Or significantly more effort in a dozen other directions, shared custody of a teenager among them.
I consider walking down to the beach. A lonely ex-superstar dragging his feet in the sand would be a more poetic spin on the drama most gossip sites preferred to sell with a tawdry pun. Then I realizeI’m not writing poetry anywhere, and my own backyard has been kinder to me than I deserve. Maybe healthy choices will make me the person Mateo deserves. Changing and grabbing a towel doesn’t take more than a minute, though it’s easy to imagine the crack of bone when I jog back downstairs. It’s a reminder to slow down, and I hate it.
There’s very little splash when I dive into the pool, an incredibly ironic observation given how often I’ve made my presence known. Because it became a habit, or because I need an easy win, I start with some basics from a rehab routine I haven’t been assigned for a while. From there I ease into laps that clear my mind better than anything but alcohol and sex. I exhaust myself, but balancing my mental and physical health has never been my thing.
It's sheer luck that my head’s above water when my phone vibrates against the ground. I lift myself from the pool and sit with some of my scar still submerged when I read the message.
Were the tacos and sunrises and kisses not good enough to think about?
I’ve thought about them plenty. Just wasn’t gonna bother you with any of it today
What changed your mind?
I can’t blow up Mateo’s phone with a story about Harper and a gay teacher and being reminded of my age and teammates she’ll tease me about even though they’re not actually my teammates anymore. He only knows me as the pretty, arrogant stranger who made him spend the night on a bench. That can’t change with a couple of texts.
I missed you
Another minute passes, and I almost take it back. I don’t know whether you can miss someone you’ve been without for all but a single night, but Mateo must think so.
I’ve missed you too. Every day. And I wish I could see youthis weekend.
But you’re busy this time of year
I’m going out with coworkers and then I have brunch with my best friend. Both are traditions.
Brunch should be everyone’s tradition
Absolutely. But is it terrible that I keep daydreaming about brunch with you instead?
I pause before responding. Of course it’s not terrible, but omelets aren’t bar food and mimosas aren’t on tap. For the first time in a while, I imagine the flash of cameras exposing me. Then I stare at Mateo’s name until I remember what it was like to be held by him, and how much I want him to hold me again.
I love that you daydream about me.I pause again, but don’t let it linger.I guess weeknights aren’t great for you?
I go to bed embarrassingly early on weeknights. You’d laugh at me.
I would never. Well. Maybe I would. A little
I’m smiling now. I hope Mateo is, too.
I’m sure we can find plenty of other reasons to laugh. Maybe next Saturday night at Kai’s?
For a moment, I consider pointing out that the bar will be at least as crowded as it was the last time he pressed himself close to me. I stop when I decide there’s a better way to handle it—something I wouldn’t be able to avoid even if I wanted to. And after all these years, I really don’t think I want to.
Definitely. Just let me know what time works for you
I haven’t asked about your schedule. I guess it’s open?
Harper has a back-to-school night thing coming up, but that’ll be on a weeknight. Haunting the rink will be a daytime activity, if it becomes an activity at all. Guest commentator gigs won't start for at least another month. Same with appearances at fan events. Andbinge-watching tv from my couch remains blessedly flexible.
My wild weekends are a thing of the past
Then I guess I’m lucky I got treated to beach night.
I think I’m lucky you said yes
Jamie?
Yeah?