Page 103 of Everything's Better With You
Randy pulled his cell phone out, held it up, made a goofy face into it, and pressed the Facetime button. “He’sunder Ginormous Giraffe Turd.”
“I’m not even going to ask.” Joe took the phone and was about to hit the call button when he realized he should—
He turned and Marti was standing there with her beer. “Give me a kiss. I’ll see you next year.”
Joe kissed her and took Randy’s phone outside where he might actually be able to hear.
Then remembered it was fucking December in Iowa and he’d left his coat inside.
He hit the call button and waited.
“I’m busy dipshit—Oh…Joe.”
Twenty-Eight
Leslie
“Hi.”
God he’d missed that face, that voice. His eyes burned so bad he pinched the bridge of his nose for a minute to make it stop. He was done with crying for-freaking-ever.
“Oh God, a migraine? Are you okay? Where are you?”
Leslie laughed and it came out a sob. “No, I’m fine. I’m okay. How are you?”
Joe’s face was lit up on one side, but the phone was shaking so Leslie couldn’t get a bead on the background.
“I’m cold. Where are you, Leslie? What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean, what’s wrong? I’m fine.”
“They said you left,” Joe stammered out. His teeth were chattering. “Why?”
“I’m out of town, yes,” Leslie said, confused. “Why?”
“Oh. But you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” Leslie said. “I’m fine. I’m working on something, that’s all.”
Working on the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.
After everything blew up with Joe, Leslie had his last scheduled interview with Malcolm Darling and Malcolm had brought up the biography again.
“We can do it a number of ways. Either you can write down what you think is important, I can research on my own and you can fill in the details, or we can have a series of conversations…whatever you are comfortable with. Most people find the process a bit cathartic.”
And boy, had Leslie needed some catharsis. He’d been shattered by his breakup with Joe. Destroyed, and it had been his own damned fault. He’d held onto this lofty ideal of what their relationship would be, ignoring the possibility of a grim future, and he’d held on so tight he’d let his fear choke the life out of what was the most important relationship in his life outside his family. Many times he’d found himself walking toward Higdon to find Joe and talk it out, but he realized he had a lot of work to do on himself. He couldn’t just pretend like he didn’t have cause for concern for his future, but he also couldn’t hide from the real possibility of living with the effects of CTE. He’d let fear drive him so hard, drive him so far, he’d left Joe on the side of the road wondering what the hell had happened.
It wasn’t fair, but Leslie knew he needed to take a time-out and regroup. If that meant Joe moved on, he’d have to deal with that.
He’d had a glimmer of hope, but that was it. He couldn’t hope for a life with Joe. He needed to plan for a future that involved working on himself and taking care of his family.
He and Malcolm had been holed up at the Hawaii compound for the past two weeks talking for hours every day. Leslie had also found a fancy-pants cognitive behavioral therapist who was willing to do some intensive work with him, which had brought up a ton of stuff from his past that he’d shoved so far down into his mental locker he’d been shocked when it resurfaced. To round out his new dream team, he was doing a series of televisits with a migraine specialist in Seattle who had recommended a local nutritionist in Maui who was teaching him how to eat in a way that might minimize his headaches.
His previous dream team, his family, were told to stay away andleave him be. He depended too much on them and he needed to do this alone. He’d agreed they could come for Christmas, but that was it. He needed…time. Time to figure his shit out, time to learn how to be better, time to tell his story.
He had no idea where Joe fit in all that, whether he fit at all. Whether hewantedto fit.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” Leslie said, his stupid, hopeful heart warming at the thought Joe was worried about him.
