Chapter 23 – Luke
LUKE
Luke stood in his kitchen Sunday evening, pulling ingredients from the fridge.
Jack was coming over for dinner. Just the two of them. No distractions, no interruptions. Marley was already fed and settled on his bed in the living room.
Luke had spent the afternoon thinking about what he was going to say and how to say it. He loved Jack. He'd probably never stopped loving him, not really. He was tired of holding it in, tired of waiting for the perfect moment, and tired of wondering whether Jack felt the same way.
Maybe Jack did. Maybe he didn't. But Luke needed to say it anyway.
His sponsor, Suze, had said, "You can't control how people receive your truth. You can only control whether you tell it."
So tonight, he would tell it.
Luke had spent the afternoon thinking about Friday night. About the intensity of it. About the way Jack had left Saturday morning—a quick kiss, out the door, back to his controlled world.
The pattern was becoming clear.
And Luke needed to say something about it.
Because biting his tongue to keep the peace wasn’t really working for him. Giving subtle clues was as unfair to Jack as it was ineffective. It was time to man up and be direct about what he wanted and needed. If Jake ended up baling again, he’d have to live with that again.
He set the table. Lit a candle. Put on Spotify’s Celine Dion channel—low and easy, not romantic enough to seem like he was trying too hard.
Then he stood at the kitchen window, watching the sun set over the mountains, his heart beating faster than it should for a simple Sunday dinner.
The knock at the door came right at six.
"Come in!" Luke called.
Jack walked in, carrying a bottle of expensive sparkling mineral water. He set it on the counter, then crossed to Luke and kissed him hello. "What are we making?"
"Pasta. Salad. Garlic bread. Nothing fancy." Luke handed him a cutting board and a knife. "You're on vegetables."
"Yes, sir."
They worked side by side in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Jack chopped bell peppers, the knife striking the cutting board rhythmically, while Luke stirred the sauce.
The kitchen smelled of garlic and tomatoes. The music played softly. Jack's shoulder brushed against Luke's as they moved around each other, an easy intimacy that felt both new and ancient.
Luke took a breath. Now or never.
"Friday was intense," Luke said finally, keeping his eyes on the pot.
Jack glanced over. "Yeah. Good, though. Right?"
"Yeah. It was good." Luke paused, then set the spoon down and touched him on the arm. "But, Jack... I don't need you to fuck me like that every time things get complicated between us."
Jack's knife stilled. Heat crawled up his neck. "I wasn't—"
"You were." Luke's voice was gentle, without judgment. "After Wednesday at the bar, you were trying to prove something. I get it. But..."
He stepped closer, put his hand on Jack's chest, felt his heart beating fast, and said, "That's not what I need from you."
Jack set the knife down and asked, "What do you need?"
Luke smiled. "Just this. You. Here. Chopping vegetables in my kitchen."
He took another breath.
"You don’t have to do anything else. I'm already yours, Jack, you know. I love you."
Jack's whole body went still.
Luke felt it, the way Jack froze, the way his breathing changed, the way every muscle tensed. Jack's hand came up to cover Luke's.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. An instrumental version of an old ballad played. The sauce bubbled. Marley snored softly in the living room.
Luke watched Jack's face. He thought he saw something about to change there.
Say it, Luke thought. Say it back.
And then the moment was gone, and whatever had begun to shift in Jack’s expression shifted back.
"You don't have to say it," Luke added quickly. "I just needed you to know how I feel. I'm yours. I love you. I've loved you since I was sixteen, and I love you now.”
Jack's hand clung still to Luke's over his heart.
For a moment, Luke thought Jack might say it. Maybe this time would be different.
"Thank you," Jack whispered.
Luke felt the words like a punch to the gut and pulled away slightly.
Thank you.
Not “I love you, too.”
Not “I'm falling for you.”
Not even “I'm trying” or “You’re so special.”
Just... “Thank you.”
Like Luke had done him a favor. Like he'd picked up Jack's dry cleaning.
Luke smiled, but it felt brittle. He pulled his hand away from Jack. "Come on. Let's finish dinner before the pasta gets overcooked."
He pulled away and turned back to the stove.
Jack stood frozen for another moment, then went back to chopping vegetables with mechanical precision, the thunk, thunk, thunk of knife on board.
Luke drained the pasta, tossed it with the sauce, and put everything on plates. This was fine. He'd said what he needed to say. Jack's response—or lack thereof—didn't change anything.
That's what he told himself, anyway.
Dinner was quiet.
They sat across from each other at Luke's small table, candlelight flickering between them. Luke had imagined this moment differently. He had thought that maybe saying "I love you" would open something up between them, make things easier.
Instead, it felt like another wall had gone up.
They talked about work, the weather, and Marley's obsession with the neighbor's cat. Jack asked about the fundraiser planning.
“Budget coming together after those sponsors backed out?” Jack asked.
“Working on it,” Luke replied
Luke asked about Jack's students. Jack answered. Back and forth, careful and polite.
Luke tried to act normal, but everything felt different. The words hung in the air between them: I love you. Thank you.
When their eyes met across the table, Jack looked away first.
After they ate, Luke cleared the plates while Jack scraped leftovers into containers, both moving carefully around each other in the small kitchen. Not touching. Not talking.
"Want to watch something?" Luke asked finally.
"Sure."
They moved to the couch. Jack reached for him, and Luke went, curling against Jack's side with his head on Jack's shoulder. It should have felt good, but it felt wrong, like they were pretending.
"I'm sorry," Jack said quietly.
Luke closed his eyes. "For what?"
"For not... for not being able to..." Jack's arm tightened around him, making Luke feel sick to his stomach. "I don't know."
"It's okay,” Luke’s torso and face flushed with heat. He couldn’t take this.
"It's not."
"Jack." Luke sat up and turned to face him. "I didn't say it to make you feel guilty. I said it because it's true. You don't owe me anything."
"I feel like I do."
"Well, you don't." Luke's voice was firm. "I love you. That's my truth. What you do with it is up to you."
Jack looked at him intently, and Luke saw the war happening behind those blue eyes. Fear and want and something that looked almost like panic.
"I want to," Jack said finally. "I want to be able to say it."
"But you can't."
"Not yet. When I do, it will mean everything to me, and I don’t want to rush it."
Luke nodded. At least that was honest.
They sat like that for a while, the TV playing something neither of them watched.
Eventually, Jack kissed the top of Luke's head. "I should probably head out. Early morning tomorrow."
Luke nodded. Of course, he thought. This is exactly what I knew would happen, but I still had to try.
"Okay," Luke said.
Jack stood and pulled on his jacket. At the door, he turned back and kissed Luke softly, like an apology. "Text me tomorrow?" Jack said.
"Yeah. Tomorrow."
Luke watched him walk to his Jeep, watched the taillights disappear down the street.
Marley padded over and rested his head on Luke's knee.
"I know, buddy," Luke said quietly. "I know."
He closed the door, then stood in his dark living room, wondering how it was possible to feel so close to someone and yet so far away at the same time.