“All right, all right. Sorry. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you about Carter. How’s Montana?”
“I’m glad you’re getting to play with him, he’s a cool guy. That’s nice of him to volunteer his time over the summer. Or, is Coach paying him?”
“Oh, no.” Mickey laughs. “They were sort of fighting about that. Coach wants to pay him for helping, and Carter was mad about it. He told Coach he was there to support the team because he wanted to be, and offering him money was offensive.”
I snort, imagining Coach’s face when Carter said that. “Sounds about right.”
“Yeah. Anyway, you didn’t answer my question: how’s Montana?”
“It’s fine,” I tell him noncommittally, tipping my head back and trying to see the stars around the light from the bar. “I’ve been helping my uncle break some horses. At the end of the summer we’ll ship them down to Texas.”
Micky makes a soft noise of distress. “You’re getting rid of them?”
“Well, we can’t keep them all, Mick. We have to make money somehow. Most of the horses we work get sold, but we do keep some. This will probably be the last year I can ride Southern Comfort before she retires, so next summer I’ll get to break one for myself.”
“Your horse’s name is Southern Comfort?”
“One of them. She was born as a racehorse but found her calling as a rancher. Racehorses always have weird-ass names, and we buy quite a few that didn’t make it on the track. She’s a good old gal, though. Smoothest ride I’ve ever had, and nothing spooks her.”
“Do you need me to give you and Southern Comfort some privacy?”
“You’re a comedian, my friend.”
“What’s wrong, Nate?” he asks suddenly. “You sound bummed.”
I pause. Iambummed, but it’s not as though I can tell him it’s because I’m pining after a pretty baseball player I hooked up with a couple times. I’m not ready to tell anyone, but I’m also not the kind of person who goes around lying to their friends.
“Nothing’s wrong, buddy,” I assure him. “Just got some stuff I’m trying to figure out.”
“Are you sure? You really don’t sound right. You haven’t made a single joke this entire time. Are you sick? Actually, if you are sick, I’d rather not know, because I’m not sure I could handle the stress of knowing.”
I laugh. “I’m not sick. Not dying. Nothing is wrong. Honestly, I’m just in my head about some personal stuff and I’m trying to work it out. Nothing bad, I promise. And you know I’ll end up telling you eventually, I’m just not ready yet.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.” He sounds so sad, I immediately feel bad.
“Don’t be sorry. Hey, tell me about the book you’re reading. I know you’ve got a stack next to your bed.”
He huffs a soft laugh, and I hear the soft rustle of pages in the background. It makes me smile—he’s probably sitting on his bed right now, a book in his lap and a pile of them waiting on the nightstand.
“I’m reading a book about gardening in the Arctic.”
“Is…is there gardening in the Arctic?” I ask, completely thrown by that.
“Yes! I picked this one up at the thrift store when I was raiding the dime book bin, but it’s actually really fascinating! You could borrow it if you wanted.”
“I’ll just get the Cliffs Notes version from you,” I respond quickly. “What else did you get?”
“Uhm, let’s see. They had a couple classics—DraculaandDorian Gray—so I got those. I also got a book about dinosaurs—no, before you ask, there aren’t any pictures—and then a book about gay hockey players.”
“Like, a biography about Troy Nichols? Holy shit, is Coach Mackenzie in there?”
“No, no.” He chuckles. “It’s fiction. A romance. There’s pretty much an entire subgenre of romance devoted to hockey, and this one happens to be about two men. I haven’t read it yet.”
“Mm,” I hum, biting my lip. AmIa gay hockey player now? Maybe I should read that damn book—get some insight into what the fuck is going on, and what I’m supposed to do now. “Maybe I could borrow that one when you’re done. No offense to Arctic gardeners, but gay hockey sounds a lot more exciting.”
“I’m telling you, the gardening is fascinating. But yeah, I’ll read it and let you know. Where are you, by the way? It sounds like you’re at a party.”
“A bar. A couple of my friends are inside, line-dancing their way into the pants of the local ladies.”
