He huffs. “Can’t a man be happy and invested over the fact his lonely-ass nephew has finally met someone who doesn’t make him look like a mopey shit all the time?”
I choke out a laugh. “Fuck off, Walter. I’m not a mopey shit.”
“But you’re not denying you’re a lonely ass,” he argues and gives me a pointed look over the top of his glasses.
Well, I can’t deny that.
Tracing over the pattern on the arm of the couch with my finger, I mull over his question. I guess the other night could have been a date. It felt kinda date-like, without all the additional pressure labeling it as a “date” brings. But it’s been so long since I’ve had to do all of this. I feel like a rookie. I need a modern-day dating manual or some shit.
Duncan and I met in high school, so all of our early dates consisted of hanging out at the local diner or making out in the woods behind his parents’ property. Then when I enlisted in the Navy, he came with me to California. I never thought when we got married at nineteen and bought a house together that I would be burying him ten years later. Or that I would be figuring out how the fuck I’m supposed to navigate the dating scene in my mid thirties.
Fuck. That makes me sound so old.
I know he would want me to put myself out there again. I mean, shit, if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t have wanted him to spend the rest of his life on his own. It’s almost like I can hear his voice in my head, telling me how much he would have loved Elliot. They would’ve got on so well.
O’Connor likes to harp on about fate and the universe doing mysterious things. I’m not sure I believe it, but maybe bumping into him that night at the movie theater was kismet in some strange, fucked-up way.
But even if Elliot is the same age as Duncan was when he passed away, and I’m pretty sure Elliot has ADHD, as did Duncan, it doesn’t mean anything.
It’s not the same. They’re both different.
I know that. It’s a simple coincidence. Nothing more.
Luckily, Walt drops the subject because I don’t have an answer for him. We watch the rest of his movie together in a companionable silence before he gets up to go to bed. He stops at the archway to the hall that leads to his bedroom and gives me a warning that brings a smile to my lips.
“I’m making breakfast tomorrow, and if I so much as see you sniffing around that stove, I’ll deflate the tires on your truck,” he says with a point of his finger. “Got it?”
I chuckle quietly, raising my hand in salute. “You got it, Chief.”
He grumbles his good-night, then disappears down the hall. Picking up the TV remote to change the channel, I flick through, but nothing holds my attention. I end up settling on ESPN, where they’re discussing the night’s games across the league, then pull my phone out of my pocket.
Opening the text thread with Elliot, my thumbs hover over the keypad, desperate to hear from him. I begin to type out a message.
You’re incredible. I had so much fun watching you.
My thumb stalls over the Send button. He didn’t know I was there. Will he think I’m stalking him or some shit? I delete that, then type out another.
Great game tonight! You were amazing.
Too cringy. Delete.
Hey. Congrats on the win! Can I see you soon?
Okay, now that’s coming across as desperate.
With a groan, I delete the message and lock my phone. I toss it onto the coffee table and press the heels of my palms intomy eyes. Why is this so fucking hard? I’m not the type of guy who overthinks things. Ican’tbe that guy. I’ve been trained to trust my instinct because overthinking or second-guessing for one split second results in me or other people getting killed. Right now, though, my instinct is giving me a bunch of different signals that would cause a multi-car pile-up.
I close my eyes and sink further into the couch, hoping the low noise of the TV will lull me into a sleep.
Come on, Duncan, help me out here.
He always knew what to do. He may not have taken life too seriously, but he always knew what was best when things got tough. A wise mind who saw things from different perspectives.
I’m not sure how much time has passed when my phone vibrates on the coffee table, and my eyes shoot open. I quickly lean forward to grab it, then inwardly groan at how eager I am at the idea it’s Elliot.
I often tease Lucas for how smitten he is with Daniel, yet here I am, almost breaking a hip to snap up my phone at the possibility it might be the man I can’t stop thinking about.
And it would seem today is my lucky day.
