Omg thank you so much
You sure, though? That’s like a five hour round trip
But it’s for looovvve. And my best friend
Packing doesn’t take long at all, and I spend the next hour or so scarfing down the breakfast I didn’t eat, showering my lack of sleep away, and pacing my apartment. I’m downstairs and waiting right at the agreed time, and Ian pulls up in his silver car not thirty seconds after I reach the sidewalk.
He jumps out and stuffs my luggage in the trunk before motioning for me to sit in the passenger seat. This guy’s car is seriously decked out in a quiet way—there’s soft, warm lighting in the interior, the air vents emit a subtle, spicy aroma, and the heated seat is almost enough to put me right to sleep.
“Thanks again for driving me,” I say, buckling in.
“Don’t even worry about it.” Ian flashes me a widesmile, clapping my shoulder and programming the GPS. “Nick’s been going through it, and this is exactly what he needs to cheer up.”
He’s going through it?
“Practice, right?” I ask. “Nick’s been working himself to the bone.”
Ian steers onto the road and heads for I-93, smoothing down his dirty-blond hair with a free hand. “Sure, but he’s been in a funk for other reasons. I’m assuming it’s because he had to leave you for a bit.”
“Yeah, but…” I debate rehashing the situation yet again and settle for a streamlined version.
“This fucking guy,” Ian says, letting out something that’s half sigh, half chuckle. “Give him some shit for me, won’t you? He’s gotta learn how to accept people being nice to him.”
“Agreed.”
We change the topic afterward. Ian does some barely restrained gushing about his boyfriend Callum, we lovingly roast Nick a little, and before we know it, signs for Manchester Airport start popping up.
“So,” Ian starts, “what’s your plan for surprising Nick?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe wait outside the ballpark after a game and text him?”
He purses his lips, thinking. “I have an idea. When’s his next game?”
“Tomorrow at four.”
“Sweet—grab a ball from the bucket in the seat behind you.”
I do.
“Buy a ticket, bring that ball to the game, and head to the dugout right when the doors open,” he continues. “Get someone’s attention and ask for Nick to sign it.”
And then Nick would realize I’m there.
“This won’t throw him off his game?”
Ian shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Nick’s the kind of guy who plays better when he’s happy. Besides, he’s great at locking histhoughts down and focusing, not like someone else I know.” He points his thumb at himself, and we both chuckle.
“That sounds great. Thanks for the idea,” I say.
He hums, flicking on the turn signal and steering for the Manchester Airport exit. “No problem, man. I just want my friends to be happy.”
Warmth sinks into my stomach. “Nick’s lucky to have friends like you.”
“Dude, you’re the one flying across the country to visit—he’s lucky to haveyou.”
“Eh. He’s kinda spoiled, isn’t he?”
Ian laughs again. “He is. But you know what? He deserves it.”
