Page 63 of Delay of Game

Zach followed him in, trying not to stare at either the house or at Garcia. The entrance hallway had coatracks and a little space for shoes. Some photographs hung on the walls, and they weren’t even crooked or poorly spaced. Everything was in its particular place. Garcia took him into the kitchen. It looked like it had been renovated recently, because everything was kind of new, but it was full of the kind of clutter that two busy people who weren’t home often accumulated. There was a stack of wet dishes in the drying rack and a revolving spice rack Nate would have loved.

There was a whiteboard on the wall with a calendar and Zach immediately noticed that Mike’s games and Garcia’s games were marked off in green, days they were both home in blue, and some other dates in red that Zach wasn’t sure about. The fridge was covered in mismatched magnets and pictures, of Garcia and Mike, a lot of shots of what looked like Garcia’s family, and a few of Mike’s. Two cats, one scruffy orange monster and one huge stately black cat, ambled through the room, as if to say,this is our space, watch out.

Mike sat at a small kitchen table covered in books and papers, typing something on his laptop. Garcia’s computer was open across the table from him. Mike was reading some kind of textbook as he typed, and Garcia had notes from work, and the whole scene was so fucking domestic and shit that Zach wanted to cry again.

“Babe,” Garcia said, rubbing Mike’s shoulder, “we have a visitor.”

Mike looked up and almost as quickly, stood. “Reedsy?”

“Dude, I’m... I’m really sorry to bother you this late, I just...”

“Uh, you’re not bothering me,” Mike said, and exchanged a glance with Garcia, who scooped up both cats in his arms and left them alone. “Do you—what the fuck, dude? You just vanished after the game, and you kinda played like shit. What the fuck is going on?”

Zach couldn’t think of what to say, but he must have looked so shitty that Mike took him by the shoulder, guided him to the empty seat, and shoved him down into it.

“You gotta eat something. Here. Get your shit together while I get you some leftovers. Danny made it, and he’s a great fucking cook.”

“I, uh...don’t really feel like eating.”

“You’re gonna fucking eat,” Mike said, so firmly that the protest died in Zach’s mouth. “And then you’re gonna tell me what the fuck is wrong.”

While Mike poked around in the fridge, Zach looked down at his laptop. It was some kind of composition assignment, and he asked, dazed, “Wait, are you doingschool?”

Mike looked over his shoulder and his lip curled up in something that was almost a sneer or almost a smile. “Community college. Don’t tell anyone on the team, okay? I got a reputation to uphold.”

“DoesBeeknow?” Zach asked, distracted.

“Well, of course she does, but she’s the only one. And you, now. But. Come on, we’re not here to talk about me.” He put a plate in front of Zach. It was a salad, but it was full of chickpeas and chicken and nuts and a ton of other roasted vegetables in some kind of spiced yogurt dressing. It smelled amazing. It was the kind of thing Nate would have cooked, and Zach felt that stinging in his eyes again.

“I don’t know where to start. I just...couldn’t be at home.”

“Well, you can crash in our guest room if you gotta. Danny’s heading out tomorrow morning, but I’ll be home, so you won’t have to leave super early.”

Zach wanted to saythank youbut instead put his head down in his arms on the table. He couldn’t look up to see any judgment on Mike’s face, and that was kind of Mike’s default facial expression. “I’ve done something really fucking stupid, Mike. Like stupid even for me. So fucking, fucking stupid.” Mike didn’t say anything, but waited for him to go on, and after a few seconds of awkward, deafening silence, it was like the floodgates had opened and he couldn’t stop them. “I kind of fell in love with someone, and I thought he felt the same way, but I was wrong, Mike. I was really fucking wrong and I... I don’t...know what to...”

“Oh,fucking Christ,” Mike said faintly. “Him? Is this your first—”

“What? No! I mean I’vefuckedguys; I’ve fucked a lot of guys before.” Mike’s face was doing something complicated and horrified across the table. “But this was different, I fucking love him, Mike, I really fucking love him, and hedoesn’t—”

He was vaguely aware that his voice was halting and ugly with barely choked-back tears. If he’d had any amount of self-control left he would’ve been super fucking embarrassed, but as it was, the only thing he could see was the dark crook of his elbow, and if he was actually crying, no one could see anything except his shoulders heaving. He could feel Mike’s hand on his back, a comforting, solid presence, and that somehow made it worse, becauseNateusually—

Nate wasn’t here, though.

Why the fuck was Zach surprised, really? This was how things always ended. Like, he was a good-looking guy, he was a lot of fun, but he wasn’t the kind of person youdated. He wasn’t the kind of person people liked to spend years dating. And that was fine, it was just how things were, he’d accepted that. He’d just thought, he’d just felt sosure, that the thing with Nate was different.

Oh, fuck.

He was definitely crying.

“Whoa, buddy. Um. Well. I—fuck.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fucking drop this on you and ruin your fucking, your fucking night, I just didn’t know who else to talk to.” He finally looked up, and saw that Mike was staring at him.

“Zach,” Mike said carefully. “Your dude...it’s not...”

Zach put his head down again and could not control the hiccupping sob that escaped him.

“Oh, Jesus,” Mike said, and then, “Wait,what? Hedoesn’t?”

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