Page 32 of Just Between Us

“People heal, Liam.” Ryan starts. “They move on from their wounds eventually. I’m sure she will. And I know we don’t talk about some things, but maybe this is a sign you should get some help and work on yours, too.” My eyes narrow and I look away,training my gaze on the rough wood floor of the bar, but Ryan keeps right on talking. “Do you even say her name out loud?”

“Shut it, Ryan,” I bite out. “Not tonight.”

But my brother doesn’t shy away from tough topics. He never has. I just didn’t expect this to be our topic of conversation tonight. I feel blindsided by it. “Is that a no?”

“I said, not tonight!” My voice comes out louder than I intend, loud enough that a couple guys at the next table glance our way.

Ryan doesn’t understand. He tries, but unless you’ve lived it, it’s impossible. A name that’s two simple syllables, but letting them fall from my lips is like trying to climb a mountain, leaving me winded.

Ryan throws up his hands in surrender while I drain the rest of my beer in one long pull. The bottle is empty, but I keep it tipped back an extra beat, just so I don’t have to look at my brother’s face and see the pity I know is there. What the fuck is he playing at? He knows better than to bring up my past like this, sitting in a bar surrounded by people.

“And,” Ryan adds, a note of caution in his voice, “if Cassie is as great as you think she is, you won’t be the only guy who notices.”

The thought of Cassie with another man, an unwelcome image, twists something low in my gut. Cassie laughing with someone else, her attention held by someone who isn’t me. Something possessive with a hefty dose of fear. The kind that fortifies my resolve at friendship. If I reach for more, I’m not sure I’d survive it slipping from my fingers again.

“I just don’t want you to be the guy who realizes he waited too long.”

“Yeah…” I take a deep breath. “I won’t.”

Ryan and I fall silent, listening to the band playing in the corner. I stand to grab another beer from the bar, keep my eyes straight ahead to avoid the two women who are still trying to catch my attention. I know how it would go. A flirty wink orsmile is all it would take and they’d be at our table. But that’s not what I want.

The bartender lifts the cap from my bottle, slides it my way, and I return to our table. As soon as I sit, Ryan turns to me, all traces of seriousness gone from his expression.

“But I gotta ask, man. If you’re outta the game, how am I supposed to pick up women? They aren’t exactly flocking to parent-teacher conferences.”

I snort out a laugh.

Ryan is a sixth-grade math teacher, introverted, overworked, underpaid, all the things. He usually stays home grading papers, plays D&D on the weekends, and goes to bed before ten unless I’m in town. We both know he’s not out trying to pick up women. He dates here and there, but nothing that ever seems to stick. I have some theories on why.

“Did you see Lilah moved to Nashville?” I ask, just to see what he’ll say. Delilah Jenkins is Ryan’s high school sweetheart from the D&D club at the library. Her family was super hippie, homeschooling, making their own essential oils and shit. Ryan’s senior year, her family moved to be closer to grandparents. Say what you want about young love, but I think Ryan still hasn’t gotten over her.

“Why are you bringing this up?”

“Just found it interesting. You and her. In the same town after all this time.”

Ryan chews the skin around his thumb. “I don't know why you’d find that interesting. Close to a million people live in Nashville. What’s one more?”

I stare at him, incredulous. He and I both know Lilah is not just one more face in the city.

“Can we talk about anything else? I don’t care what.”

I’ve never seen my brother so flustered so I quickly pivot the conversation to the F1 season, who qualified first and their current standings. I don’t follow the sport closely, but Ryan loves it. It’s familiar ground, shooting the shit with simple talk.

He’s just finished telling me about his shitty fantasy football season when I check the time and only feel slightly disappointed—okay, maybe a bit more than slightly—when I see zero texts from Cassie.

“I hate to cut this wild night short,” I say, setting my empty bottle on the table. “But I need to call it a night.”

Ryan cocks his head to the side and digs his phone from his pocket. “Already? It’s barely ten.”

“Yeah, your bedtime.”

Ryan turns like he’s reaching into his pocket, pulling out his middle finger, and I laugh, resisting the urge to bend it backward like when we were in middle school.

“I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

He nods slowly. “Ah, right. I forgot.”

The Next Note Foundation is something I’ve been helping with for almost two years now. I learned of it at a time when I needed it most, and it quickly became so much more than that for me. It started with a handful of kids hanging around, messing with guitars or drums, looking for something to do after school. Something to keep them out of trouble. Gradually more and more kids showed up, and Rhonda, a retired cellist from the Nashville symphony, who is now the director, decided to apply for non-profit status and make it the real deal. That way there would be funding and the ability to actually do something real with the program.