“Fucking unlikely—it’s Dad we’re talking about,” Joey said, shaking his head. “He’s stubborn and strong as shit. Him saying ‘Let’s see how it goes’ just means he’s accepting his issues and rolling with the punches, Duff, come on.”
I nodded, slightly reassured, but fixed my gaze at my lap, where my hands were clasped in worry. When I looked back up,my heart jumped at the sight. Connor was walking into the PNA, looking like the most beautiful giant I’d ever seen.
“What’re you drinking, Cunningham?” Ty asked when Connor approached us.
“Heineken,” he said, grabbing the empty stool beside Matty. “Thanks, man.”
“You just missed the depressing part of the conversation,” Joey said, grabbing his Manhattan.
“Did you talk to the doctor?” Connor asked. His eyes were still on Joey, so I was surprised when he gently coaxed my hands out of their death grip of anxiety and nestled my left hand in his.
Joey’s eyes narrowed, like he was surprised I’d told Connor. “I did, and we’ve got a guesstimate of five years before he needs new lungs.”
“Oh shit,” Connor said, looking as stunned as I felt.
“Oh shit, indeed,” Joey said. “But the consensus is that medication could keep him kind of where he’s at for longer than five years, so I think we’ve collectively decided to play it by ear and not make ourselves crazy.”
“That sounds wise,” Connor said, nodding. He leaned closer to me and asked, “You okay?”
I nodded, swallowing hard because his concern made me feel a tightness in my chest. “I am. Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” he said, and as I looked into his worried gaze—worried aboutme—the moment felt slightly overwhelming. It was foreign, this feeling of leaning on someone, and it kind of felt like something monumental was happening between us, the way he was included in this pivotal moment for my family.
The tightness in my chest blossomed into a comforting warmth as he slid his fingers into mine and squeezed my hand, and in that wordless gesture, I understood what he was saying:I’m here for you.
—
I knew I was in deep already, but then I questioned if I’d ever get out at all after he sent the text.
THE text.
Connor:I’d like to take you out on an official date next weekend.
I replied:I’m listening…
Connor:You up for some zombie hunting…with paintball guns?
My boyfriend—my amazing fucking boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen—found a pumpkin patch that had an “extreme zombie experience” add-on. We were going to be dropped off in the woods with only our backpacks and paintball guns, wherein we would hunt, and be hunted by, a team of rabid zombies.
I wasn’t sure if a more perfect date had ever been suggested, and if the excursion turned out to be even a fraction of the fun I was imagining, I would surely never be able to look at another man again for the rest of my life.
27
Connor
“Okay, so we’re dropping you off at the shed, which is your starting point,” said the guy in the Peterman’s Pumpkin Patch trucker’s cap. “Go inside, get ready, and whenever you feel good to go, venture out and start hunting zombies…before they start hunting you.”
I glanced over at Duffy and she widened her eyes, giving me a look that said,It’s go time. She hopped off the flatbed truck without waiting for help and I followed, charmed as shit by her buy-in. She’d exited the house in full hunting camo when I arrived, like she was ready to take this shit seriously.
She’d actually eyeballed my clothes when she got in the car likeIwas the one in the wrong.
“You’re wearing a tan jacket and jeans,” she said, her eyebrows all scrunched together.
“Yeah…? So?”
She scowled as her eyes dipped down to my shirt. “So you’re not going to blend very well in the woods, especially when it’s getting dark.”
“You know we’re not going to be running fromactualzombies, right?”