Chapter 74 Mercedes

Chapter 74 Mercedes
Mercedes 

⛸️

Luke's car pulls up in front of my house right on time like always.

I don't even wait for it to fully stop before I'm already smiling, already halfway off the porch.

This is our thing.

Morning pickups. His fancy little sports car. The whole school watching us roll in like we own the place.

I slide into the passenger seat and lean in immediately, expecting him like I always do.

"Kiss me," I say softly, grinning.

He turns his head slightly.

Not fully. Just enough.

"Not now, Merc," he says.

I blink.

Once.

Then lean back a little like I misheard him.

"Excuse me, sir?" I say slowly. "Since when do you deny my kisses?"

He keeps his eyes on the road.

"I'm not in the mood."

That lands weird.

Not like a joke weird.

Like... something is off weird.

I study his face.

Jaw tight. Shoulders tense. Hands gripping the wheel a little harder than normal.

"Okay..." I say, drawing it out. "Who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?"

Nothing.

No smirk.

No comeback.

Just silence.

We start driving.

The car feels different today.

Usually it's loud between us—music, teasing, him grabbing my hand at red lights like he can't keep it to himself.

But now it's just... quiet.

Heavy quiet.

I glance over at him again.

"You good?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says too fast.

That's how I know he's not.

So I lean back, trying to lighten it.

"Wow," I say, letting out a small laugh. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

His eyes flick over to me.

"Shut the fuck up," he says.

The words aren't loud.

But they're sharp.

And I go still.

"...what did you just say?"

He exhales immediately, like he already regrets it.

"I didn't mean it like that," he says quickly. "I'm sorry. I just— I'm all over the place today."

I stare at him for a second.

Then soften, because I can tell it's not about me.

It never really is with him when he gets like this.

"What's going on?" I ask more gently.

He runs a hand through his hair, still staring at the road.

"I'm worried," he says.

"About what?"

He hesitates.

Then:

"An NHL scout is coming to watch me play next month."

I sit up a little straighter.

"Oh," I say.

That explains it.

"I don't wanna mess it up," he continues. "Like... at all. I need to be perfect right now."

There it is.

That pressure thing he does.

Where the world becomes hockey and everything else disappears.

I let out a slow breath and reach for his hand.

He lets me take it this time.

"You're not gonna mess it up," I say softly.

He shakes his head slightly.

"I just need everything to be locked in right now," he says. "No distractions."

That word hits me weird for half a second.

But I push it down.

Instead I squeeze his hand tighter.

"I got you," I say. "You always play better when you're not stressing yourself out like this."

He lets out a breath through his nose.

A little calmer now.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I know."

We pull into the school parking lot as the chatter outside starts growing louder.

Students everywhere. Hockey guys already calling his name from across the lot.

But for a second in the car, it's just us again.

He glances at me finally.

More normal now.

Less tense.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

I smile a little.

"You're forgiven," I say. "But you still owe me a kiss."

That gets the smallest hint of a smile out of him.

Finally.

He leans over and presses a quick kiss to my lips—short, but real this time.

"Better?" he asks.

"Much," I say.

I grab my bag and open the door.

Before I get out, I look back at him.

"You're gonna be fine, Luke," I add. "Just breathe."

He nods once.

And I step out into the noise of school.

But something about him this morning still lingers with me as I walk away.

⛸️

The rest of the morning actually goes fine.

Classes blur by like normal—notes, teachers talking too much, me half paying attention, half thinking about Luke.

Not because I'm worried exactly.

Just... noticing.

That version of him this morning is still stuck in my head.

By the time lunch hits, I already know where I'm going.

Our table.

Same spot. Same people. Same routine.

I slide in next to Luke like always, right between him and Mitch.

The hockey guys are loud as usual—laughing, throwing food, talking over each other like the cafeteria is their personal arena.

But Luke?

He's not there today.

Not really.

He's sitting straight, tray in front of him, barely touching his food.

Just staring at it.

Fork in his hand like he forgot what it's for.

I glance at him, then at Mitch.

I nudge Mitch under the table.

Lean in slightly.

