Page 66 of Friend Me

At the next commercial break, Tyler asked Dad about the house, and soon they were talking about power tools. Dad even got so caught up in a tribute to his dear departed tile saw—I’d sold it on eBay to pay off a hospital bill before we met our deductible—that he missed an at-bat. We finished the pizza and another round of beer, and by the time the game ended, I was using Tyler’s shoulder as a pillow, and Dad was yawning.

He levered himself up from the depths of the recliner. “I’m turning in early. You kids have fun.” He winked. “But not too much fun.”

“Dad.”I sat up.“Tyler and I arefriends.”

“Oh, right,” he said, smirking.

Tyler stood to shake his hand. “Good night, Mr. Rice. Thanks for letting me watch the game with you.”

“Anytime. It’s refreshing to watch with a true fan.”

I rolled my eyes at his pointed look in my direction.

While Dad shuffled off to bed, Tyler remained standing. “Did you want me to—” He inclined his head toward the door.

At eight o’clock on a Friday night, most twenty-five-year-olds would just be heading out to dinner or stumbling home from happy hour to rest for a couple of hours before hitting a club. The long, lonely night stretched ahead of me.

“No, stay. Please? Unless you had…other plans.” Maybe he had a date.Please don’t let him have a date.I ached for company.

Tyler quirked his lip. “Nope. I brought my game system. Want me to get it?”

“Sure. I’ll just clean up.”

While he went out to his car, I washed the plates and chucked the empty bottles into the recycling bin. When I returned to the living room, I carried a tray with beer, a bowl of pretzels, and chocolate. The white chocolate that Cooper had sent. It was kind of him, but when someone says she needs chocolate, shenevermeans whitechocolate. It’s not even really chocolate. It’d taste okay with the pretzels, I supposed.

As I set down the tray, Tyler muttered at the back of our ancient television.

“Trouble?” I asked.

“No, no, I got it.” He seemed to have an entire compartment in his bag for cables. “Aha!” He yanked one from the bottom of the bag, plugged in some sort of adapter, connected another cable, and threw the switch on the game system. The TV flashed up an animated video.

He tossed the extraneous cables into his bag and then flopped onto the sofa. I handed him a beer and sat on the other end, splaying one knee on the cushion toward him.

“So, tell me. What’d my dad ask you that was so embarrassing? While I was getting the plates.”

Checking the battery compartment of one of the controllers appeared to require his attention for several seconds. “He asked me what my intentions were. Toward you.”

That made my cheeks hot. “You told him we’re friends, right?” Without waiting for him to answer, I said, “He had a good night. Today he seems like himself. Except for the swearing.”

His mouth turned down at the corners. “He called a drill an ‘electric hole-puncher.’ He might not show symptoms all the time, but there’s no cure. The neurons he’s lost won’t regenerate.” His gaze turned introspective, like he was thinking about his grandfather. Then he blinked. “You’re doing the right thing by getting help for him.”

I picked at the label on my beer bottle. “I know. I wish—”

He reached across and caressed my shoulder with his big hand. “I know.”

I sniffed and blinked the tears back. “Are we going to play or what?”

He squeezed my shoulder and then withdrew. A chill crept from where his warm hand had rested and frosted my heart. I reached behind me and pulled the blanket over my shoulders. Still not as good as his hand.

“I think you’ll enjoy this one. We have to work together on the missions. And we’re gonna blow up a lot of stuff. It’s my favorite game for relieving stress.” He handed me a controller. “Have you used this system before? Need anything explained?”

It had been a couple of years since I’d played, but the device felt familiar in my hand. “No, I’m good.”

“Great.” He shot me a grin and then returned his attention to the screen. “Let’s go.”

He was right. Watching our enemies explode in front of us was strangely satisfying. Working together with Tyler, I was in control, part of a team. He didn’t criticize me when I was clumsy or too aggressive; he let me try again until I’d mastered it. I couldn’t stop smiling, and hours later, my face and stomach muscles ached from laughing.

“Watch out!” My warning came too late. Tyler’s character collapsed under fire. “How could you have missed that huge tank?”

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