Page 11 of Code Word
He’d stop every so often to write it down in his notebook, and he’d record a few times. But after a while, his music stopped and the line was back on his forehead, and the heavy set of his stare was back.
“Fucking hell,” he grumbled.
“Wassup?”
“I’m gonna have to call her,” he whispered. “I don’t really want to, but I think I need to. To end it properly.”
“Closure,” I offered.
“Christ, I thought you were gonna say emotional currency again.”
“I’m going to write a song called emotional currency.”
“If you do, I will shave your eyebrows while you sleep.”
I laughed as I stood up. I clapped him on the chest as I walked past, giving his pec a squeeze for the hell of it. “I’ll go make us some lunch, give you some privacy.”
FOUR
DidI make the fastest lunch ever? Well, I’m not familiar with any Guinness World Records, but slapping cold cuts on some bread, a handful of salad from a bag, a squirt of Luke’s favorite honey-mustard sauce took all of two seconds.
Was I trying to eavesdrop?
Maybe.
Okay, so, yes.
I could tell myself I wanted to hear him tell her what he wouldn’t tell me. What he was feeling, what he wouldn’t or couldn’t admit. But what really bothered me was that he’d tell her.
And not me.
I understood they’d been together and shared an intimacy that didn’t include me. I understood he had a life outside of me. Not everything had to involve me.
He had every right to his secrets. Rationally, my brain knew that.
But this was Luke.
My Luke.
We’d been through everything together. From high school to the peak of fame and fortune. Extreme highs, devastatinglows. We grew up together to the point where our parents were great friends. We were inseparable, even within Atrous. We were never apart. We shared everything.
But the last few months, something changed with him.
I noticed it. Everyone did. But then Luke would flash his smile and say he was fine.
But he wasn’t.
These last few weeks, he’d withdrawn from me—which, in hindsight, was a red flag—and then I had to go on that stupid week thing with Bec and her friends.
I shouldn’t have gone. I shouldn’t have left him. He was hurting and I hated that he wouldn’t tell me what was eating at him.
This wasn’t like him. This wasn’t like us.
So if he wouldn’t tell me, then maybe he’d tell Vana.
That was why I was listening.
So I could help him.
