“I knew it wasn’t about me, but I appreciate that you wanted to explain, and I’m glad you’re working on you. I realize that seeing that message from Sam would’ve been hard on a good day, let alone that day.”
“It was, but it still doesn’t excuse how I treated you. I never want to do that to you ever again. Anyway, um, I have to get ready to leave for work, but maybe if it works for you, we can talk later in the week?”
“I’d love that.”
“Great. Me too.”
“Have a good day.”
“You too. And Ave?”
“Yeah?”
“Thirty-six across is fiscal, not fucked, since I know that was the first thing you thought of.”
I end the call with a smile and a beautiful seed of hope that if nothing else, we’ll be able to save our friendship.
* * *
Winter sets in, blanketing the world in white, and what started as a few weeks of separation soon becomes a couple of months. I message Declan nearly every day, just to say hi or send him a funny meme. Easy conversation meant to open the door should he want to walk through it. Little steps meant to help mend the fractures in our friendship, and hopefully little steps back to each other.
We talk on the phone regularly, often the day after he’s been to therapy and had time to digest everything. I want to be there for him emotionally, even if he’s not ready for me to be there in any other capacity.
We host our first week of Spark House Beaver Woods Adventure team-building event and it turns out to be an extraordinary success. We manage to get the attention of a few local news stations as well as some prominent social media influencers who are camping enthusiasts, which gives us an influx of new opportunities.
On top of that, I finally managed to finish setting up London’s Etsy store. She cried when I showed her, and then proceeded to sell more than three thousand dollars in one-of-a-kind items in the first month. It’s definitely her happy place.
I fill my time with work, physical therapy, the guys, and my sisters. And through it all, Declan and I manage to rebuild and repair our friendship, one crossword puzzle and phone conversation at a time.
We work on them over video chat and although the distance is sometimes hard to deal with, we’re finding a new balance. Our chats often span over several hours. What starts as a crossword puzzle challenge often turns into movie night on separate couches. Or in my case—a separate bed, since I tend to watch them in my room, so Harley and London aren’t witness to our awkward date nights. At least that’s what I’m calling them in my head.
“What are we watching tonight?” Declan sets the phone on the counter and opens the fridge, his head disappearing as he grabs what I assume is going to be a beer.
“You can pick tonight.”
His head reappears and he cocks a brow. “You don’t mean that.”
“Maybe I’m in the mood for action, gratuitous violence, car chases, and short skirts.” I fluff the pillows behind me, find a good angle for the phone, and grab my glass of wine.
Declan snorts. “I highly doubt that.”
“It happens on occasion.”
He caps the beer. “No, it doesn’t. Your version of gratuitous violence is Thor swinging his hammer.”
“I love Thor’s hammer.”
“You love my hammer more.” He cringes. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, it just came out.”
“I sort of walked right into that.” Also, he’s not wrong. Which is part of the reason I’m in my bedroom and he’s in what was once our shared living room, sitting on the couch we’ve had sex on.
And that’s another reason why I’d rather watch an action movie over a romantic comedy. We’re working so hard on rebuilding our relationship, starting at the friend level while he’s learning what it means to put your trust in someone who makes you feel vulnerable. I don’t want to make this harder on either of us, but it’s nights like this that I miss him the most, when he’s close, but still so far away.
The phone jostles while he carries me, a bag of chips, and his beer over to the couch. “I hope you don’t mind, but we have company for the movie.”
“Company?”
My heart feels like it’s made my way into my throat and then drops into my stomach. He flops down on the couch and I spot an arm beside him. He leans over and holds the phone up so he can get whomever he’s sitting inappropriately close to into the small screen.
For a few seconds I’m super confused because the shirt I’m looking at is very familiar, although it’s stretched across a chest much larger than mine.
“Avery, meet Pseudo Avery.”
“Oh my God! Is that a blow-up doll?”