Page 6 of As the Years Pass
I’m seeing double from staring at the screen for so long, so I snap my laptop shut, lean back in my chair to crack my back and then get to my feet.
I could use a drink.
I don’t drink while I’m here. It’s unprofessional. But it’s late, and only a few of the guys are left from what I can hear. Maybe chilling out and having a drink with them will be my second foot in the door. So, I head through the kitchen and out behind the bar.
“Hey, heading home already?” Pete asks as he slides one of the guys their drink. I think his name is Luca. He has long, straight, light brown hair and big brown eyes. Very pretty, almost feminine.
“Actually, I was going to have a drink.”
“No shit,” Pete says with a chuckle. “What can I get you?”
I browse the bottles lining the wall, though I know what’s here since I ordered it all. I’m not sure what I’m in the mood for. Typically, I’m a beer drinker, but I’d like something stronger tonight. Something that’ll take the edge off and allow me to go home and pass out. Too many nights I’ve laid awake in my bed, staring at the ceiling and wishing for sleep to come. The sun always comes first.
“Hey, man, you okay?” I hear the concern in Pete’s voice, and that’s what has me turning around. Did someone get sick?
Not in a million years did I expect to come face-to-face with the man I came here for in the first place. A ghost from my past. A man I was nowhere near prepared to see.
“Adam?” I say, his name falling from my lips easily. I can’t remember the last time I spoke it out loud, yet it feels familiar on my tongue. So many nights I spent moaning that name, begging and pleading.
He stares at me, wide-eyed, his hand wrapped tightly around a glass of amber liquid. He looks so much the same, just a little older and a little skinnier, like maybe he hasn’t been eating properly. He was never a big guy, I’ve always been the big one, but he was fit and healthy. A runner’s body, or maybea swimmer’s. He did neither, but always looked so good, and nothing has changed. He’s as handsome as ever.
I feel Pete’s eyes on me, but I can’t find words to tell him that everything is okay.
Honestly, though, I’m not sure it is.
I came here for Adam. For other reasons too, but mostly for him. I could have gone anywhere, but this is the place I chose because he was here. Maybe I should have gone across the country and settled in New York. Maybe I would have been better off forgetting about him entirely.
But you never forget your first love. Especially when that first love is the only one you’ve ever had.
“Emmet—“ he finally says, blinking a few times and taking a breath. Pete takes the cue to leave us alone, though he looks confused. “What are you doing here?” Adam asks, his hand loosening on his glass.
I clear my throat, shoving my hands into my pockets and trying to remain casual and calm. One of the guys, I can’t remember his name, does not seem ashamed to still be staring. He’s watching us like this is his favorite soap opera.
“I bought this place,” I manage to say.
“You bought… this place?” he asks, eyes widening as his forefinger taps the counter in front of him.
I nod. “Yeah, about a month ago. I’ve been in and out trying to fix it up.”
“You own this place?” he repeats.
I regard him carefully. “Yes. I own this place.”
“Here in Seattle?”
I narrow my eyes, unsure if he’s drunk or just shocked. I guess it doesn’t really matter.
“Yes, here in Seattle.”
“You live here now?”
“Ranier Valley,” I say firmly, hoping none of the nerves I am feeling are showing. This shouldn’t be awkward. We used to be friends—best friends before anything else happened between us. But this is easily one of the most awkward encounters I’ve ever had—and I hate it. Things with me and Adam were always easy, simple. What if we never get that back? It’s what I put so much stock into, what I’ve thought about every time I thought about him.
“I can’t believe this,” he says.
I’m not sure if he’s going to smile or throw his drink at me. It could go either way with him. Adam doesn’t really have a temper, but he’s passionate about certain things and can be impulsive. If he threw his drink at me, it wouldn’t be out of anger. It would just be a reaction, and I wouldn’t be surprised.
But someone must be watching out for me, because he does not throw his drink at me. He smiles, wide and bright, and I fucking melt.