"Luke is really letting this NHL scout get to his head," I whisper.

Mitch follows my eyes, then tilts his head.

"...yeah," he mutters under his breath. "Dude's cooked."

He tries anyway.

"Yo Luke," Mitch says louder, forcing energy into it. "You good or are you practicing your statue impression for scouts now?"

A couple guys laugh.

No reaction from Luke.

Mitch keeps going.

"Bro I swear if you don't eat that chicken I'm reporting you for emotional damage."

Still nothing.

Luke just pokes his food once with his fork.

That's it.

The table energy slowly dies a little.

Even the guys notice.

Mitch leans closer to him now. "Alright, Mr. NHL Draft Prospect, smile for us at least?"

Luke exhales.

Not angry.

Just... gone somewhere else.

"I'm fine," he says flatly.

But it doesn't sound like fine.

Then the bell rings.

Everyone starts getting up, chairs scraping, noise picking back up again.

Luke stands first.

Doesn't look at anyone.

"I'll see you guys," he says, already turning away.

And just leaves.

No joke.

No nod.

Nothing.

I sit there for a second watching him go.

That's not him.

That's not Luke.

Mitch gets up next to me and I follow him out of the cafeteria.

We walk in silence for a bit until we reach my locker.

I spin the dial slowly, still thinking about Luke's face at lunch.

Then I break.

"Is there anything else going on with Luke?" I ask quietly.

Mitch glances at me.

I continue before he can dodge it.

"He's acting completely different. Like—he denied my kiss this morning. Luke never does that."

That actually catches him.

He pauses.

Looks a little thrown off for a second.

"Oh... damn," he says under his breath.

Then he shrugs like he's trying to downplay it.

"Yeah, but bro is just locked in," he says. "Cut him some slack, alright?"

I stop opening my locker for a second.

"...locked in enough to ignore his girlfriend?"

Mitch rubs the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I mean—scout coming, pressure, coach stuff... you know him. He gets in his head."

I look at him for a moment.

Then nod slowly.

"...alright," I say.

But I don't fully believe it.

Not yet.

Because Luke doesn't just get quiet like that.

Not with me.

⛸️

The end of the day finally rolls around and I'm honestly ready to just see Luke again.

Not because I'm mad anymore.

But because I still don't fully understand what this morning was.

I spot him at his locker before he sees me.

Same place. Same posture. Except still... off.

I walk up and lean against the locker next to him.

"Hey," I say lightly. "How was your day?"

He glances at me.

"Fine," he says.

Just fine.

Nothing else.

I cross my arms a little.

"Cool," I say slowly. "I'm gonna go to Brianna's tonight then. If you don't wanna hang out after hockey practice."

He looks up at that.

And I don't even try to hide it.

"...since you're basically throwing me to the side today."

That lands.

His expression shifts immediately.

"Wait—no," he says, stepping closer and grabbing my arm gently but firmly.

Not rough.

Just stopping me.

"I'm not going to practice," he adds.

I blink.

"...you're what?"

He exhales.

"I'm skipping hockey today."

My whole face changes.

"Are you serious?"

He nods once.

"Yeah."

I tilt my head, trying to figure him out.

"You never skip practice," I say. "What happened to the NHL scout and being locked in and—"

"I know," he cuts in, softer now. "I know."

Then he looks at me properly.

"I just... I'd rather spend it with you today."

That stops me completely.

The frustration melts a little without me even realizing it.

"...oh," I say quietly.

A small smile starts pulling at my mouth.

"You sure?" I ask.

He nods again.

"Yeah."

I don't even try to play it cool after that.

My smile widens.

"Okay," I say. "Yeah. I like that answer better."

He lets out a small breath like he's finally relaxing too.

And just like that—it feels like this morning didn't even happen.

We walk out of school together, hands brushing, then naturally sliding into each other like always.

His car is already waiting in the lot.

We get in.

Music low.

Windows slightly down.

Normal again.

We stop at Chick-fil-A on the way.

He insists on paying even though I argue for like five seconds before giving up, because that's just how he is.

