Page 12 of Worship

He laughs, deep and sexy. “I do. But…I didn’t really think this through. I just wanted to talk to you. Is that weird?”

Yes? No?I don’t care.

“No. Maybe? I guess it depends on why?”

“You seem to be the one person that tells me what’s real. And you don’t scare away from what it means. I could use some of that right now.”

He wants a friend.The thought is insane. He’s surrounded by people, all who love him. We’re practically strangers—and he’s calling me.

“What about your brothers?” I ask. It’s not that I don’t believe him, it’s just unbelievable.

“They tell me what I want to hear or what will keep me from going off the rails.” He breathes out into the phone. It sounds defeated, frustrated. “Tell me something. Something about you.”

I hear the movement of fabric in the background and imagine he’s lying on a pillow. His voice, his attention, it makes it feel like we’re in a bubble. It’s disarming and inviting.

“I can’t unpack the boxes in my house because the memories inside of them make me so sad that I feel like I’m going to drown in them.” My confession surprises me.

But I also feel relief to have said it out loud. And a part of me wants to give him something as raw as he’s shared with me.

“Why? What’s in the boxes?” he questions. Despite this being the strangest conversation I’ve ever had, it feels exactly like what I need.

“Things from my dad. He died a few months ago,” I offer, feeling the grief begin to close in again. I sit back against the table of tees. “It never really goes away, the sadness.”

“When my parents died, I never wanted the pain to go away. I would force myself to remember all the details each night. Like how the doctor described their injuries, or how everyone reassured us that they didn’t suffer. We knew they had. I forced myself to relive it every night, and especially if I caught myself being happy because I felt like if the grief dulled, then I didn’t love them.” His words resonate deep inside my broken heart.

“You’ll always love them, but your misery was all you had. Like the last connection to your love. I get it. Survivor’s guilt.”

“Yes.” More silence stretches between us, and I rush to fill the space, greedy for more of his words.

“Who do you want to punish?” I ask in a hushed voice, bringing back his question to me from last night.

“Who says I don’t want to forgive?”Lies.

“You. I hear what you mean, Luca, not just what you say.” I see him, really see him. But he doesn’t belong to me.I just wish he did.

The line is muted silence, and I look back to the phone face to see if the call dropped. “Luca…” I pause, worrying that I’ve overstepped. I’m not so ridiculously ruled by my crush that I don’t recognize a person in pain. I want to help him, if I can.

“Promise me you’ll forgive me.” His voice is so sincere in the request that it throws me for a moment.

“For what?” I ask, confusion evident in my voice.

“I’ve decided why I called.”

I gnaw on my lip before answering.Why does he make me feel like I’m walking into a trap?

“Why would that need forgiveness?” I almost don’t want the answer.

His gruff laugh travels through the phone and makes me squirm. “If I tell you, that would be like asking for permission. And I don’t do that. Intention is everything, remember?”

“I thought you already established you’re a monster?”

“I did. And I am.”

The line falls silent again, and when I look at the phone, I see he’s hung up. I let out a breath, realizing I’m holding it. My hand slowly drops down to my side, hearing his last words in my mind. Was I flirting? It wasn’t my intention, and he didn’t say anything out of line.

But everything with Luca feels like fucking foreplay.

I smile to the salesgirl, who’s hovering to take the items I’ve randomly picked up from my hand. I give them to her and follow her back to the dressing room.