the whole way to the bathroom.
The takeout bag is warm against my hip as I climb the stairs to Silas’s apartment. Mexican from the little place on Woodward—carne asada tacos, extra guac, street corn that’s probably already congealing—and two fried ice cream cups tucked in the bottom like contraband.
I knock twice, light and playful, then lean my forehead against the doorframe while I wait. My heart’s doing that stupid fluttery thing again—like it’s forgotten how to behave around him. Pathetic. Adorable. Whatever.
The door opens before I can knock a third time.
Silas is barefoot, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair still damp from a shower. He looks at me like I’ve been gone for years instead of twelve hours, and something in my chest unclenches.
“Hey, hermoso,” he says, voice low and warm, already reaching for the bag.
I hold it just out of reach, tilting my head. “What, no ‘welcome home, baby’? No dramatic dip-and-kiss? I’m wounded.”
His mouth twitches. “You want the dip-and-kiss, you gotta earn it.”
I step inside, kicking the door shut behind me, and finally hand over the food. “Fine. But only because I’m starving, and these tacos aren’t gonna eat themselves.”
I toe off my shoes as he sets the bag on the coffee table, then turns back to me—slow and deliberate.
His eyes drag down my body as though he’s cataloging every detail of my look: dark jeans, fitted black Henley, the thin silver chain around my neck that he gave me when we were dating before and I never took off.
“You look good,” he says quietly. “Really good.”
I grin, stepping into his space until our chests almost touch. “You’re not so bad yourself, old man. Smell nice, too. Did you shower just for me?”
“Maybe.” His hands settle on my hips—light, testing. “Missed you.”
“Been like ten hours.”
“Felt longer.”
I roll my eyes, but my smile gives me away. “Sap.”
“Brat.”
We stand there for a second, breathing the same air, foreheads almost touching. Then he kisses me—slow, deep, like he’s been thinking about it all day. I melt into it, hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt.
When we break apart, I’m already half-hard and annoyed about it.
“Food first,” I say, voice a little rough. “Or I’m gonna let you fuck me on the coffee table and the tacos will get cold.”
He groans low in his throat, but steps back. “Evil.”
“Strategic.”
We end up on the couch—takeout spread between us, legs tangled, the TV on low as background noise. I tuck one foot under my thigh and dig into a taco while he watches me like I’m the main course.
Halfway through my second one, I catch him staring.
“What?” I ask around a mouthful of carne asada.
“Just… this.” He gestures vaguely at the scene: food, us, the quiet apartment. “Feels real.”
I swallow, wipe my mouth with a napkin, and set the taco down. “It is real.”
He nods slowly. “I know. I just—” He exhales, sets his own food aside.
“I need to know what we’re doing here, Luke.
Really doing. Because I’m all in. I’ve been all in since the second you walked into that bar.
But I need to hear it from you. Is this…
boyfriend? Future? Or are we just… seeing where it goes? ”