31. Luke

Chapter 31

Luke

I sit alone in my condo, the silence literally louder than anything.

Everything that matters feels like it’s slipping through my fingers like a fistful of sand.

Keke. My career.

I keep replaying the moment of the proposal over and over in my mind—the horrified look on her face, the utter humiliation that I’d miscalculated so fucking badly.

Sitting around isn’t going to change things but I’m not sure what will. I have energy to burn and no outlet. I turn to doing burpees in my bedroom, mostly because I hate them, but I need the distraction to clear my head. The first ten were just a warm-up. The urge to puke doesn’t usually come until the thirtieth one.

But tonight, it doesn’t come at all. So I keep going while I think about what happened.

I’d been so sure I was doing the right thing. For once, I’d put my heart out there with no games, no defenses, just a man asking a woman to share her life with him. I’d expected anything but this. I was prepared for her to laugh, but then say yes. For her to cry, but then say yes. Even a gasp that turned into a yes.

Instead, Keke had looked at me like she’d never seen me before, like I was a stranger.

Like I was someone she couldn’t trust.

That grueling thought hit around the fiftieth burpee and I couldn’t continue. Not because I was out of energy, but because the thought she couldn’t trust me called up the nausea I thought had beaten.

I was very wrong.

After losing my dinner, I wash up for bed. Not like I’ll be able to sleep. Once I’m in between the sheets, all I can do is stare at the ceiling and think.

Does she still see me as nothing more than a playboy, the guy everyone sees as a running joke? I’ve always avoided paying attention to the headlines, the gossip columns, the bloggers, the paparazzi. I wasn’t great at the last one, but I had tried.

My reputation seems to follow me no matter what, like gum on the bottom of my shoe. She clearly believed I wasn’t serious about the proposal. Maybe she thought I was just putting on a show, or that I was only proposing because she’s pregnant. Nothing could be further from the truth and I need to convince her of that. I don’t want her to believe for one second that I’ll change my mind and leave her when things get hard.

Though I can’t blame her if she does feel that way—she’d seen me as a player and the press’s punching bag this whole time. The idea of being with someone like that for the rest of her life would understandably cause hesitation. It surely would for me.

But I’m not that guy anymore. At least, I’m trying not to be him.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next. There’s no playbook for this. Chasing her down, forcing her to talk to me… that isn’t the right way to go about it either. If she can’t see it, or refuses to see it, that’s her choice. Tracking her down and continuing to pressure her will only push her farther away. Words are empty promises. Only actions mattered.

If the words of a player didn’t mean anything, then I’ll have to show her. Somehow, I’ll prove to her that I’m a man worth trusting, that I’m someone she can build a life with. I’m done being the guy she has to fix.

I want to be the guy she wants to marry.

My heart pounds at the thought of her being pregnant. She’s carrying our child. She’s probably scared, unconvinced she can count on me. I cannot let her think that way about me—not anymore.

I have no idea how to be a dad. My own father had been amazing, but that didn’t mean I knew anything about being one myself. I’ve never read any parenting books, never considered all the repercussions… the story of everything in my life. Fatherhood had always seemed years down the road so I never gave it much thought. But it’s right here, right now.

So I will be, too.

The next morning, I get up before the sun, springing out of bed even though my body wants nothing more than to lie there and wallow in self-pity. That’s over now. Now is the time for action.

I don’t know if Keke came home after I’d gone to bed or if she’d spent the night somewhere. I thought about knocking on her door, but I promised myself I wasn’t going to bother her, so I didn’t.

When I walk into the arena, the team trainer glances at me with raised eyebrows. I can’t remember the last time I’d shown up this early, or with this much determination, and neither could he, by the looks of things. The place was empty, save for Esai and a few staff members.

If I’m going to truly change, this is a good place to start.

“Morning, Smith,” Esai greets me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Decided to finally give the morning hours a try, I see.”

“Yeah, figured I’d see what all the hype’s about.”

“Alright then. Let’s put you to work.”

I throw myself into it, pushing through the burn and picturing Keke’s face, the way she’d looked at me when I proposed, an image now permanently etched in my mind. That hurt, that doubt, was now my fuel, driving me through every lift, every shot, every grueling drill.

As I rack the weights, Esai says, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Smith, but that’s a new PR.”

“I can do more.”

“You’re feeling froggy. Alright, let’s see what else you can do.”

He adds more weight. It feels good to know the trainer believes in me. Esai’s judgment is impeccable, so I must be on the right path.

After an hour, every muscle in my body screams but I don’t stop. I can’t afford to be seen as dead weight on this team, especially not with the trades looming. I know they’ve been talking to Lucas, and if I get traded, he’ll most likely end up in my position.

Not gonna happen, not today.

No sooner the thought leaves my mind before he comes striding confidently onto the ice. I still can’t believe the bullshit he pulled his first day here. Seeing him on the ice—my ice—still makes my blood boil. If he thinks I’m just going to let him waltz in here and take everything I’d built, including my name, he’s got another thing coming. I will always be Luke, he will always be Duvall.

“Morning, Duvall,” I say as I skate up to him, keeping my tone casual.

“Morning, Smith. Ready for some real action?” he nods toward the other end of the rink, a challenge in his eyes.

I clench my jaw, reminding myself I’m not here to waste energy on petty rivalries. But he wants a race, and I’m going to give him one.

We take off, sprinting from one end of the rink to the other, each of us pushing harder, faster, until we’re neck and neck. My muscles scream at me with the argument that they’d already been worked out, hard, so what the hell was I doing? Why do I let this kid get to me like this?

I already know the answer.

Pride.

My breath comes in short gasps but I force myself to keep up. Then, in a sudden burst of speed, he pulls ahead, crossing the line a fraction of a second before me.

“Guess we know who the real Luke is,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder, his smirk infuriating.

My jaw and fists clench but I have to keep my eyes, and head, on the prize. “Good skate, Lucas.”

This is one small battle and I have bigger fights to win. Every day on the ice, I’m under a microscope, every move scrutinized, every mistake another mark against me. But for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel crushed by the pressure. I feel ready.

Esai catches up with me after the race. “Heading home?”

“I’m here to train.”

“You already?—”

“I am here to train, Esai.”

He nods once. “More drills?”

“More drills.”