21. Luke

Chapter 21

Luke

T he sun barely manages to push through the thick Atlanta fog, leaving everything drenched in a dull gray. Perfect for my mood as I pace outside Coach’s office, the old floor creaking beneath my nervous steps. My palms are sweaty despite the chill in the arena. This isn’t just any meeting, it’s a crossroads.

When Coach opens the door and beckons me in, I notice his smile is strained. He raises his hand briefly, like he wants to pat me on the back but can’t bring himself to do it. As friendly as he always is with us, he can’t seem to crack the veneer of professionalism he has to put forward after speaking to management. I sit down before he can say anything, trying not to stare at the framed photo of the Fire's last championship win behind him, where our faces are bright and triumphant.

Nothing like how I feel today.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the polished desk. “Luke, you know why I called you in here.”

I nod, my throat tight. The trade rumors have only increased in the past month. It’s been weeks of hearing my name in conversations, whispered in locker rooms, floating on podcasts. It’s like waiting for the executioner to finally call me forward.

“The bachelor auction tonight,” he continues, his voice lowering like he’s letting me in on a secret, “It has to go perfectly. Management is watching, and it’ll be the first time in a while that eyes are on you for the right reasons. They’re hopeful you can right this ship.”

“They’re thinking about trading me,” I say, cutting straight to the chase. There’s no point in dancing around it anymore. The longer I wait, the worse the sting.

Coach’s jaw tightens. He can’t answer my question directly, and I know that. The league is like that—lots of words without saying anything at all. “Luke, I can’t tell you what’s going to happen there, but what I can tell you, is that you need tonight to be flawless. No antics, no drama. Just... make it be perfect.”

I stare at him, the weight of uncertainty pressing on my chest. Every headline from the past year replays in my mind, each one an indictment of my choices: Luke Smith—Caught Again, Fire’s Star Winger or Fire’s Problem Child? The list goes on. I hadn’t realized how deep I’d dug my own grave until Keke showed up, hired to yank me out of it. But now, it appears, the shovel is back in my hands.

“I get it,” I mutter, the edge in my voice sharper than intended. Coach’s eyes soften a fraction, but his silence speaks louder than anything.

Just as I stand to leave, the door creaks open, and in walks Lucas, strutting like a damn peacock. The kid has the swagger of someone who hasn’t tasted failure yet. Maybe I am jealous. He doesn’t know what it feels like to have an entire team’s patience worn thin by your antics. He’s everything I used to be, and maybe that’s what soured me on him before he ever even arrived.

Perhaps I hadn’t given the kid a fair shake.

“Well, look who it is,” Lucas drawls. “How’s it feel to know you’re about to be yesterday’s news?”

Okay, now I’m less worried about giving him that fair shake.

I clench my jaw, refusing to let him see the punch he’d just landed. Lucas’ grin widens when I don’t respond, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction.

“Just got back from a photo shoot to replace the team’s old billboard on the highway near downtown,” he continues, casually picking lint off his jacket.

That had been my billboard. What the fuck?

“Funny how they didn’t need you for it,” he drags on. “Guess the face of the Fire needed a little... refreshing.”

I force my expression to stay neutral. I will not give him the satisfaction. “Hope you had a good time. I don’t see that happening ever again.”

“Funny you should mention that. They said I was the best player model they’d worked with, so I’ll likely get booked for a few more before the end of the season.”

Before I can open my mouth, Coach cuts in. “You’d better get your numbers up, or you won’t be on the team long enough to book another gig.”

Lucas controls his expression, but I can see the daggers in his eyes. “Shouldn’t be too much trouble to do that.”

I smirk with an even stare. “Shame you can’t make the auction tonight. You’d finally get a number attached to that ego.”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” His voice turns saccharine. “I’ll be there. Management thought it’d be a nice touch to have the new face of the Fire on stage. You know, boost the night’s entertainment value. Shame you’re not going up for auction yourself. But I imagine your new girlfriend keeps you on a tight leash.”

My fingers twitch at my side, the urge to lash out threatening to snap my self-control. I feel a deep need to beat the cocky sneer off his face. It isn’t enough that he’s talented; Lucas has to make sure everyone knows he’s gunning for the throne.

My throne.

This selfish, egomaniacal little bastard is trying to get under my skin, and it’s working. I hate myself a little for that, for allowing it, but I can’t help it. Even more so, I can’t let him win.

