Page 68 of Good Guy Gabe

“Hey, where’s your kid?” Keira asks from the trash can she’s smooshing the leaf bag into.

“Oh, err, I’m currently pregnant. Like, I know you can’t see it now because of the coat, but—”

She chuckles. “No, your older one. I won’t lie, when I glued your locks, I made myself sick thinking your baby was going to be trapped inside if something happened. Which feels even cruddier—”

“Keira—”

“—that you could have also been trapped inside—”

“No but—”

“—if there was a fire or something. You could have—”

“Keira, I miscarried. I was attacked. The day the judge ruled I could keep the house.”

Her words die off as horror takes over her face. She stands there for several seconds longer before she throws her arms around me.

I know I shouldn’t be comforted by this. Hell, if she’s the one who glued my locks — a stupid prank, but one that cost me money I didn’t have — she might know who threw that rock. But there’s no way her shock isn’t real, that the heartache I feel as her arms tighten is fabricated. So I sink into her as a fresh wave of grief, dulled with the passing of time but never gone, washes over me.

“Please let me help you even if you won’t let Gabe,” Keira begs softly. “I’ve hurt you so much that even if you think you don’t need help, I owe it to you.”

I want to say no in the hopes that it’ll make her feel as bad as she’s made me feel, but that’s not who I am. Not really. “I’d like that.”

“The division championship is this weekend. There’s a ticket for you.”

“Thank you, but . . . but I can’t. I do love him, but what he did? I can’t just go and act like everything’s okay. God, I either dress normal and everyone sees and wonders why, or I wear his jersey, and . . . no. I can’t.”

“I get it. I guess you’re probably not a sports fan to begin with.”

I manage to crack a smile at that. “Not really. And, um, if you’re the one who’s been knocking over my trashcans and everything else, just stop and we’ll call it even.”

“God no, I promise Ihavegrown up in the last five years, even if I haven’t acted like it. But I will clean your yard as much as you want me to.”

Chapter 29

Gabe

FOURTH AND LONG.

Forty-three seconds left on the clock.

We’re down by five.

If we don’t get a first down, game’s over. The Chargers will get the ball and run out the clock. Not the most noble win, but this isn’t the time for nobility. Whoever wins this will be one game away from the Super Bowl. There’s no more room for error.

Blaise pats me as I lower myself down, letting my hand hover over the ball for another second. “You got this, buddy,” he says, but I don’t got this. This is part of his ritual, his need to settle his own nerves by playing like someone else is nervous, but it rubs me the wrong way.

I don’t got any of this.

We’re going to lose, management is going to see that I was the one who hiked the ball wrong when Blaise fumbles it or let through the guy who sacks him, and I’m not going to come back next year.

Everyone in Wilmington is going to know. No one will hire me. I’ll get a really nice compensation package, but it’s not living-off-of-it-the-rest-of-my-life money. I’m going to have to move. Joss won’t move with me, so I won’t get the chance to fix this shit between us. I’ll end up being a child support dad. I’llnever get to bond with my kid. I’ll be that weird, sad guy who shows his friends pictures of his kid being raised by some other guy.

It’s going to be Blaise. She likes Blaise.

My friends will recognize him because he’s a superstar, and I’ll just be a big loser.

I don’t got any of this at any level.

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