Page 15 of Code Word
I snorted. “Fuck off.”
That earned me half a smile. “Can I do anything to help?”
“Grab some plates? Maybe a beer?”
He brushed in past me—the problem of a tiny kitchen—and poked me in the ribs, making me jump. “Oof,” I barked. Fucker knew just where to stab me to get me to flinch like that. “Gonna give me a back injury one day if you keep doing that. And you’ll be waiting on me hand and foot as punishment. I will be insufferable.”
He chuckled, not fazed at all, and pulled two beers from the fridge. He popped the tops and handed me one before taking a long pull from his own, then produced two plates and put them beside the small stovetop. “Like you were when you had your knee done?”
“I wasn’t insufferable. And you loved the excuse to play Call of Duty with me for fifteen hours a day.”
He smirked. “Until I beat your ass and you tried to tackle me off the couch, forgetting your knee was fucked, and almost had to have it operated on again.”
I laughed. “And your mom threatened to confiscate my PS5 until we promised to play nicely. We were twenty-seven years old and she had to pull the mom card.”
He chuckled as he took a swig from his beer. “How is your knee, by the way? I keep forgetting to ask.”
I lifted my knee a few times like some dumbass robot. “It’s as good as it’ll ever be.” Which, admittedly, wasn’t great. “I need to start swimming again when we get home.”
His eyes flicked to mine before he looked away and swallowed hard. He cleared his throat and did that fake smile again. “So, dinner...”
“Right,” I said, turning around and quickly dishing up two plates.
Why was I so relieved for the distraction? I wanted him to talk to me, but part of me was dreading what he’d say.
We ate in silence, standing in the tiny kitchenette, me leaning against the counter, Luke against the fridge.
“This is good,” he said, his plate almost empty.
“There’s more if you want. I thought it’d make a good breakfast so I made enough, but you can have it now if you want?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
I finished mine and put the plate in the sink, washing it down with a mouthful of beer, let out a monster belch, and patted my belly. “Much better.”
He laughed, made a face, and gave me a shove. “Feral. Leave the dishes,” he said. “I’ll clean up.”
“Okay. I’ll go take a shower.”
“Good, because you stink.”
I sniffed my armpit. “I do not,” I said, giving him a shove as I walked out.
He smiled, a real smile this time.
His old smile. My Luke’s smile.
It made me happier than it should have. I just hoped we could keep up the mood, no more awkwardness, no more tension.
No such luck.
I came out from the shower, hair still wet, wearing mylong gray sleep-pants and a blue long-sleeve T-shirt. It was old and soft, kinda faded now, but I loved it.
I bent down by the fire, stoked it before throwing on another log. I went to ask Luke if he wanted another beer, but he was gone, the bathroom door closing behind him.
Right, then.
I grabbed myself another beer, parked my ass on the couch, and picked up a book from the side table.
