Page 3 of Four Letter Feelings

“Nothin’.”

AJ held his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “Family trouble.” It was a statement rather than a question, but it still managed to ignite something within Jeremy.

“What?” Jeremy demanded again, feeling his anger bubbling not too far beneath the surface.

Jesus, Jer. Calm the fuck down, the guy’s just making polite conversation.

“Well,” AJ paused, flexing his jaw, clearly reconsidering his decision to bring up the conversation. “Things with my dad were getting tense up north. He was getting on my case about what I was going to do with my life and what he thought I should be doing with my life. I just couldn’t take the pressure anymore; I needed space.”

“So you said, ‘Fuck you, Dad. I’m moving to the heart of the south and as far away from you as I can get without buying a sombrero and learning another language.’ I getcha.” Jeremy nodded thoughtfully, recalling similar conversations with his own father.

“Pretty much,” AJ smirked. “He was big mad at first, especially when I told him I was going to do a sports management degree and play hockey. He came pretty close to cutting me off. Mom talked him down, though. In the end he kinda threw his hands up and said ‘learn your own damn mistakes’, which is pretty much all I wanted in the first place.”

“Except now you’re in Alabama.”

“Yeah, except that.”

Jeremy picked up his bottle and raised it. “To the heart of the south.” He grinned. “And epic fucking chicken wings.”

AJ clinked his bottle and glanced back to the TV, grimacing. “And to loving a team that’s never gonna win shit, but we love them anyway.”

“Woah, woah, woah, there. Dude.” Jeremy took a gulp of beer and put the bottle on the table with more force than he intended. “The season has barely started; you gotta have faith, playa!”

Jeremy winced as the Sabres scored their third goal of the game and AJ grinned. “Seems like what we ‘gotta have’, Jer, is a mother fuckin’ miracle.”

“Touché!”

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