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The smile vanished from her face. “Oh, I . . . I don’t think so. But thank you for the offer.”
Embarrassment filtered through him, obliterating all of the warmth he’d been feeling. An awkward silence hung between them.
He cleared his throat, the sound too loud in the quiet house. “Oh. Sure. Yeah, no. I was just . . .” He cleared his throat again and swallowed, shoving a hand through his hair. “Anyway. I should get going. I’ll see you around.” He gathered his remaining tools and headed for the door, shooting her a quick smile. “Take care.”
“Luke, wait.”
Hope filled his chest, and he spun in the doorway.
“Thanks again for all your help. It was very kind of you.” She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes.
He nodded, once, and he felt wrung out, as though that fleeting hope had been squeezed out of him. “You’re welcome.”
He bolted for his truck, already running late. By the time he pulled into the parking lot of Western Fitness, he was ready to work off the tension radiating across his shoulders. He grabbed his duffel from the backseat and strode into the gym, catching Matt’s eyes as he headed for the locker room.
“You’re late!” Matt yelled from his treadmill, a faint sheen of sweat already covering his face. Luke just waved at him and ducked into the locker room.
When he emerged, he headed for the back of the gym, knowing he’d find Matt working one of the heavy bags suspended from a chain. As he approached, he watched his mirror image slam his fists into the bag, his face drawn in lines of grim determination. Apparently Luke wasn’t the only one with some shit to work out.
Although they were identical, Luke and Matt were easily distinguishable. Where Matt kept his dark blond hair cropped short and his face clean-shaven, Luke’s hair was longer, waving around his ears, and he only shaved once a week. And then there were the tattoos. While Luke’s skin was ink free, Matt’s right arm was covered in an intricate, nature-themed sleeve tattoo, with a sun covering his shoulder, mountains with a river flowing through them covering his biceps, and ending in a band of black pine trees around his forearm. He also sported a compass over his heart, and a large, twisted oak covered the top left side of his back.
Without a word, Luke pulled on his gloves and moved behind the bag to hold it steady while Matt went to town. After several minutes, Matt took a break, taking a long pull on his water bottle and wiping his face with a towel. “I saw Leah today,” he said, his nostrils flaring as he spoke his ex-wife’s name.
“Explains why you’re beating the stuffing out of this bag.”
“You telling me you wouldn’t be doing the same thing if you saw Angela?”
Luke tipped his head, considering. He hadn’t seen Angela in years. He honestly didn’t know how he’d react. He’d also been divorced three years longer than Matt, whose own long, acrimonious split had only been final for a year and a half. “We’re not talking about me.”
Matt squinted at him, leveling his scrutinizing cop’s gaze at Luke. “Maybe we should be.”
Luke shook his head and switched spots with his brother, wanting his turn at the bag. He rolled his neck and then started with a few easy jabs, letting the rhythm of his fists against the bag soothe him. For a few minutes, Matt didn’t press him, just let him work the bag, knowing that this was exactly what Luke needed right now. So often, they didn’t need to talk to communicate, and their easy, bone-deep connection was something Luke was going to miss like hell when Matt moved to Seattle next month.
“I met someone,” Luke said finally, and Matt didn’t say anything, just kept holding the bag for him. Luke swiped his forearm over his forehead and threw a few more punches. “Christie Harmon. She’s a doctor.”
Matt let out a low whistle. “A doctor. Nice. Where’d you meet her?”
“The hospital. Ethan hit his head.” At Matt’s frown, Luke shook his head. “He’s fine.”
“So. You gonna ask her out?”
“I did.”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “And she turned you down.”
“Flatter than a pancake.”
“And?”
“And what?” Luke asked, punctuating each word with a slam of his fists into the bag. A bead of sweat trickled down over his temple.
“Since when do you care about dating?”
Since he’d met Christie. Luke hit the bag harder, somehow sucking in a deep breath despite the boulder sitting on his chest.
Matt took a half step back. “You want my advice?”
Luke laughed and shook his head. “No offense, Matt, but me taking dating advice from you would be like Stevie Wonder leading Ray Charles through traffic.”
