Page 48 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

“Do you believe in magic,” I croak the song lyrics, my voice breaking around the melody.

A reluctant grin tugs at Trav’s lips. “I do.”

“Me too. What we have is strong enough to weather the distance. Our… friendship means everything to me, and I know it’s important to you too. You’re not losing me that easily.”

He nods, flopping back on my bed as I pull on regular clothes.

“I’ll miss our pre-game. And cooking together.”

“I’ll miss your terrible songs and awful gum choices.”

He chuckles. “I’ll miss your snoring when you fall asleep while we’re watching TV.”

“I’ll miss the way you massage my head while we’re watching TV.”

“You can’t watch Sin City Cars with anyone else. Promise.”

I nod, feeling the weight of all the things we aren’t saying. “I promise.”

“I’ll drive you to Logan.”

“Nah, Trav. I’ll get a car. Traffic this time of day is⁠—”

“I’m driving you, Beau. I don’t give a fuck about traffic.”

I nod. I don’t want to fight him on this anyway. I want to hold on to every second we have together.

Twenty minutes later, we’re packed in Trav’s car and I’m looking out the window at my barely driven SUV in the parking spot that isn’t really mine anymore. I’ll never come back to this building, never ride up to my floor and slip inside Trav’s place instead of mine. I’ll never see this particular view of Boston again. Well, maybe not never, but it’ll be a long-ass time, and it won’t be the same.

Chicago has a nice city skyline, I think. It’s not Boston, but I bet it’s still good. To be honest, I’ve never really cared what city I lived in. Once I met Trav I fell in love with Boston because I—my thoughts stutter as I mentally shut down wherever my brain was taking me.

On the drive to the airport, Trav blasts his crazy pop mix, and even though I’m more the folk singer type, I sing along with the ones I know the words to. We get attention from other drivers as we inch along in traffic, which just makes Trav sing louder.

He’s singing something about a pink pony and I can’t help but smile. He’s so fun, so free. He doesn’t give a shit how many times he’s teased for listening to “girl music” according to our teammates. He says it makes him happy. He’s so comfortable in his skin. It’s inspiring.

“Oh, I’ve got one for you,” he says, grabbing his phone and scrolling through his playlists.

“How Sweet It Is (To Be loved by You)” by James Taylor comes on. Trav waggles his eyebrows at me.

“You like James Taylor, right?”

“I do, yeah.”

“I read online that this is one of his most popular songs.”

“It’s a good one.”

He bobs his head as traffic finally breaks. I sing along quietly, holding back the emotion threatening to choke me. He looked up a song to play for me.

He turns to me, grinning as he sings, “How sweet it is to be Beau’s best friend.”

I laugh, reaching over to squeeze his thigh. “Back at ya, Trav.”

Trav navigates to short-term parking, insisting on walking in with me, and I don’t fight him. We get to the check-in counters and pause, standing off to the side to avoid the stream of morning travelers like me. I’ve only got a carry-on and a first-class ticket on my phone, so my check-in should be easy.

Trav stands in front of me, his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat. “Call me when you land?”

“Of course.”