Page 19 of All This Time
Instead, I slip into the bathroom to get ready for bed. When I return, Fletcher is still fast asleep in the same spot I left him.
After I pull back the covers that he’s not on top of, I slip underneath and stare up at the ceiling, basking in how close I am to my crush. It takes me a while, but I finally drift off to sleep.
And when I wake up, Fletcher is gone.
But the memory of our time together is not.
It’s very much alive and only feeding my endless crush on him.
Chapter 5
Fletcher
Present Day
Blackjack and Brews
“Aw, Rhonan. You’re gonna make me cry.” With my hand pressed to my chest, I walk into George Hart’s office in the back of the winery, finding the card table set up and ready for action.
Our obsession with blackjack developed after Rhonan’s dad made us watch21, the movie where an MIT professor teaches a group of students to count cards then takes them to Vegas to hustle the casinos. None of us ever gotthatgood at counting cards, but nonetheless, we fell in love with the game and try to play whenever we get together.
“Has playing football professionally made you that soft?” Elliot asks, shoving me as he strides past, draining his beer before headingto the mini fridge George keeps stocked. He pulls out four beers and places them around the green felt, waiting for us.
“Nothing about me is soft,” I say, heading to my seat at the table. “I just can’t remember the last time the four of us have played a game together.”
Rhonan has a stupid grin on his face as he joins Henley, Elliot, and me at the table. “That’s what I thought. What better way to welcome you home, Fletch?”
I settle back in my chair. I’ve only been back in Blossom Peak for about two hours and already I’m being slammed with feelings left and right—gratitude, longing, and a gnawing guilt for not being around more, especially for the people who never stopped showing up for me.
“You know I wouldn’t miss Elliot getting married, dickhead.” I take the beer Elliot got for me and return it to the fridge, taking a water back to the table instead.
Elliot studies me. “You’re seriously not going to drink with us?”
“I told you. I just don’t want to drink tonight.”
“But this is a special occasion,” he fires back. “I’m getting married and you’re home for the first time in almost three years.”
I twist off the cap and chug half of the bottle. “I’m just not much of a drinker anymore.”
Elliot raises a brow while scratching the black scruff on his chin. “You? Fletcher Adams? If memory serves me correctly, you were somewhat of a beer pong champion back in college, right? Or did I dream that?”
“That was back when my body could recover from that shit with just a few hours of sleep. We’re in our thirties now, gentlemen. Alcohol and professional football don’t mix very well.”
All of us have turned thirty-two in the past year, which means we are fully immersed in a new decade with new experiences, one of whichis our bodies hurting in places they didn’t before. I know part of my aches and pains have come from playing football for a living, which makes me apprehensive about how much longer I have in my career. But as long as I stay healthy and maintain my strength, I could go another three to five years, easily.
It’d be a lot longer than my father got to play, that’s for sure.
Henley clears his throat, darting his eyes to me before he looks back over to Elliot. “The man doesn’t want to drink. Let it go.”
Elliot shrugs before bringing his beer bottle to his lips. “Whatever. More for me.”
I give Henley a small nod in thanks before focusing on Rhonan, who’s busy shuffling cards, getting ready to deal.
This isn’t the time to tell my friends that I haven’t had a drink since my first year in the NFL. Honestly, I’m not sure they’d believe me. But I have my reasons for my decision and reasons for not telling even my best friends.
Some things are better left in the past.
“All right. I can only play a few hands because Ellis will be up with the sun, so less talking and more blackjack.”
