Page 36 of Cleats and Pumps

Jason reached over and took Amos’s hand. “Listen, we know you’re going through a lot. We’re your friends, your… your family,” he said. “You take the time you need, and when you’re ready, I’ll reach out to Jake. Deal?”

Amos nodded. “Yeah, deal.”

22

Amos

Iglanceddownatmyphone when it dinged.

Josiah: I’m headed to pick you up.

Me: What? I’m still eating.

Josiah: Dad wants to see you.

Me: Ugh, not cool… give me a few minutes though, I’ll be ready.

I groaned, and sat back. I wasn’t ready to leave yet. I’d literally just gotten a moment with Tommy in years. Besides, I didn’t want to hear Dad’s bullshit anymore. But, as he’d say, I was under his roof. If I didn’t want to hear it, I could move. Never mind that I’d paid off the fucking mortgage on that roof. However, it would never do to mention that. Besides, I’d done it without his knowledge, something I still think pissed him off.

“Um, Josiah is coming to pick me up. Tommy, can we give you a lift back to your car? It’s on the way.”

Tommy looked at me for several seconds before he sighed. “Yeah, that’ll be fine.”

Owen stood and sent us back to the apartment. “Y’all go talk. I can see you need to. Jason and I will clean up, but next time we cook for y’all, you do the damned cleaning.”

Tommy laughed. “Like you cooked.”

“Hey,” Owen complained but smiled as Jason cackled behind him. “Well, my sweetie cooked, and I made the coffee.”

“Really?” Tommy asked, and Owen shrugged.

“I poured half and half into the cup and then poured the coffee into it; that counts.”

Tommy shook his head. “Sure it does, Owen. Sure it does.”

We were all laughing as Tommy and I walked back to the apartment.

“So, are we gonna talk?” I asked when we closed the door behind us.

Tommy froze and then nodded. “Um, I was drunk—”

“Stop, we’ve done the stupid excuses thing,” I said. “I liked what you said last night, Tommy. I want it all to be true.”

“But you weren’t interested. I—”

“I was a blockheaded jock, Tommy. I tried to fix it and undo what I’d said to make it right, but you weren’t interested in what I had to say.”

He walked to the sofa and sat down. When I sat on the chair across from him, he shook his head. “Amos, I was so in love with you. I know this is… well, it’s a lot. I don’t expect you to feel the same or… I didn’t expect you to feel the same then.”

“But you still have feelings for me?” I asked, daring to hope.

He leaned back against the sofa and stared at the painting above the fireplace. For several long moments, he didn’t move, and I wondered if maybe he wasn’t going to say more. “It doesn’t matter. That was a long time ago, Amos. We are two totally different people. You’re famous. I’m a backroom journalist who was fired from his freaking job. There’s so much water under that bridge.”

“What? Fired? Like when?” I asked. He shrugged and shook his head, so I stood and went to sit beside him. “I’m sorry Tommy… for a lot of stuff.

“For me, it was like yesterday. There’s rarely a day goes by when I don’t think about you. And I’ve read every article you’ve written. And for fuck’s sake, why did they fire you, anyway?”

He froze. “Um, that’s a long story.”

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