71. Luke
Luke
Someone walks past me on the sidewalk, wearing a red and yellow Biters hat, and I have to fight the urge to glower at them.
It’s like everywhere I turn, I’m hit with reminders of Natalie.
Even in my own building, I couldn’t get away from it. My neighbors cheered every time something happened in the game. Maybe I’ve just never noticed it before, but it was too much. So I decided to walk the mile to my favorite coffee shop.
Ash and Meghan don’t live far from here, which is how I found out about this specific location of BeanBag Coffee. But I’m not particularly good company at the moment, so I’m not going to bother to see if they’re around.
I just want to sit in the relative silence of a rustic coffee shop in downtown Minneapolis, sip a black coffee that I could have easily made at home, and have no TV or evidence of a football game in sight.
The sound of a rainstick fills the air as I push open the front door of BeanBag, and I’m greeted with the rich scent of in-house roasted beans.
About half the tables are full, and I start to relax as I cross over to the counter.
Then I see Benny .
Benny has been a barista here forever. And I’m pretty sure he became the manager over the summer.
Benny is great. He’s funny and friendly and knows how to make any sort of drink you ask for.
He’s also had hipster vibes since the first day I met him. Always wearing tight jeans and snug button-down flannels. And for the past year or so, he’s been rocking suspenders.
Always.
Except today.
I stop across from where he’s standing at the register.
“What. The fuck. Are you wearing?” I sound way angrier than I have any right to, but I can’t help it.
Benny, on the other side of the counter, looks down at himself. “Um, a football jersey.”
“A football jersey,” I repeat. Then I bend over until my forehead hits the counter.
“Uh… Luke?” There’s a light nudge against my shoulder. “You okay?”
I shake my head back and forth, my forehead probably leaving a smudge on the light wood countertop. “No, Benny. I’m not okay.” I force myself to straighten back to my full height. “This”—I press my finger to the counter—“is supposed to be a safe space.”
Benny’s eyes widen in shock, like I just said that the floor was made of poop.
I keep going. “This is supposed to be a place where I can come and relax. But you.” I lift my finger to point at him. “You are wearing a fucking football jersey.”
It’s not just a football jersey. It’s a Biters jersey.
“Look, man, I’ll wear a Sleet jersey on your game days if you want,” Benny says reasonably.
I groan. “That’s not it.”
“What is it, then?” Benny holds his arms out at his sides.
“It’s the team!” I don’t mean to raise my voice.
“What’s wrong with the Biters?” Benny’s voice goes up to match mine.
“Nothing!” I reach up and grip my hair .
Benny looks around, probably for help. “I don’t understand what’s happening!”
Hands still in my hair, I tip my head back and groan at the ceiling.
I’m losing my mind.
This is what losing your mind feels like.
“Our boy is upset that his wife is at that game, but he isn’t,” a woman says. “I’d say make him a decaf or a triple shot. Just don’t tell him what you choose.”
Slowly, I turn my head to see a woman with curly red hair piled into a bun on the top of her head and a smirk aimed my way.
“Meghan.” I greet her.
My eyes slide to the other person sitting at her table, but it’s not her husband, Ash. It’s a woman I don’t recognize whose hair is buzzed short and who is also wearing a Biters jersey.
“Luke.” Meghan lifts her mug in a mock toast.
I turn back to Benny, pull a twenty out of my wallet, and set it on the counter. “Her plan sounds good.”
Benny keeps his lips pressed together as he gives me a thumbs-up.
Meghan has a laptop in front of her, so I’m not sure if she’s with a client, but I still approach her table.
If she was trying to have a professional event-planning meeting, she wouldn’t have shouted at me from across the shop.
“Can I join you?” I don’t bother mustering up a smile. I think it’s obvious to everyone in the city that I’m not having a great day.
Meghan nods. “Take a seat. Luke, this is Kerissa.” She gestures to the woman sitting across from the chair I pulled out.
“Hi, Kerissa.” I drop into the chair, and I don’t miss the way I’m nearly eye level with the stranger.
“Hey.” Kerissa smiles. “Benny talks about you guys all the time. It’s nice to meet you.”
My brows go up. “Benny?”
“Yup.” Kerissa pushes her chair back. “Sorry to ditch, but I gotta go let our cats out.”
Our cats.
“No worries. See you later,” Meghan says, and I lift my hand in a wave .
And then, like a toddler seeing something new for the first time, I stare, wide eyed, as Kerissa walks around the back of the counter and grips Benny by the face before pressing her lips forcefully against his.
His arms go around her waist, and when they shift, he disappears from sight altogether.
