Page 64 of Good Guy Gabe

They do. I’ve had to fill them out twice now, both because of shenanigans with Blaise. “I’m not talking about this shit with you.”

His face morphs into one of those theater masks, the sad one. I swear I’ve never met a man who’s so equally stupid and sensitive who can actually function like a normal human being. “Why not? I’m practically your best friend!”

He’s not. He’s been a good buddy since our first training camp, when he basically forced us to be friends. As a Wilmington local, he’s been a useful resource. I’m not saying I’ve taken advantage of that at all, but it’s one of his biggest selling points. That and hanging out with him and Keira, especially when Dom and Cadence are also there with their kids. That group scratched an itch Merrick and Blaise and the rest of the Jugs House crew can’t.

But that group doesn’t exist anymore. I’m on speaking terms with Evan again, but it’s not the same.

I school my eyes on those lights, focusing slightly off from Evan so I don’t have to actually look at him, see every musclein his face shift infinitesimally when I say, “Because it’s about Joss.”

He takes a heavy breath, looks up at that same light, tilts his head, and reads out slowly, “‘You’re doing amazing.’ Huh, that’s a nice—is that a dick with a little hat on?”

“Blaise calls him Carl.”

“Huh. We should go for a run.”

“There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, I wanna do less than go for a run.”

“Yeah, but do it anyway.”

I can’t breathe.

I take one step, and then another, each one lowering me to my knees so that I can gently collapse face-first.

At Evan’s prodding — his literal prodding, squatting down in a runner’s lunge and pushing at my side — I roll onto my back and suck in the air that was so frigid when we got out on the track an hour ago.

“I’m gonna die,” I groan.

Evan flops down on the grass next to the track and crushes a snow angel into the untouched blanket. We’re the only idiots outside in the frigid temps. “Man, this is nice!” Evan yells, only a couple feet away from me but facing the sky.

I roll my head over to look at him, wondering if his stupid ass is the last thing I’ll see.

His mouth is open, collecting snow.

I want to tell Keira he’s eating snow. She’d chew him out right in front of me, and the whole time, I’d feel like I was gettingthe revenge I was owed for being forced to run five miles on a snowy track. I’d tell her why I ratted him out afterward, and we’d all laugh about it.

Except I can’t tell her. Strangely, it wasn’t until I lost Joss that I realized I’d lost Keira, as well. There was this hope when I smoothed things out with Evan and me that it would make Keira see that she was being unfair to Joss. Now, I don’t think there’s any way to move forward with Keira without Joss seeing me as siding with her bully.

I’m losing everything.

Evan waggles his tongue to collect more snow. I’m wheezing; he’s having his own fun.

“If I tell you what happened, you’ll side with me even though I was the one who fucked up, and then you’ll say shit about Joss, and I won’t be able to be your friend anymore. Because if I ever get her back, I’ll remember what you said.”

He contorts himself enough that he can roll his head back to look at me upside-down. It’s going to be upside-down day. Upside-down life. “Nah, man. You’re gonna tell me how you fucked up, and I’m going to tell you how to fix it. That’s what friends do.”

“Merrick’s congratulated me for escaping. Blaise feeds me shots when I’m sad.”

“That’s why you’ve been playing like crap.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Nah, man, that’s on him.” Evan shrugs, adding a humpback to his snow angel. “It’s his fault his sacks have doubled the last few weeks.” He rolls onto his side and props his head on his elbow like a teenage girl dishing at a slumber party despite thework-out gear in three inches of snow. “Listen, you got single friends, and you got married friends, right? And right now, you’re listening to single friends who want to keep you single, but that’s not what you want. You want married. You want a honeymoon and married sex and joint bank accounts and debates about how many streaming services is too many and a good school district andwhat do you want for dinner, I don’t know, what do you want for dinnerfor the rest of your life. Tell me I’m wrong.”

I sigh, which at least means I’ve caught my breath.

“Exactly,” Evan continues. “So you need to be talking to me.”

“I don’t.”

---