It's all still there, part of who he is… It's me who's missing from his life.
"We should probably go somewhere and talk about it," I suggest.
"Yeah." He pushes off his car. "And I know just the place."
I follow Beau in my car, smiling the second he pulls into the old service road just past the town line. I know where he's taking me, and I'm clinging to the hope that taking me to the abandoned fire tower we'd sneak away to is a good sign.
We park our cars in a small gravel pull-off right before the pavement turns to dirt, and we walk the ten-minute climb through pines and old stone walls, left over from when the land was farmland, in what I'm choosing to think is a comfortable silence.
Beau's gotten so much better at hiding his emotions. As a kid, he was so easy to read. Whatever he was feeling, I knew it just by looking into his eyes. Now? I got nothing. Guess thirteen years as a successful coach hardens a person.
I've watched his career from the sidelines. He's an amazing coach, winning division titles, rebuilding broken players, all with the same measured discipline, grit, and stubborn fire he’s had his whole life. That relentless drive he had on the field translated perfectly to a successful coaching career. I've never looked down on him for coaching the minor league. I respect the players, and I know how much local teams mean to their communities. That’s why I’m so determined to acquire the Grizzlies.
The trees thin out as the trail slopes upward before leveling, and the clearing opens, the epic view hitting with greater impact than it used to back in the day when coming here was a weekly occurrence for us. The afternoon light has turned the distant mountains a pale blue, the sun glinting off the river splitting the town in two. From this height, Gilberton reminds me of the Lego towns we'd spend hours building in Beau's bedroom.
"Forgot how beautiful it is up here," he says, propping his hands on his hips, taking it all in.
"It's pretty special," I agree, wandering over to the metal base of the old warning sign, my eyes roaming upward.
"It's down here," Beau says, coming up next to me, pointing lower. "If you're looking for our carving."
"I was," I say, turning my back to him.
I can feel my left eye twitching, and I don't want him to see. Why am I constantly such a mess around him?
"We were shorter back then, remember?"
I look down to where his fingers are tracing over our initials and the jersey numbers we dreamed of having some day.
BK 52 / RW 14
The sting behind my eyes grows, so I move away, needing some physical distance between me and the man I loved and lost. Being here is tough. This place is filled with some of the best memories of my childhood.
Footsteps follow. "You okay, Rein?"
"I'm fine."
"Because I'm assuming your left eye doing that fluttering thing still means the same thing it used to."
My head drops, and I let it hang there. Busted. "Well, shit."
"Hey." He swings around in front of me, and I slowly raise my head.
Two big, brown, familiar yet also foreign eyes greet me. We have so much to say to each other, so much stuff to process, a huge mess to untangle and figure out, but right now, my vision goes watery, and what I actually need is to let it all out of me.
I start crying in front of my former best friend. He steps in closer, wraps his strong arms around me, and does the best thing in the world.
He lets me.
8
Beau
Rein's tears flow freely. I hold him close, his warmth bleeding into me as our pasts, presents, and possible futures collide.
I'm not a cold-hearted monster. I'm overwhelmed, too. By seeing him again today. By being in this place that holds so many memories. By remembering who we were, the dreams we had, and the outright devastation of those dreams burning to ashes in front of my eyes.
But I want him to have his moment, and I want to support him through it.