Benny isn’t short, but his lady friend is pushing six feet.
Meghan chuckles beside me. “That was a bit much.”
“I know,” I agree. “Who kisses like that in public?”
“I was talking about you.”
I turn toward her. “Me?”
Meghan lifts her coffee. “You and your meltdown over Benny’s choice of clothing.”
I slump in my chair.
We both look over at the couple. And I pretend not to notice when the Kerissa girl slaps Benny’s ass as he starts to walk our way.
When he reaches our table, the tips of his ears are bright red. “She’s great, isn’t she?”
“Uh-huh,” I say as Meghan gives a much more enthusiastic “Very.”
We all look over to watch the tall woman. At the door, she turns and blows a kiss to Benny, then she steps outside.
“You guys have cats?” I ask.
Benny beams. “Yeah, we found a pair of abandoned kittens on our second date and rescued them. We tried trading off who got them, but after a few weeks, we decided to just”—he lifts a shoulder—“live together.”
“You moved in together after a few weeks?” I ask with my brows raised.
Benny sets my drink down on the table, then moves his hands to his hips. “And you randomly got married but apparently hate the sight of the football team your in-laws own. So which one of us is making worse decisions?”
“Day-yum!” Meghan laughs as Benny backs away.
He has a point, but I still narrow my eyes at him.
“I’ll take it all back if you can hook me up with a pair of Biters tickets,” Benny says, still backing up. “Kerissa is a huge fan. ”
I keep my eyes narrowed as he spins around and hurries behind the counter.
My attention moves down to the drink before me.
I pry the lid off, the pale brown color nothing like the plain black coffee I usually drink.
Bending forward, I sniff it and crinkle my nose. “What the fuck is that smell?”
Meghan pulls the cup closer to her and sniffs. “That’s pumpkin spice.”
I pull a face. “Fucking why?”
“No reason necessary.” Meghan sets the cup in front of me. “You’re a PSL girl now.”
Carefully, I lift the full cup and take a sip, expecting to hate it.
I take a second sip.
And a third.
And then I stare at the wall across from me.
“Welcome to the spicy side of life.” Meghan holds her arms out.
“This is really fucking good.” I take another sip.
“Well, duh. Millions of people don’t flock to them because they’re gross.”
“Touché.” I settle back in my chair, accepting that I’m going to consume this whole drink in the next five minutes, decaf or triple shot be damned.
“Can I ask you something?” Meg breaks the silence after a moment.
“Go ahead,” I exhale.
“Do you like her?”
“Kerissa?”
Meghan kicks my shoe under the table. “Your wife, dum-dum.”
“It’s not that simple,” I answer.
“It never is,” she counters. “Now tell me, do you like her?”
I think about Natalie.
Think about the first time I saw her lying on that weight bench.
Think about the first time she made me laugh.
About the way her lashes glistened as we floated in the ocean together .
And the way we can’t keep our hands off each other when we’re near.
And I sigh. Because yeah, I like my wife.
Like I do every night when I’m lying in bed, I scroll through all the major sports sites.
Sports are my life, so it’s what I do.
I’m ready to see stuff about the Biters, but I’m not ready to see Natalie’s pretty face on my feed.
I click on the link to read the article.
It’s short. Just a mention of the new owner, the company he runs, the daughter set to take over for him, and the recent addition of a son-in-law.
My chest aches as I zoom in on the picture.
It’s taken from inside the stadium, the camera aimed up at the box where she and her dad are standing and clapping.
The smile on her face looks forced, and that ache inside me turns into a burn.
What excuse did she make for me not being there?
What does she tell her dad when she sees him at work?
Where is she sleeping at night?
That last one hurts.
I don’t know why. She’s not destitute. She can afford any hotel.
Then another thought hits me.
She can afford any home.
What if she decides to buy something now?
Her dad made that comment about her moving in with me, and that’s why she didn’t buy something. But you don’t have money like that and throw it away renting when you could be investing.
I set my phone down on my chest and just breathe.
I should’ve been there with her tonight.
I hated what she said to me that day in her office. Hated the way she twisted it to her benefit. But now I get it. I understand she was right.
After that damn tape leaked, her plan was the best way to handle it.
And I’m fucking it all up.
I’m fucking up her strategy, and I’m fucking up my chance to be with her.
I take another breath.
Tomorrow, we fly to Canada for our game on Tuesday, but then we’re back in town for a game Thursday. I’ll call her after that game.
Then I feel like a coward because I know I’ll text instead of calling. But then we can set up a time to talk next weekend. We can figure out a way to make this work.