“Good,” she said simply. Then she smiled. “Now, about the approximately seven thousand messages I’ve received…”
I laughed.
“Kyle’s sent a ton of messages.” She blushed. “He said to tell you that you have good taste in men.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Kyle’s gay, right?”
“He hasn’t come right out and said that, no.”
Dad cackled again. “I see what you did there.”
Mom rolled her eyes, then returned her attention to me. “But I think I have what they call a gaydar.” I arched my eyebrows, and sheshrugged. “I usually know which students will end up marching in Pride parades, put it that way.”
I tilted my head. “Bet you didn’t think you’d see me at one of those.”
“No, sir, I did not.” Then her face glowed. “But seeing you this happy? I’ll take being wrong every single time.”
My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it.
“That Luka?” Dad asked.
I shook my head. “It’s from Mark. He wants to see me.” Then another message popped up, and I blinked. “In two hours’ time.”
“Sounds important. Forget your coffee. I’ll buy you a cup after dinner. I’ll text you the restaurant details.” Dad reached across the table and grasped my hand, squeezing it. “Love you, kiddo.”
Warmth filled me. “Love you. Both of you.” I stood, then kissed the top of Mom’s head. “I’ll see you tonight.”
As I hurried out of the cafe, my phone buzzed again.
Mark: I need to see you, Luka, and Mila. Your room in the Village.
Okay,somethingwas going on.
Chapter Forty-One
Luka
I wokeon Dean’s bed feeling as though I’d slept for a week and five minutes at the same time.
The oversized USA hoodie was twisted halfway around my body. Somebody from Dean’s team had handed it to me the night before. Ethan, maybe, or Brooke. The evening had dissolved into a blur somewhere after the medal ceremony.
Well, noteverythingwas a blur.
Water ran behind the bathroom door, and for a moment I frowned. I hadn’t heard Dean come back from seeing his parents. Then I heard him singing. I lay there, trying to catch the words. The shower died, and so did his song.
A knock sounded, and before I could move, the bathroom door opened and Dean emerged barefoot, toweling his hair. He looked over to the bed.
“Hey.” He grinned. “You look marginally less dead.”
I tried to frown and failed. “I choose to take that as affection.”
“You should. It was meant that way.”
The knock came again, and he opened the door to reveal Mila balancing a cardboard tray of drinks. Snow glittered across her coat.
“I brought coffee for you,” she announced to Dean. Her lips twitched. “Those of us who are more civilized have tea.”
“Who cares about being civilized?” Dean claimed one of the cups with enthusiasm. “I knew there was a reason you were my favorite.”
