Donnelly suddenly pats his pockets. “You know what. I’m not that hungry. Later.” He pats Farrow’s back and my back, then shoulders his way out of the restaurant. It happens so quickly—I’m still trying to detach from Jack Highland’s mesmeric aura.
“What the hell was that?” Farrow asks me.
“He didn’t have money,” I realize. “Fuck.”
We all start heading backwards through the opened doors, and instinctively, I reach and clasp Jack’s hand. So he’ll follow.
We’re not a couple.
I drop it immediately.
He’s not even out.
Fuckfuckfuck.
Our eyes catch, and apologies ring in mine.
He mouths, it’s alright. And he pushes my back lightly, encouraging me to keep chasing after my friend.
Okay.
Okay.
Outside on the deck, I quickly see two exits: the stairs or the railing. The stairs are jam-packed, and so without stopping, I hurdle the railing and land softly on the sidewalk below.
Farrow has to take the stairs, strapped with a baby and on-duty.
I survey the congested street and squint in the setting sun. Rush-hour traffic, cars honk loudly, and there’s no fucking sign of Donnelly.
I even jog down the sidewalk and glance along the alleyways.
Pulse thrashed, I pull out my cell and speed-dial his number. Pressing it to my ear, I growl out, “Pick up, you motherfucker.”
Farrow, Maximoff, and Jack reach the curb where I’m walking and redialing my friend.
“No answer?” Farrow asks.
“He’s in trouble, bro.”
Farrow combs a hand through his bleach-white hair. “I don’t know how to fucking help if he keeps pushing us away.”
I don’t either.
It scares me.
Jack drops his longboard and kicks off next to me. “Could he have just forgotten his wallet?”
“He would’ve asked us to cover him,” I say as we reroute and walk back to Woody’s. “This has to be about what he did…” I trail off. Everyone’s eyes fall to Ripley against Farrow’s chest.
We lower our voices and stop on the curb as paparazzi sprint toward us.
“If he’s giving Scottie money in prison,” Maximoff says, “I can pay Donnelly back—”
“He won’t accept it, Hale. We’re all a bunch of prideful idiots.”
Farrow wipes a hand down the side of his face. “Shit.”
Yeah.
Shit.
We can’t do anything. Our friend is going to continue down whatever path he’s carved out for himself.
“Chances are he’s headed back to his apartment,” I tell them, shoving my phone in my pocket.
Farrow nods. “Let’s grab food, and I’ll bring him back a cheesesteak.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Paparazzi follow Maximoff and Farrow as they head towards the wooden stairs and crowds. Strung multi-colored bulbs suddenly switch-on along Woody’s deck, the sun nearly disappeared.
I can’t help but focus on how Maximoff wraps an arm around his husband’s shoulders. How they cave into one another and talk quietly.
A pang returns to my chest.
“You okay?” Jack rolls up beside me. Stepping off the longboard, he keeps a foot on the top so it won’t slide down the sidewalk.
I glance back one more time at my best friend. His husband. Baby. And puppy.
I shouldn’t feel alone with Jack standing right here. But air separates us. Distance. An unbearable ache that we’re both struggling to close.
As soon as I look back at Highland, I realize he’s not bright and sunny. He shifts, takes a sharp breath, a hand resting on his tensed neck.
“Are you?” I ask him.
He goes to speak but chokes on a word.
Be with me.
I shut my eyes tightly. He is with me, and I can’t pressure him for more. When I open my eyes, the torment in his gaze is exactly what I feel. We’re in the same ball-pit of anguish. Flailing around.
He inhales a big breath.
As he exhales, he asks, “Can you promise me something, Os?”
“Anything.”
“Anything?”
I nod, confident that I’d do just about anything in the world for Jack motherfucking Highland.
His soft laugh sounds breathless. “Okay, promise me that whatever happens next, you won’t shut the window on me. Promise that it’s wide open and I’m on the other side with you—that it’s you and me and anyone who tries to come in, you’ll help me keep out?”
Emotion pricks my eyes.
Strongly, undoubtedly, I tell him, “I promise. It’s Oscar and Jack take on Philly, New York, California, the world—you and me, Long Beach.” I point from my chest to his chest, tears threatening to well.
One already slides down his jaw.
He suddenly, mightily, resoundingly bridges the gap—and his lips are on mine. Time freezes. The world recedes, and we clasp each other’s face and kiss and kiss with soul-bearing passion. Hanging on. Like we’re spinning on an axis and headed for the