And for the first time all day, he actually laughs again when I steal one of his fries.

"Of course you did that," he says, shaking his head.

"What? They're better stolen," I reply.

He smirks.

"Yeah, I know you think that."

That right there.

That's him.

By the time we pull into his driveway, the sky is starting to dim into that soft evening blue.

He carries the food inside, kicks his shoes off at the door like he owns the place, and I follow him in like I always do.

Home feels empty.

Quiet.

But not lonely tonight.

He disappears for a second, then comes back checking his phone.

"I texted my coach," he says casually.

I look up from the couch.

"Oh yeah?"

He nods.

"Told them I'm sick."

I pause.

"...you what?"

He shrugs like it's nothing.

"So we've got all night."

And then he looks at me like that's the most obvious decision he's made all week.

I sit there for a second.

Then I smile slowly.

"...okay," I say.

Because whatever that weird version of him was this morning—

this is the one I know how to be with.

⛸️

The night starts off perfect.

Like actually perfect.

No weird tension. No distance. No silence that feels heavy.

Just Luke.

He's sitting on the floor in front of the TV, controller in hand, laughing like he used to.

I'm on the couch behind him, tossing a pillow at his back every time he beats me in the game.

"Cheater," I say, narrowing my eyes.

"I'm literally better than you," he says without looking back.

"Lies," I shoot back.

And he actually laughs again.

That sound alone makes me relax more than I realized I needed to.

For a while, it's easy.

Normal.

Us.

Then I sit up a little.

"Okay," I say suddenly, bouncing off the couch. "I want something sweet."

He glances back. "Like what?"

"I don't know," I say, already heading toward the kitchen. "Cookies or something. I've got a sweet tooth tonight."

He immediately shakes his head.

"No."

I stop mid-step.

"...no?"

He looks at me like I'm the one being ridiculous.

"I'm not eating cookies."

I blink.

"Luke, it's cookies."

"I know what cookies are," he says flatly. "I'm not doing it."

I cross my arms.

"You'll burn it off in like one practice. Relax."

He turns fully now, serious.

"No, Mercedes. Absolutely not."

That tone makes me pause.

Because it's not playful anymore.

It's strict.

Controlled.

I slowly walk back over to him.

"Okay," I say carefully. "Wow. You're really strict with yourself this time."

He doesn't respond right away.

Just looks at me.

And I can see it again.

That same locked-in mindset from earlier.

The one that feels a little... too tight.

"I just need to stay focused," he says.

I soften a bit, sitting down beside him now.

"Okay," I say gently. "But like... I hope you're not going extreme or hurting yourself in the process."

He shakes his head quickly.

"I'm fine," he says. "I just need to be locked in."

I reach for his hand.

"I care about you," I say quietly. "I love you, Luke."

He squeezes my hand once.

"I know," he says. "I do too."

A beat passes.

Then I smile a little, trying to shift the energy again.

"Okay," I say, leaning in closer. "Then forget dessert."

I hook my arms around his neck, playful again.

"Let me be your dessert for tonight."

I laugh softly, trying to get him to loosen up, kissing his jaw lightly, trying to pull him back into us.

But he doesn't lean in.

Doesn't chase it.

He gently takes my hands and moves them away.

"Mercedes," he says.

I pause.

He exhales.

"I'm abstaining from sex until further notice."

My brows shoot up.

"...you're what?"

He looks serious. Dead serious.

"I need that spot," he says. "I can't be distracted right now. Not even a little."

I pull back slowly, sitting up straight now.

"Luke," I say, my voice changing. "What do you mean 'abstaining'? Like... what are you talking about?"

He runs a hand through his hair.

"I just need to be fully focused," he repeats.

That's when it hits me.

Not just the words.

But the shift.

The wall.

I stand up slightly now, frustration creeping in.

"So I can't kiss you... I can't be close to you... I can't do anything with you?" I ask.

He stands too now.

"Not right now," he says.

And that—

that stings more than I want to admit.

I let out a small, sharp breath.

"...wow," I say quietly. "Okay."

Because suddenly it doesn't feel like a "focus thing" anymore.

