He yanks the door open, turning to look at me over his shoulder. My heart drops at the tremble in his lower lip, a suspicious sheen to his eyes.
“I can’t even tell my own brother, so why should I tell you? I guess you’ll just have to be one more person I disappoint,” he says, a slight wobble to his voice.
He rushes out the door, slamming it shut behind him and making the picture frames along the nearby wall rattle. I’m left to stare blankly at the closed door, my eyebrows furrowing as something in my stomach tightens, tightens, tightens. I clench my fist as a feeling of helplessness washes over me.
“What the fuck just happened?” I whisper into the empty room.
He clearly wants some time alone, so maybe it makes me a bastard to follow him out the door. But the pull to go after him is too strong to ignore. He’s hurting, and the idea of him being by himself right now feels wrong.
I didn’t make it to forty-three without learning one very invaluable lesson: follow your gut instincts.
My gut is telling me Luke needs somebody right now.
I just hope he lets me in.
Alek
“Go away,” comes Luke’s mumbled reply, moments after my knuckles gently rasp on the supply closet. I try not to think about how ironic it is that we’re about to find ourselves alone in yet another closet.
“I want to talk,” I tell him.
Silence.
“You can’t pretend you’re not in there,” I say lamely, my half-ass joke falling flat.
More silence.
“Luke, you are not a disappointment. Whoever put that in your head is a liar.”
“You don’t even know me. Not really.”
“I know you have a brilliantly creative mind, that you’re a loyal friend to my son, and I see the effort you put into your work. That’s all I need to know. Now, will you please let me in?”
A heavy moment of silence passes, and then the lock on the closet door quietly disengages with aclick.I let out a relieved sigh, taking a moment to mentally prepare myself for what could very well be an intense conversation before pulling the door open and slipping inside. The sight in front of me makes me freeze, something cold and unpleasant twisting in my gut.
Along the back wall, between two rows of shelves lined with paper and printing supplies, sits Luke. His knees are pulled up to his chest, and his face is buried in them. His blonde locks obscure his face from view, but his shoulders are shaking. Although he’s trying to be quiet, a small hiccup escapes. It’s followed by a broken sob.
Alarm slithers through me, my long strides carrying me to him within seconds. Sliding down against the wall, and ignoring the slight protest of my knees, I sit next to him so we are shoulder-to-shoulder. Throwing my arm around his waist, I pull him half-way onto my lap.
“It’s okay,” I say softly.Shit, is my voice shaking?
I throw my other arm around him, squeezing him to my chest as I begin to rock. It breaks my heart a little when this normally sassy, and sometimes snarky, brat clings to me with deep, body-wracking sobs. His fingers dig into my sides as he buries his face in my chest.
“I’ve got you,” I tell him quietly, ignoring the way my throat constricts. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you…”
We remain like that for several long minutes, me rubbing a hand along his back as his cries slowly subside. My soothing murmurs cease as he begins to still, his muscles tensing like he’s just now taking stock of the situation.
I could throttle whoever made him feel this way.
Luke sniffs one last time, my arms falling as he pulls away. His cheeks are still wet, his red-rimmed eyes swollen, and an errant strand of hair clings to his forehead. Unable to help myself, I reach up and brush it away.
“Are you going to fire me now?” he asks, his scratchy voice sounding defeated and sad.
My forehead wrinkles as I try to make sense of his question. “You think I would fire you for having a bad day?” I ask softly.
He shakes his head, averting his gaze as he begins picking at the black nail polish adorning his fingers. “I fucked up, and I was an asshole most of the day.”
I shrug. “If you want to get rid of me, you’ll just have to quit. Sorry.”
