Chapter 39 Silas
THIRTY-NINE
SILAS
It’s been nine days since Luke walked back into my life at that bar—nine days of stolen hours, late-night texts that turn into early-morning calls, and more sex than I thought two people could reasonably manage without needing IV fluids.
We’re careful about it. No rushing. No hiding.
We talk—really talk—about the past, about what we want, about how neither of us is willing to let this slip away again.
Every time he leaves my apartment, I feel the absence like a bruise, but it’s a good bruise.
The kind that reminds you the body is healing.
Tonight, he’s sprawled across my couch in sweatpants and one of my old hoodies, feet in my lap while I half-heartedly scroll through takeout options on my phone.
The TV is on low—some crime documentary neither of us is paying attention to.
His toes wiggle against my thigh every few minutes, a lazy little reminder that he’s here, that this is real.
He’s been quieter than usual for the last ten minutes, his foot rubbing absent circles on my knee. I know that look. He’s working up to something.
I set my phone down. “What’s on your mind, hermoso?”
He glances up, caught. Then he grins—small, a little sheepish, the kind that still makes my chest ache.
“So… the guys do game night every Saturday,” he starts, casual like he’s talking about the weather. “Pizza, video games, cards, too much beer, Ty losing spectacularly at Uno and blaming everyone but himself. It’s stupid and loud and perfect.”
I nod slowly, already sensing where this is going. “Sounds like them.”
“Yeah.” He sits up a little, pulling his legs under him so he’s facing me fully. “They’ve been asking about you. Not in a weird way. Just… ‘How’s Silas?’ ‘You still seeing him?’ ‘When are we gonna see the old man again?’ That kind of thing.”
My stomach does a slow, uncomfortable flip.
Luke reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together. “I told them we’re good. Really good. And they’re happy about it. Like, genuinely. Even Micah said—and I quote—‘If Coach makes him smile like that again, I’ll buy the first round.’”
I huff a quiet laugh despite the nerves. “Micah said that?”
“Swear to God. Colton nodded like it was gospel.”
I stare at our joined hands, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “They’re your people, Luke. I don’t want to… intrude. Or make it weird.”
“You’re not intruding.” His voice is firm, gentle. “You’re part of this now. Part of me. And they know that. They want to see you. Not Coach Gray—the guy who used to make them run suicides until they puked. Just Silas. The one who makes me stupidly happy.”
I meet his eyes. They’re steady, warm, completely unguarded.
“You really think they’re okay with this? With us?”
“I know they are,” he says softly. “Ty already made a joke about calling you ‘Coach Stepdad.’ Will rolled his eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. But they’re excited. They want you there.”
I exhale through my nose, the knot in my chest loosening just a fraction. “When?”
“Next Saturday. My place. Low-key. Just the usual crew—Ty, Will, Colton, Micah, Daniel, Quinn, Todd, Eli, Max, Logan, and Nathan…the whole circus.”
I recognize most of the names. The football guys I coached. Max from training staff. Eli’s impossible cheerfulness. Daniel’s loud energy.
I sigh and nod my head.
He smiles—small, relieved. “So…you’ll come?”
I look at him—really look. The way his hair is falling into his eyes, the faint freckles across his nose that only show up in good light, the way he’s holding my hand now as though it’s something precious.
This man, who has every reason to keep me at arm’s length, is asking me to step into his world. All of it.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “I’ll come.”
His whole face lights up. He lunges forward, tackling me back against the couch cushions in a messy hug. I laugh—surprised, breathless—as he peppers kisses across my jaw, my cheek, my mouth.
“You’re gonna love it,” he promises between kisses.
“Ty will lose at everything, Will will pretend he’s above it all but secretly keep score, Micah will talk shit, Colton will try to mediate, Daniel will adopt you on sight, Eli will hug you too hard, and I’ll be right there the whole time making sure you know you belong. ”
I catch his face between my hands, kiss him slow and deep until he melts against me.
“I already belong,” I murmur against his lips. “I belong with you.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me—eyes soft, shining.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “You do.”
We stay like that for a long time—tangled on the couch, kissing lazy and sweet, the TV forgotten, the future suddenly feeling a lot less terrifying.
Next Saturday I’ll walk into a room full of people who used to call me Coach. But I won’t be going as Coach. I’ll be going as Silas. As Luke’s boyfriend.
I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, adjusting the collar of my button-down for the third time.
It’s just a shirt—simple, dark blue, nothing flashy.