It feels like I'm being pushed outside of his world.

And I don't know if I like where this is going.

Something in me snaps.

"You know what?" I say, stepping back from him. "This is bullshit."

Luke's jaw tightens immediately.

"I'm your girlfriend," I continue, my voice rising. "And something about you is off. Like—really off. We've been perfect for weeks and now all of a sudden you're acting like this?"

He exhales sharply, already getting irritated.

"I'm serious," I push. "It feels like you're pulling away. What the actual—"

"Mercedes, stop," he cuts in.

"No," I fire back. "I'm not stopping. What is going on with you?"

That's when he snaps.

"I said stop," he raises his voice. "You're being a bitch right now."

It hits.

Hard.

I go still for half a second, then laugh in disbelief.

"Wow," I say. "That's what we're doing now?"

"I told you I don't want sex, I don't want cookies, I don't want any distractions," he shoots back. "Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"Because I'm your girlfriend!" I yell. "Not some inconvenience you can just turn off when it's not convenient for you!"

"You are being a distraction," he fires back immediately.

That one lands deeper than the rest.

I feel it in my chest.

"Say that again," I challenge.

"You're a distraction, Mercedes," he says, colder now. "And I don't need that right now."

Silence hits for a split second.

Then everything explodes.

"Are you serious right now?" I yell. "After everything? After I've been here for you through all your shit?"

"Oh please," he scoffs. "Don't act like you're perfect. You bring chaos everywhere you go."

"At least I feel something!" I snap. "You're acting like a robot!"

"Yeah, because I actually care about my future!" he yells. "Unlike you!"

That does it.

"Wow," I say, my voice shaking now. "You're such an asshole."

"Then leave," he shoots back.

I stare at him.

"You know what?" he adds, louder now. "Fine. I'm done. I'm breaking up with you."

My eyes widen.

Then I laugh.

A sharp, angry laugh.

"No, you're fucking not," I snap. "I'm breaking up with you."

"I don't give a shit," he says immediately. "I don't need you."

That hurts more than anything else he's said.

And I refuse to let him see it.

So I tilt my head, mocking.

"Yeah right," I say. "You'll be crawling back in less than a week like you always do. You always do."

His jaw tightens but he doesn't respond.

So I grab my bag.

"Whatever," I mutter. "Maybe I'll go get a ride from some other hot guy since I'm such a 'distraction.'"

I turn and walk out before he can say anything else.

The door swings open hard, cool air hitting my face as I step outside.

"Mercedes!" he yells from behind me.

I don't turn around.

"Mercedes, I'm serious—"

I spin just long enough to flip him off.

Then keep walking.

Fast.

Down his driveway.

Down the street.

Heart pounding, chest tight, anger and hurt mixing into something messy and overwhelming.

I pull my phone out with shaky hands and text Brianna.

come get me. now.

I don't look back again.

Even though part of me wants to.

I just keep walking down his neighborhood—

Trying to act like I don't already feel the space he just left behind.

I don't even realize how far I've walked until headlights pull up beside me.

Brianna.

Her car rolls to a stop and the passenger door swings open.

"Get in," she says immediately.

No questions. No hesitation.

I don't argue.

I slide in fast, slamming the door behind me, trying to hold it together—but the second I'm inside, it all just spills out.

"We just fought," I say, my voice already shaking. "Like bad. Really bad."

She pulls off the curb, glancing at me.

"What happened?"

I laugh bitterly, running a hand through my hair.

"He's been acting so weird all day," I say. "Distant. Cold. He literally denied my kiss this morning, Bri."

Her face twists. "Denied your—what?"

"Yeah," I scoff. "And then tonight he's talking about how I'm a distraction, he doesn't want sex, doesn't want anything, like I'm just in the way of his perfect little hockey future."

"Wow," she mutters.

"And then he called me a bitch," I add, my voice tightening.

Brianna's head snaps toward me for a second before she looks back at the road.

"Oh hell no."

"And then he said he's breaking up with me," I continue, talking faster now. "So I broke up with him first and now we're just... done."

