Work was torture. Luke wouldn’t look at him. If he said his name, he turned away like he didn’t hear him. Tristan was dying on the inside and Luke didn’t seem to care. On Friday, he waited for him in the locker room where Luke usually went after collecting his check. When Luke turned the corner Tristan stood from the bench he’d been waiting on and Luke stilled. After a second he went to his locker as if Tristan were only a ghost of his past. “Luke.” He stepped behind him, but Luke acted like he didn’t hear him. “Luke, can we please talk?” He shoved his gloves into the locker and slammed it shut. When he made to walk away Tristan tried to clutch his arm, but Luke stepped out of his reach. He looked hard at the opposing wall, not meeting Tristan’s eyes. “Your shits boxed up. I’d appreciate it if you sent Ryan or Kelly over to get it.” With that he turned and walked away. Tristan sucked in a breath, every speck of oxygen like a hot blade cutting through his lungs.
