Page 129 of Walking Wounded

Hal urges him out of the fray and into a quiet corner, where they won’t be crashed into or recognized. “You doing okay? Aside from stage fright?”

Luke nods, and then shakes his head. “Yes? No? I have no idea.”

Hal chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You would.”

“Luke.”

He lets out a distraught, shivery breath. “What?”

Hal leans forward and kisses his forehead. “The book is amazing, and so are you. The book is amazingbecauseyou’re amazing. Stop worrying.”

“You suck at pep talks,” Luke says, but leans gratefully into his chest, finding his hand with his own. He finds the warm metal of the ring on Hal’s finger, traces it with a fingertip. The engraving on the inside, worn against the skin, is the same as on Luke’s ring:My Best Friend. It’s not romantic, but neither are they, and to their ears, the title says even more than the new one they both carry: husband.

“Hey, do you remember,” Hal says, “junior year, when we had to give those ‘persuasive speeches’?”

“Green spaces,” Luke says with a groan, laughing. “I talked about how we needed to preserve green spaces…and usedFern Gulleyas an official source.”

Hal chuckles. “What did you make on that?”

“A B. For first-rate bullshitting.”

“For creativity,” Hal says. “Remember that, when you get up there: it’s a good story, and you told it creatively. People are going to love you.” He kisses Luke again, on the mouth, tipping his chin up with a fingertip. “Knock ‘em dead.”

Luke thinks the only one likely to be dead at the end of this ishim, but he loves Hal for trying to boost his confidence. “Okay,” he says on another unsteady exhale.

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are.”

Linda breezes up to them, clipboard in hand, checking the watch on her wrist. “We’ve got ten minutes ‘til mic time. How’s he?” she asks Hal.

“Standing right in front of you,” Luke answers.

Linda makes an unimpressed face. “How likely are you to pass out?”

“No comment.”

“He’ll be fine,” Hal says. “He’s been practicing.”

“Tell her all my dirty secrets, how ‘bout it.”

Linda pats his arm. “You’ll be fine. Finish your drink.” And she whisks away, moving toward the crew fiddling with the mic.

Luke stares up at the makeshift stage a moment, stomach in his throat, Hal’s arm solid around his waist. Banners featuring the book cover and his headshot decorate the space. A stool sits behind the mic, atop it a copy of the book and a water bottle.

Some of his nerves settle when he realizes there’s something he needs to do before he takes the stage. He leans up to kiss Hal on the cheek. “I’ll be back.”

“You need me to come?”

“No, it’s fine.”

He finds Will standings beside a potted fern in a quiet corner. The old man stands with both hands on top of his cane, glaring at everyone who passes.

“Joyous as always,” Luke says as he sidles up to him. He feels a smile forming, possibly his first of the night. It’s hard to feel anxious about anything around Will.

“Hmph,” Will says. “I hate this kinda shit.” His gaze cuts over. “No offense.”

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