The word feels weird coming out.

Done.

Like it's not real.

Brianna exhales sharply.

"Luke is an asshole," she says flat out. "I've never liked him, you know that."

I roll my eyes slightly, even though part of me knows she's been saying that forever.

"It's toxic, Mercedes," she continues. "Like actually toxic. You guys fight, break up, get back together—it's a cycle."

I stare out the window, jaw tight.

"I know," I say quietly.

"You need someone new," she says. "Someone who doesn't treat you like that."

I don't answer right away.

Because my brain is already going somewhere else.

"...there is someone," I admit.

She glances at me.

"Oh?"

I hesitate for a second.

Then say it anyway.

"Akil."

Her brows lift. "Luke's rival?"

"Yeah," I nod. "We've... hung out before."

She gives me a look.

"What does 'hung out' mean?"

I shrug slightly, not meeting her eyes.

"We've done stuff," I say. "Like—whenever me and Luke were on a break."

Brianna lets out a low whistle.

"Okay..."

"It wasn't serious," I add quickly. "Just... whatever. But he deals too, so we'd hang out, do stuff, and yeah."

I lean my head back against the seat.

"But now he's been with this girl," I continue. "Some nerdy girl—Nesta or something."

Brianna scoffs.

"Please. That won't last."

I don't respond.

Just stare out the window again.

Because part of me isn't even thinking about Akil.

Or Brianna.

Or anything she's saying.

I'm still stuck on Luke.

On the way he looked at me.

On the way he said he didn't need me.

And I hate how much that part is the one that hurts the most.

The ride gets quieter the closer we get to my house.

Brianna doesn't push it anymore.

She just drives.

Glances at me every now and then like she knows I'm trying not to fall apart in front of her.

We pull up outside my house and the engine idles for a second.

She looks over.

"I'm really sorry," she says, softer now. "That was... a lot."

I nod, swallowing.

"Yeah."

She tilts her head slightly.

"Hopefully it'll all get figured out," she adds. "You know how you two are."

I let out a small breath.

"Yeah," I say, even though I don't fully know if that's true this time.

I open the door, then pause and lean back in, pulling her into a quick hug.

"Thanks," I murmur.

"Always," she says.

I step out, shut the door, and watch her drive off for a second before turning toward my house.

Everything feels too quiet.

Too still.

I walk inside, barely acknowledging anything, just heading straight to my room.

Door shuts.

And the second it does—

I break.

I drop my bag and fall onto my bed, burying my face into my pillow as everything I held in finally spills out.

Tears.

Sharp. Immediate.

Ugly.

This is the part nobody sees.

Not Brianna.

Not Kayla.

Not Mitch. 

Not Akil. 

Not Luke.

I'm always the loud one. The bold one. The one with the attitude and the mouth and the "I don't care" energy.

But it's fake.

It always has been.

Because every single time me and Luke go through this—

I end up here.

Crying.

Heart aching like something got ripped out of me.

"I hate this," I whisper into my pillow.

But it's not even hate.

It's worse.

It's love.

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling through blurred vision.

I know him.

That's the part that hurts the most.

I know Luke Holman better than anyone.

Four years.

Freshman year to now—senior year, fall semester.

I've seen every version of him.

The cocky freshman.

The obsessed boyfriend.

The angry one.

The soft one.

The one who acts like nothing touches him.

And the one who just wants someone to stay.

This?

This isn't him.

Not fully.

Something else is going on.

It's not just hockey.

I know it's not.

I wipe at my face, sniffling, trying to catch my breath.

"I know you," I whisper to myself.

Because I do.

I know the way he shuts down when something's wrong.

I know the way he pushes people away when he's overwhelmed.

I know the way he says things he doesn't mean just to get space.

And I hate it.

Because all I want right now—

is to be there for him.

Not fight him.

Not lose him.

Just... hold him.

Protect him.

I curl into myself on the bed, clutching my pillow tighter.

"I just want you," I whisper.

And that's the truth I'll never say out loud.

Not like this.

Not where anyone can hear it.

Only here—

when it's just me... and the silence he left behind.