Page 139 of Hawaii Can Suck It

But there’s nothing. I’m coming up empty.

Gordon catches his reflection in the glass wall, zeroes in on a poppy seed stuck in his veneers. “Reece, you good? I’m gonna get camera-ready. Back in five.” He disappears into the adjoining bathroom, shouting, “No comment means no fucking comment, dipshit. Now put your boss on the phone before I take the next flight out and become your personal nightmare.”

I can feel the stress ulcer building in my stomach again, a slow-growing, fury-fueled tumor. I try to remind myself of my survival mantra—the one that’s kept me from losing my shit all these years:

Keep smiling. Stay relevant. Don’t let them see you crack.

It’s not working.

The meeting room door swings open, and Blaze shuffles in—less a human tornado, more a slow, dejected trudge. His bleach blonde hair is flat on one side like he slept on it wet, and his signature tank top has been replaced with a wrinkled Hawaiian shirt missing two buttons. Even his go-to grin is MIA.

Blaze flops into the chair next to mine, “Hey, bro,” he sighs.

Oh shit. This is serious.

“Hey,” I sigh back. Then my grief-clouded mind splits wide open. “Wait—what the hell are you doing here?”

“G-Thorne told me all hands. It’s DareDuo 2.0.” He attempts a fist pump that gives up halfway, his arm dropping limply back to the armrest.

“Of course he did.”

That’s how Gordon operates—telling literally everyone except me what’s happening in my own fucking life. Want to know the plan for your career? Sorry, that’s need-to-know, and the actual human whose face is on the merch doesn’t need to know.

I’m so fucking sick of it.

“Uh… Reece. I’m really sorry, man.”

“Did you accidentally torch something valuable again?”

He exhales hard. “Astrid and I filmed our breakup video last night. She said our relationship had run its ‘promotional course.’

Classic Astrid—chew ’em up, spit ’em out, then monetize the tooth marks.

“I had to cry on command while she announced her new lip plumper line.”

He attempts to demonstrate his cry face, scrunching up his features and resembling a constipated bulldog.

“She kept saying ‘More tears, Blazey! My followers need authenticity!’ And after we filmed it, I felt weird. So I was wandering around the resort, and my insides felt shitty—ya know, like someone had stolen my favorite surfboard. And I was thinking, um, maybe she just needed space? Maybe we could still work things out?”

Oh no. I am familiar with that particular tone. It’s Blaze’sI-have-a-brilliant-idea-that’s-actually-a-terrible-ideavoice—the same one that preceded the Great Wasabi Challenge of 2019, which ended with a trip to the ER, a very angry Japanese chef, and a lifetime ban from Benihana.

“I figured I could surprise her, right? Go all out! I got Kai to hook me up with the full romance package—flowers, penis-shaped candles, anal beads—”

“Please skip to the end.”

“Right. So I’m filming the whole thing. Recording my heartfelt speech about how we’re meant to be together and how her lip plumper makes me want to kiss her, even though it tastes like gasoline.”

He’s sitting up straighter now, his hands animating the story with characteristic windmill-like gestures.

“I decided to parkour up to our balcony to be romantic and shit. But there she was—getting smashed like a piñata by another dude. And that’s when it hit me. What I did to you was fucked up.”

Dude! That’s when it hit you?I keep silent.

Blaze holds my gaze, genuine regret in his eyes. “I should’ve asked if you were cool with Astrid and me goin’ to pound town. I totally thought it was all, like, staged for views or whatever. But watching her move on from me that fast—literally hours after our ‘emotional’ breakup video—I finally get it. I messed up. Big-time. Like, I dropped-my-phone-in-the-toilet kind of messed up. I’m really fucking sorry, man.”

The apology catches me off guard, hitting me like an unexpected left hook.

In our decades-long friendship, Blaze has broken my possessions, several of my bones, and once, my grandma’s antique vase that apparently contained her ashes. But this is the first time he’s come close to breaking our friendship—and the only time I’ve seen him genuinely remorseful.

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