Chapter 77 Luke

Chapter 77 Luke
Luke 

⛸️

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up my dark bedroom. 

Another one. 

I picked it up, a stupid grin already spreading across my face. 

It was a picture of a hockey player missing an empty net, captioned: "When you're trying to score but your brain is still in the locker room." 

I typed back a laughing emoji and sent her a meme of a goalie looking completely confused.

We went back and forth like that for an hour. 

Just memes. Stupid, pointless hockey memes. But with each one, the space between us felt smaller, more charged. 

The flirting started subtly. 

A "you'd look good in that jersey" from her, a "bet I'd look better on your bench" from me. 

The air in my room felt thick, heavy. I was lying on my back, the phone propped on my chest, and I could feel my own heartbeat, a steady, nervous rhythm.

Then her next text came through, and my breath caught. Speaking of looking good... need to make sure everything is in top form for the NHL draft combine. Send me a picture.

I stared at the words. A picture. I knew exactly what she meant. 

I let out a short, sharp laugh. Oh yeah? Like how you needed to 'check my form and muscle development' a few weeks ago?

Her reply was instant. Exactly. A coach's work is never done.

The laugh died in my throat. 

My thumb hovered over the camera icon. This was a line. A big one. But then I thought about her in the shower, the way she looked at me, the way she didn't look away. The way she made me feel... seen. Powerful. Desired. 

Before I could talk myself out of it, I was up, locking my bedroom door, and angling the phone down my pants. I took the picture and hit send before I could second-guess it.

The three little dots appeared immediately. Damn, Luke. You're going to make some GM very happy. 

And then a picture of her own came through. She was on her bed, wearing nothing but a smirk, one arm strategically draped across her chest. 

My mouth went dry.

What followed was a blur of texts and images, words I never thought I'd type, things I never thought I'd see. 

It was raw and explicit and so intense my hands were shaking by the time we were done.

I collapsed back against my pillows, my body humming, my mind a complete mess. After a few minutes, the haze started to clear, and a cold, sharp thought cut through the warmth.

How are you planning on passing me and Mitch?

Her reply was quick, dismissive. Don't worry about it, Luke. I've got it handled.

Okay. I didn't have the energy to push. I didn't think I wanted to know.

My phone buzzed again. So... have you thought about it? About us? About coming to stay with me?

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. The post-orgasm clarity was brutal. Yeah. I have. But I need more time, Bev. I just broke up with Mercedes. I'm still processing that.

Mercedes? Her text came back, and I could almost hear the condescending little laugh that would have gone with it. I remember you telling me you two are always off and on. That's not healthy, that's just... toxic. It must be mentally exhausting. 

It is, I typed back, the truth of it settling like a stone in my gut.

Well, I would never do that to you, she replied. A real relationship shouldn't be a game you're constantly trying to win. Mercedes must be playing games. She doesn't really love you. Not like I do.

I stared at her last message, the words "Not like I do" glowing on my screen. 

My mind felt like a tangled mess of wires. 

Does Mercedes actually love me? 

The question echoed in the silence of my room.

All our fights, the silent treatments, the making up... was that love? Or were we just kids playing a game we didn't understand? 

Maybe we were just young and dumb, like Bev said.

My thoughts drifted back to the shower, to the steam, to her voice. I think I'm falling for you, Luke. 

She'd said it with such certainty, such raw honesty. It didn't feel manipulative. It felt... heartfelt. 

A sudden, jarring thought struck me. 

What if none of this was bad at all? 

What if Bev was right? 

What if she didn't start any of this?

What if it was all me? 

I replayed every interaction in my head. 

What if I was wrong? 

What if I was the one sending the signals? 

I remembered how I couldn't stop looking at her that first day. How I'd found any excuse to be near her. Maybe she was just responding to me. Maybe she couldn't resist me, and I was the one pulling us both into this.

The thought was both terrifying and strangely liberating. It shifted everything. It wasn't something being done to me. It was something I was a part of. Something I wanted. 

I think... I think I may actually like Bev like that. The thought solidified, becoming a clear, undeniable fact in my mind. She saw me. The real me. And she wanted me.

My fingers flew across the screen, a new sense of purpose driving me. 

You know what? I'd love to stay with you sometime. Actually. Just give me a few days to come up with excuses and stuff, okay?

I hit send before I could lose my nerve. A weight I didn't know I was carrying lifted off my shoulders. 

It felt right. 

It felt like a decision that was finally, truly my own.

⛸️

The next day 

The air in the locker room was thick enough to chew on. Guys were trying to act normal, stretching, chatting about a party this weekend, but the tension was a live wire under it all. 

Every few minutes, the locker door would open and a name would be called. "O'Connell." "Davis." Each time, the room got a little quieter. I could feel Mitch vibrating with anxiety next to me as he laced up his shoes.

"Holman." My name.

I grabbed my bag and stood up, catching Mitch's eye. I jerked my head toward the corner, away from the main group. He followed, his face pale.

"Hey," I said, keeping my voice low. "Look at me. If Bev talks to you out there, you do exactly as she says. No questions."

"What?" he hissed, his eyes wide with panic. "Luke, what the hell is going on?"

"Me and you are passing with flying colors," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Just trust me and do what she says."

He just stared at me, his mouth slightly agape, but before he could say anything else, the door opened again. "Furlong."

Mitch flinched. He looked at me, and I gave him a sharp, reassuring nod. He swallowed hard and walked out the door. I sat back down, my heart hammering against my ribs, but it wasn't from fear. It was from the thrill of it. The certainty.

Finally, it was my turn. "Holman, you're up."

I walked down the sterile hallway, the squeak of my sneakers on the linoleum the only sound. A bored-looking woman in a lab coat handed me a plastic cup with a lid. "Bathroom's in there. Leave the sample on the counter when you're done."

I went inside, locking the door behind me. The moment I did, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. A text from Bev. Check the ceiling. Push up the tile right above the toilet.

My eyes darted up. There it was. A single white tile that looked slightly out of place. I climbed onto the toilet, my sneakers gripping the cool porcelain, and pushed. The tile popped up easily. Tucked inside the ceiling cavity was a small, unlabeled plastic cup filled with a pale yellow liquid.

I hopped down just as another text came through. Pour it in the cup they gave you. 

I did, carefully transferring the warm liquid. Put it in your pants to make sure it matches your body temp. For a few minutes. I tucked the cup into the waistband of my jeans, the plastic warm against my skin. Discard the other cup back in the ceiling. I pushed the empty cup the tester had given me back into its hiding spot and replaced the tile.

I flushed the empty toilet, ran the water, washed my hands. The whole charade. Then I walked out and handed the cup to the tester. She took it, put a temperature strip on it, and nodded. "You're good to go."

I walked out of the building with my bag slung over my shoulder, a huge, unstoppable smile spreading across my face. I found Mitch leaning against his car in the parking lot, looking like he'd just seen a ghost.

"That was crazy," he said the second I got close.

"I know, right?" I laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Beve really has our back, alright? Don't ask any questions."

He just shook his head, a dazed look in his eyes. "Alright... bro."

"Don't worry about it," I said, unlocking my own car. "I'll give you your allowance later tonight." I got in, feeling ten feet tall. I wasn't just surviving anymore. I was winning. 

And Bev was the reason why.