Chapter 32 #3
Quickly, I drop my eyes to the ground, feeling how my brow furrows as I concentrate on the patch of grass at my feet, but the sudden spike in blood pressure makes it difficult to focus on even a single blade.
With a monumental effort, I fall back on the only technique I can think of to help me out of this sudden PTSD response.
I start to count while I breathe. In for four seconds, hold for six, and out for eight…
In for four, hold for six, out for eight.
Again and again, I count to myself with each breath phase until I can feel my body physically relax from the effort.
As the panic slowly dissipates, logic can finally retake control.
Jesus fucking Christ, I haven’t had that kind of reaction to an external trigger in a while.
Especially in such a public space. If anyone hadn’t noticed me before, they must have seen me now.
And yet, as I cast a furtive glance around the crowd, I’m shocked to see that no one seems to be focusing on me at all.
Not a single eye is turned my way. I’m all but invisible with how engrossed everyone is in watching the dance.
The reality of it is instantly sobering.
When I think about what triggered this kind of reaction in me, I can’t help but frown in dismay.
I know I have my hangups about being out and open around this particular group of people, but I’m shocked at the intensity of shame that arose at the thought of being caught.
I spent our entire date in Detroit being out and open with Luke, where an arguably larger number of people saw us kissing.
Why should it fucking matter if these assholes saw me staring at him?
I’m dating the man. I’m allowed to stare at him as salaciously as I want.
But I guess that’s the point, isn’t it? They don’t know I’m dating him.
They don’t have any idea I’m even attracted to men.
These are people I went to school with, played sports with…
even some of the women I’ve had sex with.
They all have a picture of me in their heads from over the years, but the moment they discover the truth, my whole character will be eternally altered.
Can I honestly say I’m more worried about how that flimsy standing will change than I am about being authentic to myself? It’s a lot to unpack.
That cell phone suddenly goes off again, and I finally notice it’s Luke’s phone lying on the deck beside me.
When I glance down at the screen, I see ‘Mom’ on the caller ID, accompanied by a picture of a very petite woman with a face that looks exactly like Luke’s smiling up at me.
I’d never seen any photos of his mom until now, but the resemblance is uncanny.
They have the same blue eyes, the same sharp chin…
And if that’s any indication of how Luke will age, he’s fortunate. She’s gorgeous.
We’re too far away for Luke to hear it over the noise, especially as the dance finishes, and the crowd of onlookers applauds, but I don’t think much of it as the call goes to voicemail.
Luke should be able to call her back when he’s done.
But when the phone lights up again with another call from his mom without a beat in between, my heart immediately jolts to think that this might be some kind of emergency.
I call out to Luke then, holding up the ringing phone, and the way his face drops as he sees it only adds to my worry.
He runs back to me and takes the phone from my hands, an anxious dread evident in the curl of his mouth.
But instead of answering in front of me, he walks off to an empty corner of the yard where he can talk without being overheard.
I watch as Luke’s body language changes in an instant.
He’s tense, with a worried twinge etched into his brow.
He holds his phone against his ear, hugging an arm around his chest tightly, almost like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart.
Then he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, agitatedly running a hand over his neck.
He worries his bottom lip at various stages in his phone conversation, and there’s an unmistakable edge of fury in his posture.
I’m dying to know what’s happening, wondering what could be causing him so much distress. But my focus is suddenly diverted as Marcus appears out of nowhere and plants himself in front of me, dragging my attention away from Luke.
“It’s here!” he exclaims, his excitement palpable.
I blink with confusion. “What’s here?”
“The car! Come on, you’ve gotta come see it,” Marcus says, grabbing my arm and pulling me up from the deck, despite my mild protests.
He starts dragging me toward the house, and I have no choice but to follow, though I can’t help but turn my head back to see that Luke is still caught in a heated conversation.
I feel a twinge of angst about leaving him behind.
Marcus calls out to Ryder and announces to the rest of the guests that there is a birthday surprise in the driveway that everyone needs to see.
