“Depends on the types of rings. Are we talking championship ones? Engagement? Olympic?”
“Ah, excellent question. In this case, I’m talking engagement rings.”
“Dude.” I hit him. “You’re gonna propose to Naomi?”
He beamed so wide that something plucked at my heart. That utter delight on his face wasn’t something I’d experienced since my parents died. It was almost painful to see how happy he was. He shrugged and let out a huge sigh. “Yes. I’m asking her to marry me.”
“Congrats!” Elle clapped and wore the same big grin. She didn’t even know Michael or Naomi, but glee radiated from her, like other people’s joy actually made her happy. “This is a time for shots. What will it be?”
“Fireball.”
“On it!” Elle floated to grab the whiskey bottle, and I stared at the way her calf muscles came out when she stood on her tiptoes. She returned with two shot glasses, and Michael frowned.
“Oh no, you get one too. This is a celebration. I never thought I’d be in this place to ask someone to marry me. Thought it was for other people.” Michael stared at me when he said it, his words hitting something deep in my mind. I knew what he meant. I felt that every second of every day.
When you lost the people you loved most in the world, why would you even attempt to love again? Grief was lonely and terrible, but it was safer than ever experiencing those feelings. I wouldn’t recover a second time—hell, I never did the first.
“Love is for everyone. Just looks different for different people. That’s what’s so beautiful about it.” Elle poured the shots, slid one each to Michael and me, and held up her glass. “Congrats to you and to your lucky lady!”
“Hear, hear!” Michael said.
We took the shots, and I swore Elle’s throat bobbed when she looked at me. Her brown eyes were a sucker punch to the gut, so deep and beautiful. But the three seconds of truce ended, and she went back to hating me.
Other patrons needed her, so she picked up our glasses before darting off somewhere else. That left me and Michael. His joy radiated off him, and I wasn’t a complete monster—I was excited for him. Saying it though was difficult to articulate. I wasn’t expressive or charismatic or peppy. I grunted and hated talking because I had nothing important to say ever. But the thought of letting him down caused heartburn, so I forced my voice to rise an octave. “I’m really happy for you, Coach.”
“Did it hurt to say that?”
“With every ounce of my body.”
He tossed his head back and laughed. My own lips twitched, but I hid my own amusement. “So, how are you asking her?”
“Not sure yet. Something with numbers? Data?”
“Romantic.”
“Hey, she’s weird, but she’s my type of weird, you know? Likes what she likes and is okay with it. Fuck.” He rubbed his chest, a serious expression on his face. “It’s moments like this that I wish they were alive. It eats me whole.”
I closed my eyes, understanding what he meant. How were we expected to grow into adults without having parents to call and ask questions to? Myparentswere YouTube and the internet, but you couldn’t really googlehow to proposeand get good advice.
Without overthinking it, I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Do what feels right. That’s all you can do.”
“Yeah.” He nodded a few times and shook his head. Just like that, Michael Reiner the upbeat guy was back. It was incredible how he could do that, shake off his grief and be happy. It made me envious with how he’d moved on, healed, and found someone to make his life better. Every time I tried being happy or trusting another person, it backfired.
A loud cheer startled me. I’d forgotten the game was on. The Bulls were down at the end of the first, but that wasn’t what caught my attention. It was Charlie. He was a gruff man, but his face was pale and his eyes as wide as hockey pucks.
My skin felt too tight in my body, and I clenched my jaw. He stood toward the back office, his posture rigid.
“Be right back.”
I slid off the stool and pushed people out of my way to get to him. I knew that face, that panic. It was the same one my high school coach had when he told me about the accident. My pulse raced. “Charlie, what is it?”
He stared up from his phone, blinking way too fast as he opened his mouth a few times. “I have to leave.”
“To where? Do you need me to drive?”
“No.” He ran a hand over his face. “I need to travel to Indiana.”
“Why?”
