Page 46 of The Long Way Found

Wait, what?

What difference would that make?

He couldn’t say. The two had plans for the next day, Wednesday, and he’d tell him about it then.

But another work “crisis” came up from Hallicks and his team on Wednesday afternoon, and Jack had to text Luke to reschedule.

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” he texted.

Luke responded, “No worries.”

And Jack hoped he could take it at face value, because he was enjoying his time with Luke but didn’t need any more pressure right now.

Thursday evening, they worked out together, and when they were done, Luke suggested, “Let’s go to my place to shower up and eat.”

“I can’t,” Jack said. “No time tonight.”

“OK, a casual bite somewhere, then?”

Jack considered squirming out of it, but relented. They drove out to the highway intersection to the Chipotle, scarfing their burrito bowls and teasing each other about all the carbs in the chips.

“Chipotle is hell on your macros,” Luke said. “But sometimes… It does hit the spot!”

They drove back to The Ridge, where Luke said good night. They sat in Jack’s Jeep for a moment, the engine running, the heat blasting. The parking lot was empty.

“We should talk about…” Luke started, then stopped. His hand was on the door handle. “No, never mind. It can wait.”

“What?” Jack said. He saw something in Luke’s face, something careful and uncertain, something Luke was holding back.

“No, it’s not important. Get some sleep.”

Jack felt it—the question hanging between them. What are we doing? Where is this going? Are you staying?

He should ask. He should pull Luke back, say “tell me,” and have an adult conversation.

Instead, he said, “Okay. Text me tomorrow.”

Luke left without another word.

Back in his room, Jack took a while to fall asleep. The ceiling held his attention as the heater’s on-off cycle clicked again and again.

He couldn’t shut his mind off. Stress kept popping up like a game of whack-a-mole.

Moving. Hallicks piling on more assignments. Luke wanting to talk.

Whack. Whack. Whack.

But they kept popping back up, especially the last one.

This wasn’t how he usually isolated and contained stress. Luke’s face in the parking lot. The way he’d started to say something, then stopped. The way Jack had let him stop.

Because if Luke asked the questions, Jack could feel coming—Where is this going? What do you want? Are you staying? —Jack would have to answer.

And he didn’t have answers.

Or, at least, he didn’t want to say them out loud yet.

CHAPTER 16