The Jacket Snatcher

Chapter 66- If I Do...If I Don't

"What are you doing here?" he asks Luke, crossing his arms over his chest. The last time Brett and I really spoke about Luke was when he was ignoring my calls and texts.

"Just visiting," Luke says, shrugging off my brother's evil glare.

"How long?"

Luke shrugs again, shooting me a sideways glance.

"Well, I'm leaving for an out-of-town tournament..." Brett says, his expression stony, as if this fact should decide whether or not Luke sticks around.

I smile at him. "Have a safe trip."

He stares at me for a moment, trying to read my expression. "Alright...Well, I'll be back tomorrow night."

"Win and don't get injured," I say, carrying on our tradition while also leaving him no room to say anything more.

"Stay out of trouble..." He gives me a pointed look. "And don't miss me too much," he says, finishing our pre-game ritual with a wink.

After grabbing a granola bar and slinging his soccer bag over his shoulder, he's gone, leaving Luke and I in a silent apartment.

When Luke doesn't break the silence, I steal a glance at him.

"So what happened?" he finally asks, making eye contact. "And don't say 'nothing.'"

A small smile creeps into the corner of my mouth at his preemptive command, as if he already knew the words forming on my tongue.

"Fine. I won't. But it's a long story," I say, peeking my head down the hallway toward Rachel's room. When I see her open door and empty room, I let out a sigh and join Luke on the couch. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Would I really fly all the way here to not hear about what's upsetting you?"

I nod my head and gather my thoughts, and then, I tell him all about what happened at the party last night.

After saying a few comforting words during my story and placing a hand on my knee that did more to distract me than console me, he breaks our comfortable silence.

"So you haven't talked to Rachel since last night?" he asks.

I nod my head, staring at my lap.

"That really sucks..." he trails off, his head swiveling around the apartment. "Can I ask you something?"

I glance up at him in response.

"If all of that happened last night, why were you upset the other day? When I called?"

My breath sticks in my throat at his question, and I subconsciously lean away from him on the couch, adjusting so that his hand falls from my knee. I have no words to explain my behavior from the other day. I know it was wrong, and the reason behind it is just too embarrassing to admit to his face.

He takes notice of my evasive maneuvers and responds by leaning closer and grabbing my hand. I allow him to thread our fingers, and my pulse quickens at the turn of the conversation and at his touch.

"Are you mad at me about something?" he prompts, knowing that I don't want to answer his previous question.

"I'm not mad at you," I answer quietly.

"Then what is it? Why are you being like this?"

"Can we just forget about it? I was in a bad mood...that's all."

He tilts his head in disapproval. "I've seen you in a bad mood. That's not what that was. You seemed annoyed with me in particular. It felt personal."