by Frankie Rose
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Noah: Hey, where are you? Turns out Tate’s not been home since the party. The cops are looking for him.
Noah’s text comes as we’re headed over to Woodhull Hospital. I notice Luke’s eyes flickering to my cell phone and decide I’d better respond or it will seem weird.
Me: Shit. On my way to the hospital right now. I’ll have to tell Morgan.
Noah: Meet you there…
“That the non-boyfriend boyfriend?” Luke asks casually.
“Yeah. He said Tate, the guy Morgan was with at that party, still hasn’t come home. Morgan asked me to find him for her. She’s going to flip out when I tell her that not only have I not found him, but no one else has seen him in two days, either.”
“Doesn’t sound good.”
“No. No it does not.”
When we arrive at the hospital, Luke gets out of the car and walks me to the building, but then pauses at the sliding glass doors. The whole world is covered in a layer of frosted glass today, stark and cold, and Luke is the only vibrant thing in it. His cheeks have reddened from the short walk across the lot, and his green scarf stands out against the muted blues and variances of white and grey.
“You want me to come in with you?” he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet to keep warm. I don’t really know what to say. Luke and Noah in the same place? That makes me feel all kinds of wrong. But I do want him to stay. Probably more than I should. I open my mouth to speak but wait a second too long; Luke’s easy smile doesn’t disappear entirely so much as dim. He starts walking backwards and buries his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Because if you’ve got people coming to meet you, that means I can go home and work through that file. If you don’t need me.”
If you don’t need me. I bite down on the inside of my cheek and nod. “Thanks, Luke. Thanks for running me around and for dinner last night and, well, everything, I guess.
He pulls his hood up, still backing away. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
Something impetuous makes me speak before I can stop myself. “Are we? Are we friends, Luke?”
He pauses, blowing out spirals of smoke on the cold morning air. “Of course we are, Beautiful.” He gives me a small smile and then he is gone.
Fifteen
A Little Early