“There’s an inscription on the back there,” I say, pointing.
He turns it over and reads, “One day at a time. Nine-five.”
He nods a few times, taking it in, then looks up at me. “Means a lot to me that you’d even remember.”
“Yeah, kind of hard not to,” I quip.
He chuckles softly. “This—this is really special.” His voice wavers. “Thank you.”
I hate when he gets all sentimental like that because it’s fucking contagious. I’m not about to sit here and get all teary-eyed with my best friend. Not over this.
I clear my throat. “It’s nothing. Not a big deal. I’m just glad you’re not an asshole anymore.” I grin. “It’s good to see you and Al moving forward and happy.”
I turn my attention back to the game. That’s enough sap for one night.
Jensen’s gaze lingers on me. I know exactly what he’s thinking, what he wants to say and doesn’t. But he also knows I won’t give an inch when it comes to Jordan.
So he leaves it.
After a moment, Jensen says, “So… aside from all the stuff with Jordan, how are you holding up with everything else? You never talk about it. About Nate being gone.”
A sting hits my eyes, and my throat works to keep it in check.
Exactly why I don’t fucking talk about it.
“I’m fine,” I say finally. “Sucks, but… I don’t know. Just trying to stay focused on the things that matter.” I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “Cole, mostly. That’s who I worry about. Nate was such a good dad to him. He’s a good kid—honest, hardworking. Nate used to brag about how he’d mow the lawn without being asked.” I swallow. “Hewas gonna grow into a good man. I just hope I—or Cece—don’t fuck that up.”
Jensen’s gaze flicks between me and the TV.
I don’t open up about shit. Not like this anyway.
He doesn’t say anything.
I let out a quiet chuckle and tip my head back, more to loosen the tightness in my chest. “It’s funny… I don’t think I would have mourned the loss of my dad at his age. Fuck. I think it almost hurts more he’s still alive and doesn’t give a shit.” I shake my head. “What a difference it makes when someone good dies.”
I blow out a breath. “Sometimes when I’m texting Cole it seems like he’s barely holding it together. But most of the time? You wouldn’t even know something was wrong. Not because he’s okay, but because he’s shut down completely. Doesn’t show anything. Just holds it all in.”
“Shit,” Jensen mutters, glancing at me. “That’s tough. I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “We’ll figure it out. Just gotta get through the next few months.”
We watch the screen in silence for a minute. Jensen shifts, then turns toward me. “But how areyou, man?”
“Doesn’t matter how I am. Not when Cole’s future is on the line.” My ribs tighten around my lungs as the weight of Nate’s absence crawls in again—the quiet pain of losing the only real family member that ever meant anything to me. “I don’t get that luxury.”
I clear my throat and take a sip of my beer.
“You know me and Alley are here,” Jensen says. “If you need anything. With Cole. With Jordan. We’ve got you, man.”
“Thanks, brother. I know.” I know he means it. Alley’s checked in with Cole a few times already.
Our attention settles back on the football game, and eventually Jensen takes off his old watch and replaces it with the new one.
“This is really nice,” he says, rotating his wrist. “Alley’s gonna love it.”
“Good. I’m glad,” I reply, followed immediately by an “Oh, fuck,” from me and a “Shit,” from Jensen when the Lions score.
My phone dings with a text.
