Page 60 of Mile High Coach

The idea pisses me off. But I’m too exhausted to do anything about it.

Brad, somehow, continues on.

“If I’m being honest, I really thought you were going to hit me, man. I was kind of hoping for it, actually.”

Without thinking, or meaning to, I stretch out my hand and show him the bruise on my knuckles from when I hit Jared Davis. Turns out, his bones weren’t quite as bird-like as I thought, as the force of the hit fractured a tiny bone in my knuckle.

The docs told me it should heal on its own, but it looks like hell, still purple and blue over my hand. It’s enough of an explanation for why I might not want to drive the thing into his face, too.

“Shit, get in a fight with a brick wall?”

“Same IQ level,” I mutter, and when Brad laughs, I resent the way it makes me feel. I hate the way that somewhere, inside me, I long for old times with him.

He’s always been a talker, and I’ve always been quieter, which means going into groups with him was always easier. He’d handle the brunt of the conversation, and I could relax, laugh when he made a joke only he and I would really understand.

Sitting here, I have to admit to myself that it’s been lonely without him.

Or maybe it’s just been lonely because I was never brave enough to replace him, to let someone else in the way I did with him. To find a new best friend to take his place.

“So, I saw all that shit with you and that girl.”

“She’s a woman,” I grunt. “Full grown woman, dickhead.”

The laugh that barks out of him is real, “Okay—not how I meant it, but yeah, I heard, man. I was just gonna say…Eliza told me about it, a bit. And after I saw that stuff…I just really, really hoped that the two of you were going to pull through all this shit.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I mean, yeah,” he says, picking up his glass and staring into it for a second. “I know a thing or two about how everyone always has something to say about your relationships. Liza and I went through that for a while—and honestly, most of it was justified.”

When I glance over at him, I can see all the ways the years have changed him, deepening the lines on his face, putting moregray in his hair. Eventually, he might go completely salt-and-pepper, like me.

“You’ll forgive me if I’m lacking in empathy for you,” I mutter, taking another sip of my whiskey. It burns on the way down, and I catch Brad glancing at me, too, like he’s noticing all the same ways I’ve aged without him.

“Yeah,” he says, finally, clearing his throat. “I can only hope that one day, you’ll forgive me, too. And I hope you realize that it doesn’t matter what people say about you. It only matters how you feel, and what you want, especially if you know their claims hold no weight.”

“Did their claims hold no weight against you?” I counter, cutting my eyes to him.

He swallows, laughs a little, “I mean, sure, there was the stress of people reiterating what I’d done. It was true that I did shitty things. But the claims that didn’t hold true? That I was a shitty person. I just made a mistake. But it also led me to the brightest light of my life. It gave me a second chance after everything went up in flames for me professionally.”

“Well, I’m glad,” I mutter, and Brad looks at me.

“Are you, really? I mean, is there any part of you that feels happy for me? Or could ever forgive me?”

“We’re never going to be best friends again,” I say, matter-of-factly, and I realize I mean it. Maybe it’s okay for relationships to change fundamentally. Maybe I understand what happened, in a way, but I could never trust him again. I would never subject myself to that kind of worry over whether or not my best friend would actually have my back.

“That’s fair,” he says, though it’s obvious that’s not what he was hoping to hear. “Honestly, I’m kind of stoked right now that you’re even talking to me.”

“It’s the whiskey.”

“I thought the whiskey would just convince you to finally level me.”

“It’s not off the table.”

“Even with the fucked hand?”

“Even with the fucked hand.”

“I know it doesn’t mean much, man, but I’m sorry for the ways I hurt you. I’d never undo it—especially not now that we have Rachel—but I am sorry. It was a shitty thing to do, and I was a shitty friend to you for it.”

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