But everything about tonight feels like it’s under a microscope.
Luke’s friend group. A casual hangout at his place.
Beers, pizza, whatever. No big deal, he said.
Except it is. To me, at least.
These aren’t just his friends. Half of them are guys I used to coach—Ty, Will, Colton, Micah.
Kids I yelled at on the field, pushed through drills, watched grow into players.
And now? Now I’m the guy who dated one of their teammates in secret, got fired for it, broke his heart, and somehow convinced him to give me another shot.
Awkward doesn’t even cover it.
Luke pokes his head into the bathroom, already dressed in jeans and a faded band tee that clings in all the right places. He’s got that easy grin on his face, the one that makes my chest tighten.
“You look hot,” he says, stepping in and wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. His chin rests on my shoulder, eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “Stop overthinking.”
“I’m not,” I lie.
He snorts. “Liar. You’re doing that thing where you fiddle with your collar like it’s trying to choke you.”
I drop my hands with a sigh. “Fine. Maybe a little. These are your people, Luke. What if they hate me? What if they think I’m—”
“Too old? Too serious? Too much of a daddy?” He waggles his eyebrows, voice dropping to a tease.
I roll my eyes, but a reluctant smile tugs at my mouth. “All of the above.”
He spins me around to face him, hands on my hips. “They won’t. They know me. They know how happy I am right now. And they know you—from before. You were a good coach, Silas. Strict, yeah. But fair. They respected you.”
“Respected the coach,” I mutter. “Not the guy who’s dating their friend.”
He cups my face, thumbs stroking my jaw. “It’s gonna be fine. Trust me. They’re my family. They want me happy. And you make me happy.” He leans in, kisses me soft and quick. “Plus, if anyone gives you shit, I’ll kick their ass.”
I huff a laugh. “My hero.”
“Damn right.” He pulls back, grin wicked. “Now come on. We’re late, and Ty’s already blowing up my phone with memes about old men and curfews.”
I groan but let him tug me out the door. The drive to his place is short—too short for my liking. My mind races the whole way: What if they bring up the scandal? What if they think I’m using him? What if—
Luke’s hand squeezes my knee at a red light. “Breathe, Silas.”
I exhale. “Trying.”
His apartment is on the second floor of a quiet building—music already thumping faintly from inside when we reach the door. Luke doesn’t knock; he just pushes it open and pulls me in after him.
The living room is packed. Pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table, beers scattered everywhere, a card game half-abandoned on the floor. Eyes turn to us immediately.
Ty spots us first—from his sprawl on the couch, beer in hand. He sits up straight, grin splitting his face. “Well, if it isn’t Coach Gray. Back from the dead.”
Will, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a journal in his lap, glances up with a reserved nod. “Silas.”
Colton—golden boy through and through—waves from the armchair, his arm slung around Micah, who’s perched on the armrest like he owns the place. “Hey, Coach. Long time.”
Micah smirks, giving me a once-over. “Looking good, old man. Retirement suits you.”
The room chuckles—light, but there’s an edge. I feel my face heat. Luke’s hand squeezes mine, grounding.
“Play nice,” Luke warns, but he’s grinning too. “Or I’ll tell everyone about that time Ty cried during a Disney movie.”
Ty clutches his chest. “Low blow, Maddox. But fine. We’ll behave. Mostly.”
The tension eases a fraction. Luke pulls me toward the kitchen, grabbing beers from the fridge while the group settles back in. I scan the room—familiar faces from the team mixed with new ones.
I recognize the hockey guys immediately: Eli’s impossible-to-miss sunshine energy lighting up the corner, arms slung around Max’s shoulders—Max, who I worked with for the short time I was the coach as the football team’s athletic trainer.
He gives me a small, knowing nod, nothing hostile, just professional respect that’s somehow survived everything.
And maybe a sort of kinship between us because he is clearly in love with Eli, who he used to be an athletic trainer for.
Daniel’s there too—loud, laughing with Logan and Todd. And a nerdy guy in glasses I don’t know sitting near the three of them, a controller in his hand already. They wave casually, no judgment in their eyes.
Then there’s another quiet guy sitting on the end of the couch, nursing a soda—the same one I saw Luke with at the bar that night. The one he was smiling at. My stomach twists for half a second—old jealousy flaring before I can stop it. Luke catches my glance, squeezes my hand again.
“That’s Nathan. Just friends,” he murmurs low enough for only me. “Promise.”