34. Keke
Chapter 34
Keke
I ’ve been at my desk for hours, staring at a never-ending list of tasks Whitney sent me for Luke’s new PR strategy. The words blur together, slipping away every time I try to focus. My mind keeps wandering back to last night. I prefer to remember the fun we had, but that isn’t the memory that keeps replaying over and over again.
I hated the way he looked at me after, a mix of sadness and vulnerability in his eyes. I know he wants to hear me say I love you but I’m not ready. Love is still a foreign concept to me, at least the romantic kind. But the more time I spend with Luke, the more I’m starting to believe it’s a possibility.
For most of my life, love has been nothing more than a concept that belonged in fairy tales. There is the love I have for Michael, of course, and friends, but that’s it. Sexual things are just that—sexual. Nothing more than a human need, a release.
That isn’t to say I don’t like Luke. I like him a lot. My stomach turns to butterflies around him, and my heart dances in my chest whenever I think about him. It’s as if there’s a magnet between us. The way we fit together, the comfort…
It isn’t love. It has to be lust.
The shrill ring of my phone jerks me out of my thoughts. Odd, I never leave the ringer on. But I’d been so distracted all morning that I probably turned it on by accident. Michael’s name flashes on the screen, and I pick it up.
“Hey.”
“Keke,” he says firmly, his tone instantly putting me on alert. “Have you figured out what you’re doing about Luke?”
“I’m handling it, Michael. You know I am.”
“Handling it? Are you sure that’s all you’re doing?”
“Yes,” I reply, my voice sharper than I intend. I don’t know why his tone feels like an attack. “I’m making sure he has a solid PR strategy, and that his career isn’t at risk with all the extra attention on him. That’s my job.”
“I get that you’re focused on the professional side of things, but this isn’t just about his career. I know you care about him.”
My grip on the phone tightens, the frustration twisting into something closer to fear. “Michael, what’s this about?”
“Just think about it, okay?”
He hangs up before I can respond, leaving me sitting there, confused.
What the hell was that about?
Think about it . What does he expect me to think about? Keeping Luke’s career safe, managing his reputation is my job.
I find myself wandering into his bedroom. Maybe I shouldn’t snoop, but I’ve been living here for a while now, and though I’ve been in his room often, I’ve never really looked around, and my curiosity gets the better of me.
There are photos on his walls, mementos and trophies that tell fragments of his professional story.
My gaze falls on a photo album sitting on his bookshelf, its cover worn and slightly faded. I hesitate, feeling like an intruder but not enough to stop myself. I reach for it, flipping it open to find a set of pictures that immediately pull me into a world I’d only glimpsed through headlines and rumors.
The first page is a picture of a young Luke, no more than six or seven, a wide grin on his face as he stands between two people I recognize instantly—his parents. His mother’s arm is wrapped around him, her famous smile flashing for the camera. His father, a friendly-looking man with dark eyes, stands on his other side, a hand resting on Luke’s shoulder.
They are on a movie set, and based upon the background images, it looks like one of the famous courtroom dramas his dad had starred in, the kind with long speeches and elaborate arguments that people talk about for years.
Luke is beaming in the photo, looking like the happiest kid in the world, but there’s a certain loneliness in the way his parents stand beside him, almost like they’re three separate pieces that don’t quite fit together. Maybe it’s because I now know about his parent’s unconventional relationship.
Or maybe I’m seeing my own childhood reflected in gestures that meant nothing.
I turn the page, finding more pictures of him as a child, each one taken on a different movie set, with a different background, and different costumes. In each one Luke is smiling and carefree, his parents beside him with love in their eyes.
He definitely had a different childhood from mine. I have to admit to myself that he’ll probably make a great dad because he experienced it firsthand.
Toward the back of the album, I find a handful of photos that give me pause. In them, Luke is a little older, maybe twelve or thirteen, standing on an ice rink in a hockey uniform. In the background, a bunch of kids wear mismatched jerseys, their faces lit up with the thrill of the game. His smile is wider, brighter, more genuine than any of the previous photos I’d seen. Such a cute kid. But there’s something different about him in this one…
And then I recognize it. This isn’t just any hockey photo—it’s a still from the one movie Luke had starred in as a kid, a film about an underdog hockey team taking on a group of wealthy kids in a big showdown game. It was one of those feel-good family movies, the kind you watch on rainy weekends with a bowl of popcorn. I’d seen it as a kid myself, but I hadn’t thought about it in years.
Seeing him in that uniform, the look of pure joy on his face, causes something to shift inside me. This is where it had all started for him, his love for the game. It’s never been just a career for Luke.
He tried to explain this to me, how he’d found hockey all on his own, separate from the world of fame and glamour that had defined his childhood. Hockey was the one thing he’d chosen for himself, the one thing that had become his, free from the expectations of everyone around him.
I close the album, my mind racing. Seeing those pictures stirred emotions within me, emotions I didn’t know I was capable of. I’d been burned too badly to want to experience love, convincing myself that it’s just a word people use when they want something, a way to justify whatever fleeting urges they are feeling in the moment. I know Luke isn’t capable of understanding that.
How could he be? He was born and raised in a family saturated with it. Parents that love one another madly, despite his father being gay. Luke was surrounded by love and respect regardless, and his parents made sure he experienced it and knew how to give it.
I set the album back on the shelf, trying to shake off the thoughts swirling in my head. Seeing him as a kid, seeing the life he lived, it was stirring up memories of my own childhood, of my own dreams.
I glance at the clock, realizing how much time had slipped by. I settle back at my desk, determined to focus on my work.
I type up notes as I work through social media strategies, combing through past interviews and articles to pinpoint any weak spots we need to address. I could lose myself in this—work has always been an escape, and I need that now more than ever.
As I work, my mind keeps drifting back to the album, to those pictures of him on the ice. I wonder how often he thinks about that time, especially now that hockey has become more than just a childhood dream. Does he still feel that same joy? Or has the pressure, the demands, the politics of the league chipped away at it, turning it into something else?
I don’t realize how tired I am until my head begins to droop, my eyes growing heavy as I type. I fight to stay awake, to keep pushing through the work, but eventually, the exhaustion wins. I drift off, my thoughts tangled in memories of the boy in the pictures. Of the man he is now. Of the dreams he’d chased and the ones I’d left behind.
When I wake, the room is filled with the eerie glow of early evening, the light casting long shadows across the floor. I straighten, feeling the imprint of my keyboard against my cheek and a faint soreness in my back from hours spent slumped over my desk. I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, but a ringtone sounds, begging for my attention.
Phone.
Ugh. I pick it up, finding Whitney’s name on the screen. The moment I answer she frantically asks, “Where are you?”
“Home, why?”
“Why aren’t you at the game?”
I check the time. “I dozed off, I’ll be?—”
“It’s the last game before the playoffs, Keke. How can you be dozing off now?”
She had a point. “Sorry, I’ll be right there.”
“Hurry. Lucas has been goading Luke the whole first period. He needs you here to help keep him calm.”
I jump to my feet, looking for my purse and keys. “On my way.” I end the call and head into the bathroom to do a quick freshening up. The arena isn’t far, but I need all my faculties after that bizarre nap.
I can’t believe the game slipped my mind. After looking through the album then getting lost in work I completely forgot about it. I was here to do a job, to keep things professional. But as I look around Luke’s condo before heading out the door, I know staying detached is going to be harder than I imagined.
His condo looks as empty as I feel without him.