Luke lets out a small breath. “He does look good in gray.”
That earns the smallest smile from Xavier—barely there, but unmistakable. Then he nods, pleased, and murmurs like it’s obvious, “He’s mine.”
It’s a gut punch. That smile.
It’s small and a little crooked, but it’shis.
And for a second—for one breathtaking second—it’s almost as if I’m twenty again. Like I never let him step back onto that field. Like everything after never happened.
“He’s mine,” Xavier murmurs again, soft and sure.
My chest aches, tight and full of too much emotion. Luke squeezes my knee, steady and silent beside me.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I just try to hold on to the moment—but then Xavier blinks, his brow furrowing. His gaze flickers between us. Slowly. Distant.
“Who are you?” he asks.
The words land like stones.
He looks right at me, then Luke, blinking like he’s just woken up in a strange place. “Did you say there was a game today?”
I exhale slowly, blinking through the sudden sting in my eyes. “No, Xave. No game today.”
He hums under his breath, nodding as if he understands. His eyes drift back toward the window. The smile’s already gone. A blank look filling his whole face. Luke doesn’t say anything. He just presses his hand tighter to my knee, grounding me, keeping me from falling apart like I want to.
Because this is what loving Xavier became—moments that flicker like dying light bulbs. And I let it happen to him. I wasn’t strong enough to stop him from playing when it mattered.
Now all I can do is show up.
Even when he doesn’t remember me.
The sun’swarmer out here than it has any right to be, notwhen I’m feeling like this. Like the universe didn’t just take something from me again.
Luke walks beside me, quiet. He hasn’t let go of my hand since we left Xavier’s room. I haven’t let go either.
When we reach the car, I stop beside the passenger’s door and turn to him, the words already forming, low and cracked in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, eyes on the pavement. “For what he said. For calling me?—”
“Don’t.” His voice is gentle but firm, and then he’s stepping closer, arms slipping around my waist. “Don’t ever apologize for that.”
My breath hitches.
Luke tips his head back so he can look at me, eyes shining—not with pity, but something fiercer. Kinder.Real.
“If Xavier was in his right mind,” he says softly, “it would still be true. That kind of love doesn’t just vanish. Not really.”
I open my mouth. Close it again. Because I want to argue. Want to say he’s wrong. That I would’ve chosen Luke. But the truth is I never would’ve met him if Xavier hadn’t?—
But none of that matters. So instead, I reach up and cradle the back of Luke’s head, resting my forehead against his.
“He’s not competition,” I whisper.
“I know,” Luke says.
TWENTY-SEVEN
LUKE
The kitchenstill smells faintly of garlic and cumin. The pan’s soaking in the sink, the lights are low, and the only sound is the hum of the fridge and the steady rhythm of Silas breathing beside me.
