Page 46 of Code Word

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Bluke

Bluke

Photos from when we were sixteen, at our first concert in LA, and our first concert in Tokyo. In the London music studio. In Prague. In Sydney.

Me with my banged-up knee, Luke helping me walk. Luke shirtless with his taped-up shoulder, me by his side.

Me backstage, lying on the floor with my knee iced, my legs over Luke’s lap, his hand on my thigh.

Both of us suited up in tuxes for the Grammies. On stage with the win, the five us of at the mic, but Luke’s arm around my back.

Photos of him looking at me.

My god, the way he was looking at me.

It made my heart burn.

Fucking hell, how did I never notice that?

I couldn’t remember seeing that light in his eyes for so long.

For, like, two years . ..

Since Becca and I . . .

Oh fuck.

He’d been so against me dating his sister in the beginning. He wasn’t happy with the idea, and all this time, I’d assumed it was because of her.

I never thought for one minute it was because of me.

I’d been so fucking blind.

And stupid.

My god, I fucking missed him.

Then among the clippings, I found a piece of paper, torn down one side, as if it had been ripped from a notebook, crumpled up, and then flattened out.

I turned it over. It was Luke’s handwriting. Lyrics, with my name scribbled out down the side.

I wish you could see me

And all the possibilities

But I can’t risk you

God, I’m about to risk it all

I wish there was a way

For all the things I need to say

Without saying it loud

Without this being so hard

A code word that only I know

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