21. Harrison

I walk from the bathroom to the kitchen in my apartment letting the cool air dry off the beads of water on my skin. Every muscle aches from the last few days of training, more than normal since dodging Gordon’s high balls has become a regular occurrence. This is so messed up. It never should have gone this way, but I’m starting to think it never could have gone any other way because, to him, I’ll never be good enough for his brother. Maybe he’s right. But Arlo doesn’t think so and that’s what matters to me most.

“Seriously, we talked about this,” Duckie says, walking through the front door. “Please tell me your ass hasn’t touched the couch.”

“You were out, I thought I had time. Don’t worry I’m just grabbing a drink, then I’ll go back to my room.” I sigh, and he frowns.

“Everything alright?”

“Except for my best friend hating me, I’m just peachy.”

“Peachy? Okay, so it’s worse than I thought.”

“I just don’t get why he can’t see how this is different.”

“Gordon will come around. He just needs time.”

“Maybe.”

“He only threw, what? Three balls at your face today?”

“Four,” I reply, moving the rubber duckie army guarding the soda bottles in the back.

“So that”s better than the seven yesterday, right?”

“I guess.”

“See, progress. Now can you please go to your room or at least put a towel on before Ian gets home? I might be used to seeing your ass every day but he has limits.”

I toss one of his ducks at him and grab a bottle of soda. “You worried he’ll see how much better it is than yours?”

“Please, my ass is so much better than yours.”

I laugh. It might be the first time I”ve laughed in days, and it feels weird, empty almost, but I shove the feeling aside and head for my room.

“We’re ordering pizza if you want to join, fully clothed, that is?” Duckie asks, just as I reach my bedroom door.

We haven’t hung out in ages, not really. Most of my afternoons have been spent with Arlo, and Duckie and Ian don’t exactly spend a lot of time out of their room either.

“Sure, that would be good.”

“No anchovies, extra mushrooms, right?”

“Perfect.”

***

“Gross, what is this?” Ian asks, flipping the lid on the pizza box.

“Those would be mushrooms, the best pizza topping in the world,” I reply, grabbing it from his hands.

“Disgusting.”

“You’re one to talk, you put pineapple on yours.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Pineapple is a fruit. You put fungus on yours.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” I laugh, holding up a piece for him. He frowns but takes it and then hands me a piece of his. I can smell the sweetness of the pineapple before it even reaches my lips.

“On three,” Duckie says, like he’s calling a match of some game. “The first one to spit it out or throw up loses.”

“I thought you were inviting me for a relaxing pizza night, not a disgusting food showdown,” I laugh, and he shrugs.

“You two started this, I’m just ending it. Besides, I deserve to have fun, too.”

“Just call it,” I say, and lock eyes with Ian. He’s nowhere near as reserved as he was the first time we met. He throws me a cheeky grin as Duckie counts down then on one, we both bite down. The pineapple hits the roof of my mouth, and when I chew it bursts with sweet juice over my tongue, making me gag.

“Ohhhh,” Duckie teases, leaning in close. Ian’s nose is scrunched up, and his mouth looks like it’s fighting him just as much on each chew of my pizza. Neither one of us will quit though. When he swallows, I force myself to do the same, and I think we’ll be good to call it a draw, but then that fucker goes in for a second bite.

“Nope, I’m out, you win,” I say, tossing the rest of the pineapple piece at him. It lands in his lap covering his crotch with toppings and sauce.

His eyes go wide, and he spits out what’s left in his mouth, then throws the piece at me hitting me in the chest.

“Winner!” Duckie cheers, grabbing his hand and holding it up in the air, and I laugh, and it’s real, whole, and amazing. I want so badly to be able to do this sort of thing with Arlo. To hang out with friends, not eat pineapple on pizza, ’cause no way is that going into my mouth again, but this part. Laughing and relaxing and just being us, being open in our relationship with our friends. I want that so bad.

***

The second I walk into the locker room the next morning, Gordon glares in my direction, and as much as I should be waiting until tonight, the dinner where Arlo plans to have it out with him, my stomach is churning like a raging fire pit, and it’s like all these years of friendship mean nothing to him. Like I mean nothing to him.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m done with your bullshit,” I say, storming over. “You have a problem with me dating your brother, fine. That’s your problem, not mine.” He folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the locker. “You think I’m not good enough, and you’re probably right, but for some miracle in the universe, he wants to be with me, and I’ve never loved anyone the way I love Arlo, so if that costs me what I thought was the greatest friendship anyone could have ever had, then I guess that is the choice you are making.”

My pulse is thumping in my ears. My whole body is hot, like I’ve run a marathon, a lump rises to my throat and my eyes sting with the onset of what I’m sure are tears, but I fight them back as I turn to walk away.

