Chapter 39 Silas #2
I nod, forcing it down. The guy looks up, gives me a small, polite smile. No recognition, no edge. Just… neutral. Friendly, even. I return it, tension easing.
We settle on the floor—backs against the couch, Luke leaning into my side like it’s the most natural thing.
The conversation flows: trash-talking the new football coach, Eli’s over-the-top story about a hockey prank gone wrong, Daniel trying (and failing) to drag the nerdy guy with glasses into a game of Never Have I Ever.
The ex-players circle back eventually.
“So, Coach,” Ty says, popping open another beer. “You gonna teach Luke how to take a tackle properly now that you’re back? Kid still gets run over like a gazelle on skates.”
I chuckle. “He’s got other talents.”
Micah smirks. “We know.”
Colton elbows him. “Behave.”
Luke laughs, leaning his head on my shoulder. “See? Told you it’d be fine.”
Will catches my eye from across the room, gives a small nod. Reserved, but approving. “Glad you’re back, Silas. For real.”
The jealousy about the quiet guy, who I’ve learned is Nathan, fades completely when I see him joking with Daniel, Todd, Logan, and Quinn—no lingering looks at Luke, just easy friendship.
Whatever that night at the bar was, it wasn’t anything.
Luke’s hand stays in mine the whole time, thumb stroking my knuckles like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
By the end of the night, the group’s pulled me into their chaos—Mario Kart, cards, stories, Eli forcing everyone into a group hug that nearly topples the pizza tower.
Max claps me on the shoulder on his way out—“Good to have you around again, man”—and even the hockey guys wave goodbye as though I’ve always been part of the furniture.
As everyone but Ty and Will leave—Luke’s hand in mine, goodbyes ringing out—I realize it wasn’t awkward. It was…family.
And for the first time, I feel like I could belong in it.
The apartment door clicks shut behind the last stragglers—Eli and Max, still laughing about some inside joke that made half the room groan.
The sudden quiet feels almost loud after hours of overlapping voices, music, clinking bottles, and Ty’s dramatic retelling of every embarrassing play from last season.
The living room looks like a battlefield: empty beer cans, crumpled napkins, half-eaten pizza crusts, a deck of cards scattered like confetti across the coffee table.
Ty’s already on his knees sweeping Chex Mix remnants into a dustpan, muttering about how “this is why we can’t have nice things.
” Will is methodically stacking pizza boxes, expression calm but resigned.
Luke stands in the middle of it all, hands on his hips, surveying the damage with a small, satisfied smile.
I don’t think. I just move.
I grab a stack of red Solo cups from the end table and head toward the kitchen. Luke catches my eye as I pass, brows lifting in surprise.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I say quietly, brushing past him close enough that our arms touch. “Let me help.”
He watches me for a second—soft, searching—then nods once. “Okay.”
The four of us work in easy silence for a while.
Ty blasts music from his phone to fill the quiet, some playlist full of early-2000s pop-punk that makes Will roll his eyes but doesn’t stop him from humming along under his breath.
I rinse cups in the sink, stack pizza boxes in the recycling bin, wipe down counters.
Luke sweeps, then starts loading the dishwasher beside me, our elbows bumping every few seconds.
It’s… normal. Domestic. The kind of thing I never let myself imagine having with him before.
When the last trash bag is tied and the counters are wiped down, Ty flops dramatically onto the couch with a groan. “We’re officially adults. I hate it.”
Will snorts from the armchair. “You say that every Saturday night.”
“Because it’s true every Saturday night.”
Luke laughs—bright, easy—and crosses the room to stand in front of me. I’m leaning against the kitchen counter, drying my hands on a dish towel. He steps right into my space, arms sliding around my waist, face tipping up to mine.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders automatically, pulling him in until our foreheads touch.
“So,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear. “Was it as bad as you thought it would be?”
I look down at him—cheeks still flushed from laughing, eyes bright and steady—and feel something warm and steady settle in my chest.
I grin, slow and real.
“Not even close,” I say softly. “It wasn’t bad at all.”
His smile widens, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Told you.”
“Yeah,” I admit, brushing my thumb along his jaw. “You did.”
He rises on his toes and kisses me—quick, sweet, right there in the middle of the kitchen with his roommates pretending not to watch. Ty wolf-whistles from the couch; Will just sighs like he’s above it all but doesn’t look away.
Luke pulls back, still grinning. “See? They like you.”
“They tolerate me,” I correct, but there’s no heat in it.
“They love you,” he counters, pressing another kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Because I love you. And they trust my taste.”
I huff a quiet laugh, tightening my arms around him. “Cocky.”
“Confident,” he corrects, nuzzling into my neck for a second before stepping back. “You staying?”
I glance at Ty and Will—Ty giving an exaggerated thumbs-up, Will offering a small, genuine nod.
“Yeah,” I say, looking back at Luke. “I’m staying.”
Luke’s grin turns blinding. He grabs my hand and tugs me toward the hallway.
“Night, losers,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Night, lovebirds,” Ty yells back.
“Use protection and don’t be loud,” Will deadpans.
Luke flips them off without turning around. I follow him down the hall, heart lighter than it’s been in over a year. The door to his bedroom clicks shut behind us. And then he’s in my arms.