Page 1 of Just Forever

LAKE

Nobodyin their right mind would ever mistake me for an optimist. Call it the result of life lessons, common sense, cynicism—take your pick. It’s always simply made sense to me to be prepared for the worst.

Put it this way—if you live in Tornado Alley and invest in a concrete shelter, people will nod with approval and call it a smart decision. In a way, my admittedly pessimistic outlook on life is a concrete shelter for my mind.

And I have been reinforcing it for a long-ass time. The walls are thick, comprised of solid concrete, skepticism, and animosity. There are no windows. The door has been bolted shut and secured with a heavyweight padlock. No one comes in without my express permission, which effectively limits visitors to the few close friends I have.

Three. That’s the perfect number of friends, and I will stand my ground on that.

This is how I like it.

It makes sense.

Really, it’s the reasonable way of doing things.

I look around the bar at the sheer number of people milling around. A hint; it’s more than three. By a lot.

Yeah.

I’m not sure why I’m here.

There are people everywhere, standing around, drinks in hands, bowls of potato chips being passed around, and boxes of pizza on every available surface. Somebody’s turned up the music and people are in that in-between state of swaying to it but not quite dancing.

I have this weird urge to start narrating my life like I’m starring in a movie.

‘Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here.’

That type of thing.

Let’s face it, if this was a movie, I wouldn’t know where to even start explaining things. Plus, it sounds ridiculous enough that I figure whoever would come to see that movie would walk out halfway through while muttering, “These people are insane. This would never happen in real life.”

My eyes find Ryker all the way across the room from me. He’s got a beer bottle in hand, and he’s deep in conversation with Hayes and a couple of his other teammates. Or ex-teammates by now. It’s been a year since he graduated and became a part of the Brooklyn Blades. Officially and on paper. There was still the broken femur to deal with, and I know just how apprehensive Ryker was about his chances of actually making it to the NHL. How, even with all that optimism he portrayed to the world, on the inside, he was all caution. Optimistically cautious, because this is still Ryker we’re talking about, but cautious nonetheless.

But now here he is. Four months of rigorous physical therapy and recovery later. Most of his first season spent in Hartford, skating in the AHL, being his impressive self. So then when the Blades’ center was injured, Ryker was called up. The rest is history because ever since he got his shot, he’s been playing like his life depends on every single game. But now we’re finally bothin New York. In a few weeks, I’m starting med school, and Ryker has training camp starting in the middle of September.

It’s a lot of change. Change, which just so happens to be a concept I’m not generally great with.

Yeah, fine. Not great is an understatement.

I’m terrible at change.

But…

My gaze lands on Ryker again, and I catch myself smiling. Involuntarily! It’s horrible. No, I’m just saying that. I actually love smiling because of Ryker.

Fuck me, I’m just ruined.

“Christ, that whole moony-eyed happiness is just nauseating.” Kelly’s exasperated voice is filled with eye rolls, but there’s a teasing light in his eyes when he throws a glance at me over the rim of his glass.

“This is a good way to not get invited next time.”

Kelly snorts into his cup. “It’s Ryker’s birthday party. The dude likes me. Trust me, I’ll be invited.”

I look around the bar. It’s so full of people that I wouldn’t be surprised if it was some kind of fire safety violation. “I don’t think half the people in here were invited, to be honest.”

Kelly shrugs, unconcerned. “Word got out. You’re the one who’s shacking up with the popular boy. What else did you expect?”

Yeah.

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