“You’re unbelievable,” he starts but I don’t turn around. I raise my right hand to flip him off and head straight out onto the field.

“Hey, Alan, everything okay? Why aren’t you out there already?” I ask when I see him on the side of the field.

“I’m good. I was just…watching.”

I scan the field, only a few of the guys are already out there from our team, but the Funky Monkeys are in full swing already.

“Who are you watching?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.

“No one in particular,” he says, a rosy blush rising to his cheeks that says otherwise.

“Sure,” I agree, moving to hold on to the fence beside him while I stretch my legs.

“And does this no one in particular know you’re watching them?”

“I’m not watching anyone in particular, I’m…looking for weaknesses we can use in our next game.”

We’re playing an OG team next game. He’s totally full of shit.

Ryan jogs over, a wide smile on his lips like I’m his favorite person in the world. He said he understands how I feel about dating another player. He even agreed. Plus, he knows I’m seeing someone. But the way he’s smiling makes me think he might still be a little interested. Who can blame him, I am pretty awesome.

“Hey, Harry, Alan, ummm, I was thinking it might be cool to team up on a few promos. You know, us against the OGs,” he says, his gaze moving to Alan, and in that moment, I realize his wide smile isn’t for me.

“I’d be up for that! We could go over some ideas after training if you want?” Alan replies, and I just stand there like the third wheel I so obviously am.

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

Coach blows the whistle, calling us all into the middle of the field.

“I’ll catch up with you later then,” Ryan says, jogging away.

“Oh, so that’s the little nip then?” I laugh, and Alan turns my way.

“Huh?”

“The nip, N-I-P, the No-one in particular you were watching.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” I say, heading for the field. “Whatever you say. Just remember, when you’re on this field, Tanner’s the enemy.”

“Noted.”

Gordon doesn’t throw any high ones today, so he’s either coming around after my go at him or the coaches warned him to give it a rest. It’s probably that one. I’ve known Gordon to hold a grudge for years. Usually, the grudge is warranted, like when Watson Porter spread rumors about him hooking up with a teacher in college that made his girlfriend break up with him. Gordon held that grudge well out of school. Watson ended up becoming some big-name talent agent or something and contacted Gordon to organize one of his parties, and he turned him down. Told him to go fuck himself, I think was the actual reply. And that was years later, and Gordon didn’t even really like that chick, he’d almost broken it off with her three times in like three months.

I drive right to Arlo’s place after training, and park a few streets over, just in case when Gordon gets here, he spots my truck and picks up on the ruse. I don’t think he will though.

‘I’m nervous,” Arlo says, the moment he opens the door. “What if he just storms out as soon as he sees I’m okay?”

I wrap my arms around him.

Noah comes up behind me.

“Awww, I want a hug,” he says and tries to reach his arms around us both. “Isn’t this nice?”

“Awesome,” I reply, and Arlo laughs. “Okay, can you let my boyfriend go now?”

“Sure, but why are we hugging in the doorway anyway?”

“Arlo’s nervous about tonight because he thinks Gordon will do a runner when he sees he’s fine.”

“That’s why I’m here. Don’t worry, bro. He’ll stay. We’ll make him.”

“Thanks,” Arlo says, leading the way inside.

“Oh, your cast, your wrist, how does it feel?” I ask, and he holds up both hands, turning his wrists right and left. Arlo’s skin is normally pale, and he has loads of tiny freckles scattering his body, but the wrist where the cast was removed is extra light and looks thinner, too.

“It’s weird. I had a shower before and washed my hair with both hands. Haven’t done that in what feels like forever.”

“Dinner smells great,” Noah says, lifting the lid from the pot on the stove. “Is that Dad’s casserole?”

“Yep.”

“I haven’t had this since…”

“Yeah, me, too. Dad taught me before he went into the hospital. It was Mom’s recipe, and he wanted to be sure it wasn’t lost when he…”

Noah wipes away the tear that slips from his eye and puts the lid back on.

“Coming at him from all angles, love it.”

“Well, we should send the message, right? He’ll be on his way home if he’s not there already.”

“I’m ready if you are?” I say, and Noah claps his hands in front of him.

“Let’s do this. Operation Gordie gets a wake-up is a go.”

Arlo shakes his head. “How long have you been working on that one?”

“A while, was it bad? I also thought maybe Waking up Gordie, but it sounded too much like a children’s song.”

“Just send the text,” Arlo says, turning the burner down on the stove and then joining me on the couch.

“You ready?” he asks me, lacing his fingers with mine on my knee. The nervous swirl of my gut settles just a little, and I smile down at him.

“For you, always.”