“That’s how you know it’s working.”
A surprised laugh catches in Luke’s throat. “That’s what your mom always used to say. When we skinned our knees and she put that…what was it?”
“Bactine,” Hal says with an elaborate frown.
Together, they recite: “Of course it stings, that’s how you know it’s working.” They dissolve into soft, breathy chuckles that echo off the locker faces.
“Howisyour mom?” Luke asks, just a whisper.
Hal’s face softens; he’s downright pretty when he gets like this. “She’s really good. Gardening club, book club, staying busy.” His eyes flick to Luke’s, there and away again, guilty, as he unwraps a Band-Aid. “What about yours?”
“She gets by.” Luke sends her a portion of his paycheck every month, which is why he eats stale doughnuts bound for other people’s garbage cans sometimes, when he’s had a bad night.
“I’m sorry,” Hal says, softly. He concentrates as he pinches Luke’s split brow together – Luke hisses again – and lays the bandage down with careful fingertips.
“What for?”
“Just…your mom…everything.”
Luke catches his wrist as he starts to withdraw, a sudden impulse to keep touching. He isn’t ready to move away from Hal, in so many ways he’s not.
“My mom’s okay. She really is.”
Hal’s eyes crinkle, a sad non-smile that wavers. “I’m glad.”
The locker room door squeaks open again and someone, Mitch, Luke think, calls, “Guys! You in here? Luke, did youdie?”
“Ugh,” Hal says, smiling and rolling his eyes. “Yeah, we’re here, and nobody’s dead.”
Luke lets go of his friend, scoots back a fraction on the bench so they don’t look so cozy. He imagines Hal looks almost disappointed, but then Mitch comes around the corner, followed by Diego and Lee.
So much for bonding.
“Aw, man,” Diego says with a wince, coming closer to peer at Luke’s war wound. “Did you put alcohol on that?”
“I did,” Hal says, and Luke works hard not to squirm under the scrutiny.
Diego whistles. “You look like you went a few rounds in the ring with this one.” He tips his head to indicate Lee.
“Dude, you should totally tell everyone you got it in a fight,” Mitch says.
“I did. A fight with a treadmill. And sort of a wall.”
All of them laugh, and, shockingly, it doesn’t sound like they’re laughingathim. Hal’s friends look at him with sparkling smiles, no traces of mockery or distaste. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Luke doesn’t think so. He thinks…maybe…they really aregood guys.
“We’re getting breakfast,” Lee says, and points at Luke. “You’re coming. Pancake Day.”
“Pancake Day,” Diego, Mitch, and Hal repeat in reverent unison.
Luke takes a deep breath, glances sideways at Hal’s supportive, fond smile, and says, “Okay.”
~*~
Pancake Day breakfast happens in a small, trendy café spot on M, only a few doors down from the Italian place Hal took him night before last. Despite the hipster interior, the pancakes are fluffy, sugary, and perfect, slathered in butter and real maple syrup. Luke eats more than he would have thought, thigh pressed against Hal’s in their narrow booth.
After, they head to the Maddox place.
“Call you later,” Hal says, like a promise, and squeezes Luke’s bicep before he goes to change so he can escort the senator to Capitol Hill.
