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“Okay, this definitely wasn’t what I had in mind when you guys said laidback bachelor party,” I say as I glance around the dimly lit spa.
We’re at some high-end spa just outside of Denver. I glance at Gage sitting in the chair next to me getting a foot massage, eyes closed. When he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, I figure he’s sleeping.
Just then the massage therapist presses her thumb in the arch of his foot. His eyes fly open and he winces.
He instantly straightens up in his chair and grunts.
“Too much pressure,” he says through gritted teeth.
The massage therapist, who is a tiny, five-foot-tall woman, nods and smiles at him. When she eases back, Gage lets out a breath.
I laugh. He glares at me before cracking a chuckle.
“When you said we were spending the day at a spa, I didn’t think you were serious,” I say as I lean back in my massage chair. Thankfully the massage therapist massaging my feet has stuck to the medium pressure I requested.
“Theo’s best man planned it,” Gage says.
I look across the spa, where Theo and his three hockey teammates are all lying back in massage chairs, eyes closed as they get their feet massaged.
“This is pretty relaxing,” Gage says.
Theo’s teammate and best man Xander chuckles. “It really is. And you’re right, Tyler. I planned this as a joke at first. I figured we’d all hate it. But damn, this is great. We should do this more often.”
Everyone murmurs in agreement before falling quiet as our foot massages continue.
“Hey, how are things with your Instagram? Filming going okay?” Gage asks me.
“Yeah, pretty busy,” I say. “But it’s going well. I’m enjoying it.”
“Glad to hear it.”
I think back to the other week when I told Gage about my Instagram and that I had to cut back on my hours at Se’bon. I remember how genuinely happy he was for me. And how relieved I was that he wasn’t mad or upset at me.
I look over at him. He looks like he’s melted into his massage chair.
“Thanks again for being cool about it all,” I tell him. “I was afraid you’d think I was trying to ride your coattails. Or copy you. I know some people who’ve been commenting on my videos say that sometimes, and I didn’t want you to see them and think that too.”
Eyes still closed, he smiles. “You know what they say. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”
I reach over and smack his arm. He laughs.
He opens his eyes and turns to look at me. “Seriously though. I’m happy for you, man. And I never once thought you were copying me. I’ve seen your Instagram. It’s totally different from mine. It’s cool to see your account taking off.”
When I uploaded my latest reel this morning, I saw that I had almost twenty-five thousand followers. That most recent boost in followers is largely due to Gage. He’s been sharing my videos on his Instagram account.
“I think it’s cool how we both are making food our careers in our own ways,” he says.
“Me too,” I say.
Gage and I don’t have a lot of heart-to-hearts. We’re pretty typical brothers in that we spend most of our time giving each other shit and joking around.
But we’re not afraid to speak about our feelings. And it means a lot to know I have my brother’s approval and support.
“Try not to let the shitty comments get to you,” Gage says. “Some people just have to hate on everything. But they don’t matter. Just remember that everyone else is rooting for you. Me included.”
“Thanks, man. Means a lot to hear you say that.”
He tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “We should probably collaborate on a video soon, don’t you think?”
