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Telling him will only make him want to get involved, and this is my problem to fix.
Chapter 71
Luke
Someone walkspast me on the sidewalk, wearing a red and yellow Biters hat, and I have to fight the urge to glower at them.
It’s like everywhere I turn, I’m hit with reminders of Natalie.
Even in my own building, I couldn’t get away from it. My neighbors cheered every time something happened in the game. Maybe I’ve just never noticed it before, but it was too much. So I decided to walk the mile to my favorite coffee shop.
Ash and Meghan don’t live far from here, which is how I found out about this specific location of BeanBag Coffee. But I’m not particularly good company at the moment, so I’m not going to bother to see if they’re around.
I just want to sit in the relative silence of a rustic coffee shop in downtown Minneapolis, sip a black coffee that I could have easily made at home, and have no TV or evidence of a football game in sight.
The sound of a rainstick fills the air as I push open the front door of BeanBag, and I’m greeted with the rich scent of in-house roasted beans.
About half the tables are full, and I start to relax as I cross over to the counter.
Then I see Benny.
Benny has been a barista here forever. And I’m pretty sure he became the manager over the summer.
Benny is great. He’s funny and friendly and knows how to make any sort of drink you ask for.
He’s also had hipster vibes since the first day I met him. Always wearing tight jeans and snug button-down flannels. And for the past year or so, he’s been rocking suspenders.
Always.
Except today.
I stop across from where he’s standing at the register.
“What. The fuck. Are you wearing?” I sound way angrier than I have any right to, but I can’t help it.
Benny, on the other side of the counter, looks down at himself. “Um, a football jersey.”
“A football jersey,” I repeat. Then I bend over until my forehead hits the counter.
“Uh… Luke?” There’s a light nudge against my shoulder. “You okay?”
I shake my head back and forth, my forehead probably leaving a smudge on the light wood countertop. “No, Benny. I’m not okay.” I force myself to straighten back to my full height. “This”—I press my finger to the counter—“is supposed to be a safe space.”
Benny’s eyes widen in shock, like I just said that the floor was made of poop.
I keep going. “This is supposed to be a place where I can come and relax. But you.” I lift my finger to point at him. “You are wearing a fucking football jersey.”
It’s not just a football jersey. It’s a Biters jersey.
“Look, man, I’ll wear a Sleet jersey on your game days if you want,” Benny says reasonably.
I groan. “That’s not it.”
“What is it, then?” Benny holds his arms out at his sides.
“It’s the team!” I don’t mean to raise my voice.
“What’s wrong with the Biters?” Benny’s voice goes up to match mine.
