Page 141 of I'm Your Guy
“But…” This conversation has taken an unexpected turn. “I couldn’t even admit the truth when you asked me point blank. I lied. Hell—I’ve never spoken the truth out loud. And that’s not what a real man does.”
She startles me with an eye roll. “Not what a real man does,” she repeats with a snort. “Can we just cut out this ‘real man’ bullshit and be honest for a moment?”
“Um…”
“I miss you, Tom. I fucked up our friendship by always pushing it to be more than it was.”
A slightly hysterical laugh erupts from my chest. “I’m sorry, too, okay? You want honesty? Here’s some—I have a boyfriend.”
Her eyes widen, and she actually laughs. “You do? Omigod, that’s great. I have one too, by the way.”
I relax for the first time since I opened the door. “Really? That makes me happy. I hate to think about how I derailed your life just to lie to myself.”
“Really?” she mimics me again. “Don’t sound so shocked.” Her smile grows wider. “Where’d you meet your guy? Can I see a pic?”
“Uh, sure…” I pick up my phone. “The only photos I have of him are with furniture he was showing me. We met when I hired him to furnish my new house.”
“Oh!” She covers her mouth with delight. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. Come on. Show me.”
I hand her the phone. It’s a photo of Carter sitting on the edge of a bed at Bob’s Denver Bedrooms. He’s holding out his hand like a game show host and smiling.
“What a cutie.” She grins. “Here’s mine.”
She hands me her phone, and I see a selfie of Jessie under the arm of a blondish man with a wide smile. “You look really happy in this,” I say, and the pain comes back to my chest.
Except this time the pain feels necessary—like a bruise after a game I’ve won. It feels like the spoils of war.
“I am happy,” she says softly. “And I hope you are, too.”
We glance up at each other at the same time. Our gazes lock and get stuck for a second, until Jessie smiles. “Are you going to eat that sandwich?”
“Want half?” I say immediately.
She pats the purse on her lap. “I have my own. I wasn’t going to swing by Sal’s without getting something for myself.”
“Well, whip it out, then.” I get up and grab the bag she left for me by the TV. “Let me pour us some water and find some napkins. Disco fries are messy.”
“Will you share those fries?” she asks.
“You know I will.”
Then I sit down for lunch with my ex-wife. And it’s a strangely good time.
FIFTY-ONE
Tommaso
It’s weird warming up on this familiar ice while wearing a different jersey.
A good kind of weird.
“Head in the game,” Kapski says as we circle the ice together. “These punks don’t fucking matter.”
“I know,” I agree. “I’m solid.”
It’s true, too. I’ve blocked Marco’s and Vin’s numbers, so I have no idea whether either of them tried to harass me about the photo shoot. They don’t matter. All I have to do is play a hockey game and go home tomorrow.
I got this.
