Page 1 of Among Friends

Chapter One

Tennessee

“This isn’t how I expected our date to end.” Carefully cradling my swollen wrist, I turned toward Gunter. He drove a souped-up Hummer, which should have been my first clue that our date was doomed.

“Uh-huh.” Thus far, the guy appeared to have a conversational vocabulary of twelve words, most of them grunted syllables. Gunter wore a too-small T-shirt advertising a popular gym chain under a thin windbreaker and his nylon track pants were no match for his thickly muscled legs. That should have been my second clue. Gunter was a jock, and I was…well me. Skinny, no muscles, and no idea what to do with weight machines. Oh,andon my way to the emergency room exactly seven minutes into our blind date.

“Maybe we could do dinner after my x-rays?” I didn’t hold out a lot of hope, but the CUPID algorithm on the Heart2Heart app had matched us, after all. CUPID was supposed to find soulmates for us lonely gay dudes—or so the app made it seem.

“Dude, I’m not waiting around.” For a supposed soulmate, Gunter had a surprising lack of soul. And heart. He followed thesigns at the Mount Hope Regional Medical Center to pull up at the entrance labeledEmergency Roomin giant red letters. “You can get out here.”

“Well, thanks for the ride.” I shrugged, which jostled my injured arm and made me wince. I supposed I should be grateful Gunter hadn’t made me use a ride-share app to get to the hospital. Or worse, call 9-1-1 for what could turn out to simply be a bad sprain. But if he was my soulmate, shouldn’t he want to wait with me? Or at least follow-up? Exchange contact info?Something.

“You sure you don’t want a raincheck? I figured since CUPID’s great track record matched us, you might want to try again?”

“Stupid CUPID is glitchy as fuck.” Gunter’s full lips twisted. He was disgustingly easy on the eyes. If one was into blond muscle-bound jerks, which I was decidedlynot.“You’re the third match it’s given me this week. Soulmate finder. Hah. I can’t even get a decent hookup out of the app.”

Hookupwas right up there withjock, muscles, off-roading,andgymon the list of words that didn’t apply to me.

“Ah. Good luck then.” I exited the Hummer, which wasn’t easy to do without the use of my dominant hand and with all my other bumps and bruises. Instead of an emphatic stomp off, I had to settle for awkwardly slithering to the ground and limping toward the wide double glass doors. For his part, Gunter zoomed away before I was fully on the sidewalk.Jerk.

Much as I’d like to find my person, I’d settle for someone pleasant to talk with, someone who cared enough to text asking about my day. Someone who stuck around past a single date. Apparently, I’d set my hopes too high.

Or perhaps I was simply a too-nerdy flavor the CUPID algorithm had no idea how to match. A depressing thought. Andlikely what I got for assuming artificial intelligence could find me a soulmate. Or a date.

Instead, here I was, banged up and bruised in more than one way, entering the ER on a gloriously sunny February Saturday in the Columbia River Gorge. Predictably, the waiting room was packed. The clear day had lured a number of fresh-faced hikers and skiers out, and now they filled the room with hastily bandaged wounds or ice packs. There was also the usual assortment of sneezing and sniffling winter flu patients and injured kids from Saturday daredevil activities. A dude wearing aKiss The Cookapron with missing eyebrows and singed hair had clearly used the good weather to barbecue.

As I searched for a seat, my gaze landed on a familiar-looking face. Around my age, the man was shorter with muscles for days. Not as thick as Gunter by any means, but someone who evidently knew his way around all those intimidating gym machines. Unlike Gunter and his Hollywood looks, this guy had a face more intriguing than classically handsome with a light golden complexion, mixed-race features hinting at both Black and Polynesian ancestry, and wide, mesmerizing dark eyes. However, before I could figure out why the man seemed so familiar, one of the women working the registration desk waved me over. The badge on a lanyard around her neck with a bored-looking ID picture said her name was Madeline.

Older with a clipped demeanor, Madeline asked the usual triage questions about whether I was experiencing any dire symptoms like chest pain or dizziness.

“Nothing like that.” I pursed my mouth. Perhaps I should have looked harder to see if Mount Hope had any freestanding urgent care options. Madeline’s brusque attitude made me feel guilty for not being more of a critical case. “It’s my hand. Or wrist. I don’t know. I felt a pop when I fell, and it hurts…a lot.”

“Sorry to say you’re likely in for a wait.” Madeline gestured at the full waiting room.

“That’s okay.” I prided myself on being accommodating, especially when a situation was out of my control, so I modulated my voice to be as soothing as possible. “I understand.”

“Do you have your insurance card with you?” Madeline’s tone was somewhat kinder.

“I just started a new job.” I stifled a groan because I hated making Madeline’s job more complicated. “The insurance company hasn’t mailed the card yet.”

“Let’s see if I can find you in the system.” Madeline clicked around on her desktop. “Name?”

“Tennessee Church Stayton.”

“Tennessee?” The man I’d noticed earlier was seated near the registrar. As soon as I said my name, he stood and walked closer. He wore a ski jacket opened to reveal a T-shirt supporting a cancer charity run. He was also holding his right arm, but it was his startled expression I noticed more. “Tennessee Church?”

“Um. Yeah. It’s Stayton now, but yeah.” I peered closer at the man, mind drifting back fifteen years to a much younger face I’d never forgotten. “Tate?”

“Yes!” The guy—Tate—beamed at my guess. “I’m Tate Johnson. And how the heck are you, man? Long, long time no see.”

“Tate.” I breathed his name, tasting A&W Root Beer, Jolly Rancher candy, and a whole host of other memories from my tween years and the best friend I’d never forgotten. “I…I thought you looked familiar.”

“Uh? Boys?” Madeline gave a little cough. Oh yeah. We were in an ER, not a class reunion. I gave a sheepish smile as she pointed at Tate. “Much as I hate to interrupt this little reunion, Johnson, I need you to sit your hot EMT ass back down.”

An EMT? I had a hard time reconciling this buff healthcare professional with the skinny kid I’d once known and shared a love of trouble and daredevil escapades with.TNTpeople had jokingly called us.

“Sorry, Madge.” Tate obviously knew her well enough to tease. “I’ll be good.” Turning that infectious grin on me, he added, “And I’m sure I’ll still be here waiting when you’re done, Tennessee. Save you a seat?”

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