Page 34 of A Slice of Love

I pull into an empty spot at The Doorway and cut the engine on my old beat-up Blazer. It’s a ridiculous ride held together by hopes, prayers, and a little duct tape, but I love it. She’s my baby and I wouldn’t trade her for the world.

Well, maybe for a Corvette, but don’t tell her I said that.

I run a hand through my short beard, almost wishing I had shaved before I came, and force myself from the vehicle because I know I’ll sit around overthinking this if I don’t just get my ass inside.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust when I walk into the dimly lit favorite local hang. I glance around, looking for Julian and Frankie, but I don’t see them.

They must be running late too.

“Well I’ll be damned. Schwartzy’s here, boys!”

My eyes are drawn toward the boisterous voice. Sitting in a booth are three guys I played football with in high school. We were tight for many years, but my patience with them grew thin over my senior year. I haven’t spoken to any of them since graduation. Based on all the plans they had, I’m surprised to find them still living here.

“Hey, Drake,” I say, approaching their table. “Wilson, Hill. How you guys been?”

“Not bad. Not too bad at all. Here”—Drake scoots over, patting the open spot next to him—“have a seat.”

“Oh, no, I can’t. I—”

“Just a few minutes? We haven’t seen you since high school. Be nice to catch up a minute.”

I’d rather get my own seat and wait for Julian and Frankie to show up, but I know they won’t relent until I’m sitting down with them.

I glance around the joint one last time, looking for my party, feeling dejected when I don’t see them, and reluctantly take a seat.

“Just a few minutes,” I agree. “So, what have you guys been up to?”

“Well,” Hill speaks up, “we all went off to State for a bit then decided college really wasn’t our thing.”

“So we came back home and started our own landscaping business,” Wilson supplies.

“Now we co-manage the most profitable lawn business on the island,” Drake finishes, a smile spreading across his face.

“Wow,” I say. “That’s amazing, guys. Congrats.”

“We heard about your accident.” Hill frowns sympathetically, but the sadness doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry about the NFL. We were rooting for you.”

Being the only one in your group of friends who’s dedicated enough to put in the hours to excel at your sport of choice can lead to jealousy among those who don’t agree with that line of thinking.

Drake, Hill, and Wilson have always had green eyes when it comes to my success at the sport we all love. Back in school, they’d always make comments about my game and the glory that came with how good I was at it. It might have seemed like normal locker room jabs to most, but I saw through their words.

They were jealous, plain and simple. Genuinely happy for me, but also indisputably jealous. The longer we played together and the more opportunities that came my way, the more prominent their envy became.

“Actually, I’m still playing football. Doctors say I’ll make a full recovery.” Their brows rise, and I bask in the jealousy that sparks in their eyes. “It’s just a matter of when I’ll be able to get back out there, but I’m still under contract.”

“What are you doing in the meantime?” Wilson asks.

“A hell of a lot of physical therapy and delivering pizzas at Slice to keep myself sane. I was bored as shit sitting around at home, so I begged Simon Daniels for my job back.”

“Oh, please. Like you’d have to beg anyone for anything. You’re Jonas Schwartz—you’re handed all that you want and need.”

And there it is. The jab.

I knew it was coming, but that doesn’t make it sting any less.

A lot of people seem to think I was given everything I have, but that’s not even close to the truth.

I didn’t grow up with money like the majority of kids on the island. We lived check to check every single week, but that was the price we paid so my father could pursue his dream of owning a shop of his own. My mom spent her days working in the office and running us kids back and forth to school and events.

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