Page 122 of Still Bruised
Cary
I get it man. I’ll check in when I go up to bed
Foster
I’m driving back
Cary
Tonight? You good to drive?
Foster nodded. He’d only nursed a couple of drinks all night, fearful he’d get sloppy given his moodbeforehe’d seen Jude was there. If he stayed, there was an even better chance he was going to drink too much and do something stupid.
He slapped Cary’s hand and shook it before heading for the door. When he reached it, he turned and gazed across the club.
Jude stood watching him, wide-eyed.
Foster felt the electric pull they’d had from their very first encounter all those years ago. He didn’t want to walk away, but what other choice did he have?
After a quick nod and half-hearted wave, he silently said goodbye through the throng of people, smoke, and colored lights.
Jude opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but closed it a second later. He stared at Foster, disappointment filling his face.
It was almost enough to make Foster cross the dance floor and draw Jude into his arms. Where he belonged. Instead, he honored Jude’s request and walked out into the night. The salty ocean breeze washed over him as he strode across the street to the parking lot. Salt mixed well with the bitterness resting on his tongue.
Maybe I’ll see you later…
Foster feared it was their final goodbye—and he wasn’t sure he could survive that.
23
A couple of weeks later…
Acrisp November breeze washed over the court. Jude’s basketball echoed as it bounced against the pavement while he scanned for an opening. Another Sunday and they were once again outmatched. The trio he, Anton, and Roan were playing covered them with ease, making it near impossible to retain control of the ball. They were being trounced, and the game was only halfway finished.
No way were they winning this one, but he wasn’t in the mood to fail. Luckily Anton and Roan didn’t seem ready to be go down without a fight, either. Roan spun away from his guard, and Jude passed him the ball. He roared with delight when Roan made the lay-up.
After a round of high-fives with his teammates, they dug in to make another attempt. Sadly, that was the highlight of their game.
They ultimately lost 9-21.
The loss hit Jude harder than it should have. He hurled his ball against the chain-link fence enclosure and roared with anger. Jude bent over, gripping his knees as another chill breeze caused him to shiver.
“It’sokay, man,” Anton murmured before they turned to shake their competitors’ hands.
The other team eyed him warily and hedged away when he offered a palm and an acerbic “good game.”
He, Roan, and Anton walked to the side and packed up their belongings in the silence of their defeat. Jude felt Anton and Roan’s stares on him, but he ignored them.
“So when’s Mia finally popping that baby out?” Anton asked Roan, breaking the awkward silence.
“She’s losing it,” Roan said. “One minute she’s nesting, the next, she’s throwing me on the bed because her ob. told her sex can help cause labor.” He winced. “They say it won’t hurt the baby, but as far along as she is, it worries me.”
“I think you’re giving your Johnson a little too much credit,” Anton said, grinning.
“Fuck you,” Roan said, tossing his sweaty towel at Anton.
Anton ducked, and it sailed over his head and landed on a pile of orange and yellow leaves.
