I stiffen slightly at the suggestion to leave. Even though he’s awake and clearly okay, the thought of being away from him lands like a ball of lead in the pit of my stomach. So, I don’t answer him. I close my eyes and resettle, relishing the warmth of his body against mine. If he can tell where my hesitance to leave is coming from, he doesn’t push it. Instead, he just curls his fingers in my hair and sighs. We’re quiet for a moment, and I let everything Luke’s told me wash over me in the stillness.
After a moment, he asks, “Did you let Dmitry or anyone know what happened?”
“No, I didn’t. I was too scatterbrained, and I don’t have any of their numbers.”
“Perfect. Don’t move.”
“What?”
Luke reaches over and grabs his phone from where it’s sitting on the side tray table, and he flips it open to the camera.
“What are you…?” I ask, dread suddenly rolling through me.
“Put your hood up and turn your face in a bit,” Luke commands. I glance up and glare at him, and he flashes that devilish little grin that tells me he’s up to no good.
I do as he asks, repositioning myself at his discretion until we achieve the perfect pose he’s looking for, and he snaps the photo. After he studies it to make sure he likes it, he turns the phone screen to me so I can see the result. In the picture, he’s bedraggled and yet still the most attractive person on the fucking planet, even with the fading bruises around his throat and face. He’s giving a sultry look right at the camera, throwing a peace sign with his left hand, his hospital gown pulled down enough to show off a tantalizing collar bone and the edge of the bandage on his chest. I’m lying curled against him, my face mostly covered except for a slight profile peeking out from behind the fabric. It’s not much, but just a tease of who might be hiding underneath the hood.
“Are you okay if I post this?” he asks.
I shrug. I still have no idea what he’s doing, but I’m very intrigued.
He starts tapping away on his phone, speaking out loud word by word as if dictating the caption of this photo to himself: “The best part about being shot.”
“What the fuck?” I laugh.
“Just wait.”
He posts the photo to his Instagram, then sits back and relaxes, looking like he’s expecting something to happen any moment. Sure enough, within sixty seconds, his phone starts ringing with a FaceTime request. Dmitry’s name pops up on the screen with a contact photo of him presumably very drunk, covered in glitter, and getting kissed on the cheek by a voluptuous drag queen. Ineedthe story behind that photo, but for now, I can’t help but chuckle.
“That’s how you decided to tell him?” I scoff. “You’re a dick.”
“He’s used to me by now.” Luke grins.
I roll my eyes, a smile tugging on my lips. Then Luke answers the phone, and I listen as Dmitry starts shouting an ungodly amount of “Bitch, what the fuck?”s at him, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. I can see on the screen that he’s got AirPods in, walking down the street in the city, the people around him ignoring him, despite the high-pitched squeals coming out of his mouth.
And in a dramatic way that is undoubtedly mimicking a viral TikTok soundbite he’s committed to memory, Luke shimmies his good shoulder and says, “Surprise, surprise!”
I can’t help but laugh as I watch Luke dip into his signature dark humor to regale Dmitry with the whole sordid tale that led to his injuries. He embellishes a few things, throwing in a bit of theatrics, and really enhances the drama to the point that I’m not sure I’m listening to the same events I lived through. It’s so Luke. Beautiful, funny, brave, kind-heartedLuke. I love him for it.
While I listen to him, holding him firmly in my arms, a sense of peace washes over me that I haven’t felt in a long time. With its warmth, I finally start to let myself believe everything will be all right. Better than all right. Come what may, it’s going to be extraordinary.
Epilogue
For the Love of Luke Shaw
Two Years Later
“MerryChristmas!”
Opening the front door for the hundredth time tonight to let in another guest, it takes me a minute to recognize the two people standing on the stoop and why it’s unusual to see them there. Marcus and Tiff are here.InNewYorkCity. I blink with confusion.
“Wha…?” I frown, my brain short-circuiting.
Marcus grins at me while commenting to his wife, “See? I told you he’d be shocked.”
“What are you guys doing here?” I frown, still not processing the significance. It’s Christmas Eve, which means that if they’re here, they’re missing Christmas with their kids…
Tiff squeals, jumping up and down with glee as she crosses the threshold and wraps her arms around my neck. “It’s just too exciting! We didn’t miss it, did we?”