“Don’t worry,” I say, voice low and tight, barely containing the frustration simmering just below the surface, “It’s just a charity auction, Lucas, not a marriage proposal.”

He arches a brow, leaning in close enough that I can smell the overpriced cologne he’s drowned himself in. “Careful, Smith,” he says with a sneer. “You’re not as untouchable as you think. You’re yesterday’s highlight reel. And when they’re done with you, don’t be surprised if the only jersey you’re wearing is storebought.”

The challenge hits home, slicing through my composure like a blade. I step back before I do something stupid, like punch that smug grin off his face. “Guess we’ll see who’s worth more tonight then, won’t we?”

His smirk doesn’t falter, a flicker of satisfied maliciousness in his eyes. “Oh, I think we will.”

As I walk out, the hallway stretches in front of me like a path of bad inevitabilities. This whole thing is now out of my control. The auction is based on what women think I’m worth, and their valuation of me is what management is going to be looking at. If I’m not careful tonight, I’ll be out on my ass.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking through the haze of anger and anxiety. I pull it out to see Keke’s name on the screen.

Leaving for the venue. Don’t forget your tux.

I stare at the message, my pulse slowing as reality sinks in. Keke . Her meticulous plans, her relentless professionalism and hard work—all meant to pull me back from the edge. I’d spent weeks watching her work, caught somewhere between gratitude and a guilt that snapped at me whenever I made her job harder.

And now, this. Regret lodges itself in my chest. I’ve let Lucas bait me, let my ego and frustration drag me into a move I know Keke wouldn’t approve of. The worst part is, I know that's exactly what he's going for. I’m getting tired of watching Lucas stride in, thinking he owns what I’ve worked years for, like he’s entitled to everything I’ve built.

Back at my condo, I drop onto the couch, staring at the tuxedo draped across the back of the chair. It exudes sharpness, confidence, everything I’m supposed to be tonight. But the truth is, it feels like armor for a battle I hadn’t planned to fight. One I wasn’t supposed to fight. At least, not tonight, anyway. I'm supposed to befriend Lucas, not let him bait me into screwing everything up. The weight of my own bad choices tenses tight in my muscles.

I wanted to be the guy who didn’t let a punk like Lucas get under my skin. I wanted to be the guy who could brush off a barb with a laugh and still skate circles around him. But things are different now. The stakes are higher, the margin for error smaller. Keke is the one person who saw past the headlines, who believed I could be more than just my worst moments. The thought of letting her down stings worse than anything Lucas could say.

Night falls over Atlanta in a blur of neon lights. By the time I arrive at the venue, the energy inside is electric, buzzing with laughter, anticipatory chatter, and the clink of glasses. The auction is designed to be fun and lighthearted—a spectacle to raise awareness and money for Happy Harbor in a way that will smooth over the rough edges of the team’s image.

It feels more like a trial.

Every corner I turn, every step forward feels like one step closer to my courtroom. The women in the audience are my jurors, and management is my judge. Maybe I shouldn’t be so focused on myself, this is a charity event, after all. But I can’t help it. Tonight means everything to me.

“Luke,” a voice calls out. It’s Keke, standing near the stage. She looks stunning and confident, a clipboard in hand, and an air of command that makes it impossible not to be drawn to her. Relief crosses her face for just a moment before being replaced by a bright smile.

“You look great,” she says, her eyes sharp and knowing as they scan my face, reading every note of tension I’m trying to hide. “Everything okay?”

“Of course,” I lie, pasting on a fake smile.

Her brow arches, and I brace for the pointed questions she hasn’t yet asked. But before she can, Lucas saunters past, a smirk plastered on his face as he glances between us. “Look at that,” he drawls, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. “A real, happy couple. Hope your boy here plays nice tonight, Keke. Wouldn’t want another headline.”

The way he says her name makes my hands curl into fists. Like they were already familiar with each other, friends, even. But Keke’s eyes narrow, the corners of her mouth tightening. Not the look of a woman greeting a friend. She hates him as much as I do.

“Lucas,” she says, her tone so level it’s almost unnerving. “Good luck tonight. You’ll need it.”

The smirk on his face slips, if only for a second, before he throws a glare my way then walks off.

Keke mutters, “No wonder you hate that guy.”

I laugh. “Still think I should make him a friend instead of an enemy?”

“More than ever.”

Damn.