Page 6 of Beards and Broken Hearts

“Your sarcasm is noted, my friend,” I grumble, taking the ball and dribbling closer to the hoop. Then, I take a step and shoot. The ball goes in, and I watch Jenson grab it and dribble. He stops a moment, seemingly in thought.

“I just worry, man,” Jenson says in a hushed but serious tone.

It’s never easy to be called out, but when it’s laced with worry from a friend, it’s ten times worse.

“I’m good man. I appreciate you, but no need to worry.” Is all I reply, and he nods, letting it go.

We’ve talked about my grandmother a lot in our two-year friendship. He got drunk with me the night Grandma announced her engagement. I didn’t take it as well as I should have. Honestly, I was a fucking prick to her new fiancé since day one. I’m not proud of my actions, but Jenson never judged me. With good old Jack Daniels in me, my friend let me spout off everything about my grandpa, my hero, and the love of my grandma’s life.

Jenson just listened as I recounted memories of our summer vacations to Candy Cane Key. Those will always be my favorite memories. Unfortunately, I was also drunk enough to mention Daphne, and thankfully, he gave me grace enough to never bring her up again.

That was until he noticed my lack of a dating life. I’d go have a beer or two, but the nights he left with a woman, I always declined. Now he’s got it in his head that I’m still in love with Daphne, which is ridiculous. Women are just a lot of work, and my actual job is far too important to have distractions.

“You find a new place yet?” I ask, changing the subject.

“No, and the little dude is chewing up the apartment. I’ve got to find something soon, or I’ll never get my deposit back.”

I laugh, knowing his new dog has been a handful.

“You laugh, but Rocky has been impossible to train. I even broke down and took him to a trainer, but he still won’t listen.”

“That’s too bad, man. Maybe a little house with a backyard is what he needs to run out more energy and not be so destructive,” I suggest, throwing up a shot.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping.”

We continue our basketball game until we’re covered in sweat, and I’ve skinned my knee.

“Oh fuck,” I say, getting back up to my feet. “That’s game for me.”

“Yeah, I’m done, too,” Jenson says, bending over to catch his breath.

The blood on my knee isn’t bad, so I brush it off and head to my gym bag for water. By the looks of the sun, we’ve been at it for over an hour, and my stomach rumbles.

“You hungry?” I ask, then take a long swing of cold water from my bottle.

“Yeah, always. What do you have in mind?”

“How about Riverside Cafe?” I suggest.

“Oh yeah, it’s Tuesday.” He nods, knowing I order my favorite sub from there every Tuesday without fail. “Sounds good to me. I’d love a good sub right now,” he replies.

“Perfect. I’m not changing, though.”

“Not even for a date with me?” He teases, but I just shake my head at his antics.

We drive separately. It is such a short drive, and my truck isn’t even cool before I pull up outside the deli. A minor drawback to living in a small town. In my opinion, there aren’t many. I’ve always loved my hometown, and I've only ever thought of moving once, but I was just a dumb kid back then. Dumb and in love with an idea of forever. I did a great job of ruining that idea, and I don’t need to start regretting it now.

Jenson and I meet outside the entrance and make our way inside. The burst of cold air makes my heavy eyelids fall closed for a split second. Instant relief to my still sweaty skin. “Well, gosh dang, it sure does smell like heaven in here,” Jenson says beside me, loud enough for the group of women eating by the window to hear him.

“Table for two, or will you be joining, Elenore?” Sasha, the owner, asks me. See, small-town perk.

“Grandma’s here?” Jenson hollers before taking off to find her.

“Yes, she is,” Sasha laughs. “I’ll grab two more plate settings and meet you back there. Right corner.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” I say. It must be twenty-plus years since I’ve been coming to this place for the Ballistic Meatball sub. Every Tuesday, the same routine on repeat. Damn, I’m getting old, I think as I walk back to the familiar table. As I’m lost in thought, I forget to worry if Grandma Elenore is dining with her fiancé, but when I do, it’s too late. And it’s actually much worse.

Sitting at the big corner table, my grandma’s favorite, isn’t her new man I loathe, but the last woman I want to see. Daphne.

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