I lock eyes with Luke briefly as he hears the announcement, but he subtly shakes his head and returns to the phone call.
Then I’m suddenly caught in a stampede, being herded out to the front of the house like cattle with the rest of the group until we’re all on the front lawn.
Sure enough, there is a vintage, very dilapidated-looking Volkswagen Beetle sitting in the driveway with a comically oversized red bow on top.
It’s rusted out in several places but seems pretty solid otherwise.
I can imagine how amazing it will look once it’s had a fresh coat of paint and the new upholstery installed.
Yet, as we all gather around to see it, I can barely focus on Marcus’s speech as he shares the story behind the old car or the way Ryder hugs him to the point of breaking ribs. My mind is stuck on the image of Luke alone in the backyard, dealing with some unknown crisis.
Every instinct in my body is telling me to run back and comfort him in whatever way I can, almost like a physical tether pulling me in his direction.
The longer I stand here, the harder it is for me to resist the urge to turn and barrel through the crowd to go back to his side, almost to the point of pain.
So, when Ryder excitedly gets behind the wheel of the Beetle and honks the ancient and horrible-sounding horn they’ll eventually replace, the crowd cheers and gathers around the car to check it out more closely, allowing me an opportunity to slip away unnoticed.
While everyone is preoccupied, I make my way back toward Luke.
The backyard is empty now that everyone is gathered out front, but I find Luke sitting alone on the edge of the deck with his head in his hands, and my heart clenches with worry to see the tension buried between his shoulders.
He hears my approach and quickly rubs at his face, which makes me think he’s been crying.
The way he avoids my gaze when I sit down beside him only adds to my suspicion.
“Is everything okay?” I ask softly.
Luke shakes his head and clenches his jaw slightly. “It’s nothing.”
“Luke….”
“It’s nothing,” he snaps back, perhaps a little more harshly than he intended, by the way his face contorts with shock and then misery. He sighs heavily, rubbing his palms against his eyes before dropping his hands in his lap. “Sorry,” he grumbles softly.
Automatically, I place my hand in his, squeezing his fingers gently. Luke drops his eyes to his lap, and his face twitches with an unreadable emotion before his grip tightens in mine. But he still struggles to meet my gaze directly. He lets out a heavy exhale and closes his eyes.
“Talk to me,” I try and gently coax, but Luke shakes his head again. “What happened?”
“It’s not the kind of thing to get into at a birthday party.”
“Can we go somewhere else to talk?”
Luke finally turns his head to look at me then, his lips twisting into a weak smile before it drops, almost like it was too much effort to keep up. My heart tightens to see the depth of grief in his expression, the red of his eyes weighing me down. God, he looks so tired…
“I’m okay,” he says softly, trying to be reassuring. “I just need a minute, and I’ll be fine.”
“Luke….”
“Ethan, please,” he begs, his voice pained. “I don’t want to get into it here.”
I can see a wall go up, almost like he’s erected a physical barrier between us, his whole body coiled tight like a spring.
I haven’t seen him like this in a while, at least not since he’s been with me.
Every part of my brain is crying out to demand answers, to pry him open until all his secrets are laid bare on the table, knowing that if we don’t talk about it now, we probably never will.
But something in the fragile look on his face makes it hard to push him where he’s clearly not ready to go.
I know a thing or two about what that’s like.
“I don’t like knowing you’re hurting,” I say timidly instead.
Luke’s face softens as he looks at me, and I can tell that he feels the weight of the sentiment behind my words, my concern for his mental state endearing to him.
He leans into me, then, his lips slightly parted, blue eyes searching.
He looks like he wants to kiss me, and I’m drawn in like a moth to a flame, craving the moment our lips will finally connect.
But then Luke suddenly glances behind his shoulder at the house and quickly snaps forward, frowning.
I freeze in shock. I’d nearly forgotten that there was a house full of people at our backs who might see us, and the sudden reminder sends a chill down my spine.
The sensation is quickly followed by a surge of irritation when I recall my earlier reaction to the thought of being caught in a similar predicament, and now I’m pissed at myself.