Chapter 31

MATT

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"You look like shit." Julian slips onto the bar stool beside me and waves to the bartender, pointing to my beer.

"Good to see you too," I mumble.

"You know, they should rename this bar the Corazon Roto." I don't know what he's spouting off, but I figured someone would track me down eventually.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"The broken heart? Yeah, it seems every time I'm in this bar, I'm with some poor, broken-hearted bastard."

"I'm not brokenhearted. It's called self-preservation." I had to get out of there. I couldn't be anywhere that reminded me of her. My house, my parent's house, the entire city. She consumed those spaces. Memories of her were everywhere I looked. Leaving the country might've been a little extreme, but as the bruises fade from my face, I'm not sure I went far enough.

"OK, slugger. If that's what lets you sleep at night." I wince at his nickname. The bartender places two beers in front of us. Julian takes a long pull from his bottle. "But it looks like you aren't sleeping either. You really look like shit, Hartman."

"You already said that. I thought we paid agents to give pep talks and blow sunshine up our ass? Because if that's the case, you suck."

Julian laughs at me. "No, the terrible agents do that. The great ones like me? We tell you straight, so remember that. I'm in your corner. But I'm not here as your agent. I'm here as your friend. It seems like you might need one right about now."

The concept of friendship seems foreign and bitter on my tongue. I've given up on friendships. I had one that was the foundation for all friendships, and I fucked it up. It blew up like one of those implosions you watch on TV. The detonator goes off, and in less than a minute, the entire thing is nothing but rubble. It's all my fault too. I set the charges one by one and lit the fuse. I knew what would happen. It crumbled, obliterated into dust. Then I left because there weren't enough pieces to put it back together.

"Yeah, I'm not a very good friend, so don't waste your time."

"It's my time, so let me decide how to spend it. Besides, I love this place. I spend more time here than Tripp these days."

When I ran out of Chance's party, Tripp was outside, alone, scrolling through some girl's socials, looking all moony-eyed. He took me home, I packed a bag, headed to the airport, and we flew to Mexico. He didn't ask many questions, just said something about how we both needed to get away, and he knew just the place. After a few days, Tripp made sure I wouldn't do anything stupid, and left. He told me to stay as long as I wanted, but he had to get back to his cat.

I didn't have a better plan, so here I am.

The house is on the beach, which should soothe my soul. But it doesn't. I've tried to surf, but I'm just going through the motions. I've worked out more than I should, but only when I push myself well past the point of exhaustion, sleep finally sets in for a few hours.

I'm spending too much time in my head, and it's not a pleasant place. Maybe having Julian as a distraction isn't such a bad idea.

"This place is pretty nice. How long are you staying?" I ask.

"The better question is, how long are you staying, Hartman?"

"I've got nothing to go back to except baseball. Figured I'd stay here until spring training."

"Nothing, huh? Want to fill me in on what nothing entails, exactly? I mean, Ash gave me a brief rundown, but if we're going to be roomies and all, I figure I might as well know all the deets. Do I need to be hiding the weapons and locking my door at night or buying a lot more booze?"

"You buying the booze?" I turn to him with a smirk. He gives a shrug that I take as a yes. "Hey, amigo," I call to the bartender. "Bring us your best bottle of tequila."

Julian claps his hand on my shoulder. "I gotcha, roomie."

We clink our glasses together and take a shot. No chaser. No salt. No lime. This isn't the kind of story that gets garnishes.

"It all started when I was eight, I met a smart-ass kid named Cole, and I didn't wait for three Mississippis."