Page 79 of King of the Crease

“You seem to have no problem talking about it to your friends.” Jack doesn’t modify his volume at all. “You think I was going to dump you because of a bar crawl?”

“I hate staying out late.”

“No shit. This isn’t some big revelation, Griffin. I can go out with my friends and stay in with you. It’s not an either-or sitch. You don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re very obviously not.”

I can’t help but feel a dig in my chest, as if he’s talking directly to me.

“I know who you are, and I still love you.” Jack rubs Griffin’s chest, his hard glare quickly turning to sweetness. “I like being able to come home to you.”

I find Hank’s hand and give it a squeeze, trying to hold onto this feeling for as long as I can.

“I never want you to feel like you’re missing out on anything,” Griffin says.

“I’m not.” Jack lifts up on his toes to kiss Griffin. He brushes a thumb over his beard. In this whole, busy bar, I can feel the world disappear around them for a second.

“So you’re saying I got a hangover for nothing?” Des asks.

“I’m sorry, guys.” Griffin hangs his head, yet he’s grinning ear to ear as he pulls Jack to him. “I promise I’ll never make us do a bar crawl again.”

“I’ll toast to that!” Bill raises his glass of water. We join him, our glasses meeting in the center of the table in one loud, cacophonous clink. Despite feeling the high of camaraderie, I can’t help but let sorrow sneak in; in a few weeks, this will all be a memory. No more group of friends.

The buzz of my phone breaks through the din of celebration.

Agnes: Do you have a brief moment?

“You’re a popular guy,” Bill says.

“Is everything okay?” Hank asks, rubbing my leg.

“Uh, yes. I mean, yeah.” I snap my phone shut, terrified of my two worlds colliding. I get up from the table. “Excuse me. I just need to make a quick call.”

I walk over to the large windows overlooking the river, a fresh coat of snow on the trees. It’s quiet here, no bar patrons to disturb me. I turn my back to my friends’ table in case any of them can read lips.

I dial Agnes.

“Your Highness,” she says in her familiar stern yet pleasant tone.

“Please call me Nick.”

“Sorry. Nick…”

“Is everything alright?” Panic rises in my throat.

“Yes, Your—I mean, Nick. Sorry, old habits. I haven’t heard from you in a few weeks, and I wanted to make sure you’re alright.” There’s a soft hitch in her voice, one reminiscent of a mother wondering after her child rather than a secretary inquiring about her boss. For the past thirty-six years, she’s always known where I was and what I was up to. Me being in Sourwood must be as jarring for her as it is for me.

“I’m great, Agnes. I apologize. I should’ve given you a status update earlier.” I glance over at Hank. “I’m very much enjoying myself.”

“What have you been up to?”

Where to start? “I went tubing. I joined a hockey team. I went to a bar crawl and won an award.”

I can practically hear Agnes’s eyes bulging from her sockets. Smartly, I refrain from telling her that I also got my ass drilled like a construction site.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t been found out. I’m staying safe and not doing anything illegal.”

“What’s a bar crawl?” she asks.

“You visit twelve bars one right after the other, each bar serving a different themed drink. We didn’t want to go, but my friend Griffin made us so that he could show his boyfriend Jack that he’s not too old to party. We proceeded to drink too much and get hangovers.”