Feel the Fire (Hotshots 3)

“You’re not wrong.”

“And then, I did get over it.” That part wasn’t a lie either. He hadn’t spent two decades this jumbled up—he’d laughed and loved and traveled and while maybe lately fun and connection were a little more...infrequent, he wasn’t some hermit locked away muttering about the one who got away either. “I laid the past to rest so to speak. But now I’m here, and seeing you...it all comes crashing back, you know?”

“Yeah. I get it.” Rotating his beer glass a few times, Tucker finally stopped fidgeting with it enough to take a sip. “Same. I just keep thinking...what the hell happened to us?”

“Exactly. I’ll be honest, much as I still had this...raw spot, it had been years since I really thought about... everything.”

“Understandable, really. You’ve lived a whole life since you were here. Mike. Your nieces and nephews. Your dad’s passing. All of it. And same here. I was busy with raising the boys. But I’m surprised at myself, at how much I want to hear about what you’ve been up to.”

Luis took a long sip of beer at that revelation. Tucker angry would be far easier to dismiss than Tucker curious, pushing this “let’s be friendly” agenda. However, all the memories that accompanied Tucker were the real problem. The pining and emotions kept bubbling to the surface as if the years apart hadn’t happened, intense as ever. “I wish I could stop thinking about it. What went right. What went wrong. How it all fell apart.”

“It feels too simple to say we were kids, but that was a huge part of it. We were kids, and a year and a half was a long time to be apart, to have to rely on letters and emails and the odd chat.”

“Yeah, it was. We were...pen pals, I guess. But we had a plan. And then that fell apart.”

“We’ll make it work. You’ll see.” Luis made himself sound way more certain than he felt. “Rest of this year and then senior year is nothing. All we need is to make it to graduation.”

“Yup.” Tucker wasn’t looking at Luis, instead studying the empty football field from their perch in the bleachers.

“You’ll come to LA. We’ll both go to school and get jobs and a little place.” Luis loved this particular daydream, and he stretched as he warmed up to the topic. “And in the meantime, there’s email. And regular mail. And that chat thing my cousin was telling me about. We can try that.”

“I’m not the most on writing. Like what do I say?” Tucker studied his sneakers.

“Tell me about school. And about the horses. And what your mom cooked for dinner. I want to hear all of it.” Glancing around to make sure they were still alone, he patted Tucker’s knee before grabbing his hand, squeezing.

“Okay. I can do that.” Tucker nodded, but his eyes were still brimming with uncertainty.

And now, with adult pragmatism, Luis could see how doomed they’d been, despite all those big plans. They’d been so young. Him especially, believing all the way to his sneakers that sheer force of want would be enough to produce the future they both wanted. But that same stubborn optimism had made him less than flexible. Their falling-out wasn’t all on Tucker by any means.

“My dad’s heart attack changed so much. I couldn’t leave.” Tucker’s dad’s massive heart attack had sent his whole family into a tailspin.

Luis could still remember the way his chest had pounded and his eyes had burned at the news. “I know. And I was stupid and hurt and made that ultimatum.”

“Damn it, Tucker. He’s always so mean to you. You don’t owe him anything. And you promised.” Luis knew he sounded petty, but his whole body was vibrating, sense of doom coursing through him.

“I know,” Tucker said softly. “But I also promised my mom.”

“You don’t want to tell them.” Luis’s voice was flat because he knew the answer.

“I can’t.” Tucker sounded like he was in mortal agony and maybe he was.

“You mean you won’t. If you can’t come, can’t even give me a date, then I’m not sure what kind of friends we are anymore. I’m tired of saying no to fun.”

“I don’t want you passing up fun either. But I can’t promise some deadline either. Might be here awhile.”

Awhile might as well have been a decade for the level of devastation that descended on Luis. He wanted to wait for Tucker, but damn it, he needed some sort of light at the end of the endless tunnel of waiting. He’d wanted this for so long, he almost couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been waiting and wanting. It colored everything, his time at school, his friends here, the way he framed his future. His ribs ached, almost like they couldn’t hold back the heartache any longer, dam of feelings moments from bursting. “I keep turning down chances, and I’m tired of it. It’s one thing if you’re coming, but if you’re not...”