Page 100 of Finding Delaware

“Royce!” Waving a hand, I call him over to the bar with a grin that I hope comes off as laid back. Honestly, I feel like I’m grimacing. Smiling is hard these days, just like sleeping.

Royce makes his way through the crowd, ducking around streamers, his eyes brightening the closer he gets. His dark brown hair is longer than the last time I saw him, pulled back in locs that tumble down his back. A gold sweater hugs his frame, matching the gold blush on his cheeks that sets his dark skin a shimmer. Green Air Jordans are on his feet.

“Huckslee, it’s so good to see you.” He tugs me in for a tight hug before pulling back to gaze over me. “Look at you, dressed like a snack!”

Look at me. A fucking mess.

Royce chuckles deeply. “It’s a good thing you’re wearing green, or I’d have to pinch you.”

Swallowing hard through the pain in my chest, I force a smile as I glance down at my dark green flannel and black jeans. “Same.”

Handing him the other drink I ordered, we make our way over to one of the only empty tables in the back next to the pool hall, where it’s quieter and less crowded.

“This place is a bit of a dive, but my sister’s boyfriend swears on their smothered burritos.” He slips into the seat across from me, taking in the exposed ceiling beams and black-painted walls covered in graffiti art. “So far, I like the vibe though.”

“The bartender is nice,” I shrug as the band switches up the music to something slower.

“So, how’s your dad? Last we talked, he was getting his surgery last month.” Royce takes a swig from his cup and grimaces, sniffing the concoction before gulping at it again.

“He’s doing much better. Out of the hospital now, thankfully, because I had a hard time visiting him when he was there. He’s recovering well.”

It’s been an adjustment for him and Maisie, but they’re getting through it. According to the doctors, it’s not a definite fix. Time will only tell if the cancer comes back even after removing his bladder, but for now, we’re holding out hope. Once he’s back to his full health, I can start arranging to return to Cali. Or wherever the NFL might send me next month if my name comes up in the Draft. According to my coach, it likely will.

“Good, good, that’s great news,” he smiles warmly before his eyes tighten. “Seen that asshole stepbrother of yours yet?”

Of course, Royce knows about what happened at prom. He was there. He saw Taylor step away from the curtain, and when I basically went dark afterward while in the ICU—on suicide watch—he reached out to Logan and discovered it all.

“Uh, not...not in a while.” It’s not a lie. I really haven’t seen him in weeks.

And I fucking hate it…

A wary flicker crosses his features. “I’m glad you asked to meet, Huck, though I’ll be honest, I am surprised. We haven’t met up in...how long has it been? Four years now?”

Running a hand through my curls, I blow out a breath as I nod. “Yeah, ’bout that long. I, uh... haven’t been back since I left. So I figured while I was in town, why not see an old friend?”

Plus, Logan’s moping was causing me to spiral, and I desperately needed to get out of the apartment. I’m sympathetic to the guy, I really am, but there are only so many nights I can spend patting his shoulder while he sobs into a beer. It makes me feel like a shitty friend, but my own mental health has already been on the fritz after...what happened at the cabin. I just needed to breathe. And the only other person I want to talk to probably hates my guts now, so it was a toss-up between texting Royce or visiting my parents. Royce won.

“Cheers to that!” He clicks our cups together before taking another sip with a pinched frown that gets a chuckle out of me.

“It’s called a Midori Sour. Not your thing?”

Shaking his head, he licks the liquor off his lips. “I’m more of a wine person, myself. All these fancy cocktails have way too much sugar.”

“Good to know. How’s the business running?”

“Like a dream. Growing every day.”

Royce owns a small shop that prints decals on things like tumblers and coffee cups. It’s on the tip of my tongue to askhim if he can print on material like t-shirts, but the question gets stuck and dies in my throat. Not like the offer Salem made me last month would still be on the table, anyway. After thinking about it daily since then, I realized that it’s something I really want to do.

But I fucked that all up.

We chat for a long while, catching up on life. We’ve texted occasionally, but there’s still so much you miss when you don’t see someone for years. We talk about football—he hates it— and he mentions seeing someone and how he’s only caught one of my games over the years, which I try not to feel too stung about. Things have been good for him, and it makes me happy because Royce is the kind of guy who just puts great energy into the universe. He deserves to have it come back for him.

Eventually the band finishes their set, a DJ taking their place on stage, and Royce is on his second glass of wine. I’m on my third drink (or fourth?) and starting to feel pretty relaxed, busting up at the story he’s telling me about a wardrobe malfunction while sledding.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” He presses his lips together, clearly trying to keep from laughing himself. “I hope it happens to you the next time you’re on a sled. I still have ice burns on my ass cheeks.”

A cold wind blows in as the front door opens, but I focus on Royce as I chuckle. “Don’t you put that evil on me, Ricky Bobby. Seriously, who decides it’s a good idea to wear latex pants while sledding–”

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