Carter studies my face, his eyes hard and unflinching, seeing every damn thing I’m not saying. He’s always been able to do that. Read the things I don’t say. I’ve relied on it more than I should have, ever since we met in that motor pool when I was twenty-one and pissed off at the whole damn world for the things I couldn’t fix.
“Why did you have to stay, Carter?”
Carter answers me and his voice comes out soft but not less certain. “You know I have…feelings for you. You knew it even though I never said the words. You’ve always paid attention. Whatever happened back then, I chose it with my eyes open. I’m not blaming you for any of it, George. A man can’t help what he can’t return.”
He pauses and the strain of carrying it for so long clearly shows on his face. “After I saw what was happening between you and Lance, I stepped back. Made my peace with it. Stayed anyway because it was still better than walking away.”
He pushes up from the chair and moves to the window, turning his back to me.
“But tonight you took the one private thing that was mine and you put it on display for him like a prop. I wish you’d been a real asshole, then I could hate you and just move on. But no, you have to be loyal and understanding and the kindest friend I’ve ever had, and it fucking sucks that I’ve been in love with you.”
Hearing it out loud, after all these years of leaving it unsaid, throws me off. I already knew I crossed a line the second I opened my mouth with Lance here. This goes further. It forces me to see it for what it is.
“I know it wasn’t to hurt me, but one look at you and I got the assignment. I know I have to go along with your farce. Lance stood there and chose you, and it scared the hell out of you. So you grabbed the first thing in reach and used it to push him back. That thing was me.”
Everything he’s saying reaches me. I stand there without moving or giving him anything to make it easier on either of us. Nothing I could say would be enough. Trying would only make it worse. Carter deserves to have every word hit me, without me deflecting any of it.
He’s been one of the steadiest things in my life. I took that for granted. That, in itself, is its own kind of failure.
“I’ve always looked up to you, George.” There’s no softness in it. “He twisted himself trying to meet you where you are, and you still did this. I get why you have to do it. I do. It’s just…” He glances at the piece of paper on my desk. “That’s not who you are. At least, it’s not who I’ve known you to be.”
He picks his jacket up from the hook by the door.
“I’ve already told you this beforehand. I’m pulling out of the partnership.” He says this without bitterness. “I think I need to figure out who I am when my life doesn’t revolve around yours anymore.”
After everything and all the blows I’ve taken, I manage to find my voice.
“I’ll sort out your end of the buyout,” I say. My own half of it I don’t finish the sentence about. I don’t know yet if there’s anything worth saving here without Carter in it.
“I know you will.” He stands at the door with his back to me.
“I’m sorry.” The words come through with shame and remorse. “Not just for this morning, but for all of it. For every single time I took what you gave me without stopping to think about what it took from you to keep giving it.”
Carter stands in the doorway for a long moment. His shoulders rise with a slow breath and fall the same way, and when he speaks, his voice is tired.
“I know you are. You’re a man who does damage when he’s scared.” He leaves it there. “Fix it, George. Whatever you broke in there today, find a way to fix it.”
He disappears from the office, and I hear his truck pulling out and driving away.
The thing is, I don’t know if it can be fixed. I just know I meant for him to hate me enough to leave.
I sit down and pull the single folded piece of paper toward me. At the bottom, in Lance’s familiar handwriting, there’s a single line:
It’s not hopeless.
I stare at those three words for a long time.
Maybe it’s not, but right now the shop feels like the least of what I’ve lost today. I’m not sure I have it in me to fight for something I built for a future I just blew up myself.
38
Lance
“Does this go in the keep pile or the donate pile?”
Adrian is holding up the San Diego Padres bobblehead George won at a game two summers ago.
“Donate,” I say.
