Exist.It sounded like a luxury I couldn’t afford, and yet, here it was.
“I could use a chess opponent,” I said.“My computer beats me too fast.”
Luke smiled.He shifted again, sliding down until he was lying on the rug, looking up at the cracked ceiling.
“Hey, Austen?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for not prying.”
I looked down at him.His eyes were closed, his lashes casting long shadows on his cheeks.He looked young.Not the star goalie, not the disappointment son.Just Luke.
“You came back because the dorm has better heating than sleeping in your car,” I said softly.
He huffed a laugh, eyes still closed.“Yeah.That’s it.The heating.”
I lay down next to him.Not touching, but close enough that I could hear his breathing sync with the radiator’s rhythm.
The room grew darker as the afternoon sun faded.We didn’t turn on the lights.The streetlamp outside the window cast striped shadows across the floor.We lay there in the silence, the ghost of powdered cheese hovering between us.
“My mom used to make stuffing with apples,” Luke said into the dark.His voice was soft, barely a whisper.“Before she left.She said the sweetness cut the sage.”
“Left?”I asked.I turned my head on the rug.I could make out his profile in the shadows—the sharp line of his nose, the eyelashes resting on his cheek.
“She lives in Scottsdale now,” he said.“Owns a yoga studio.She sends me a card on my birthday, usually filled with mindfulness quotations that make no sense.”
He let out a short, dry laugh.
“She didn’t leave me, technically.She left the show.The Rick Carter Experience.”He shifted, staring up at the ceiling.“I was fourteen.Dad was intense.He was already mapping out my high school career, talking about prep schools, dietitians.Mom wanted to eat dinner without analyzing protein intake.”
“So, she ran.”
“She asked me to come,” Luke whispered.The confession hung heavy in the air.“She had the car packed.She said,‘Lucas, get in.We’re going to Arizona.’ I looked at her, then I looked at my goalie pads drying in the mudroom, and I stayed.”
My heart ached for the twelve-year-old boy forced to choose between a parent and a dream.
“You chose the net,” I said.
“I chose the approval,” he corrected.“I thought if I stayed, if I became what he wanted, it would be worth it.But she drives a Prius and teaches breathing exercises, and I think maybe she’s the one who actually won.”
He turned his head to look at me.“What about you?”
“My mom passed when I was ten.”
“Who took you in?”
“The State of Massachusetts,” I said.“Department of Children and Families.”
“No family?”
“No viable options,” I said, slipping into math speak to keep the sting away.“My father was an unknown quantity.No siblings.So… the system.”
“What was it like?”
“Efficient in its cruelty,” I said honestly.“I lost count of the number of placements I had between ten and eighteen.You learn to spot the ‘Return to Sender’ signals early.”
Luke propped himself up on one elbow.“Signals?”
