Chapter 14 Bryce
Bryce
I heard him before I saw him.
Was it weird how quickly a bond had formed between us? It was weird, right? I’d gone my entire life without feeling that connection with someone else—wanting to feel it, worried something was wrong with me for not feeling it—and then I met Casey, and everything changed.
And I wasn’t even talking about a sexual or romantic connection.
Did I want that with him? Yeah. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I knew some people didn’t need or want that type of connection, but I wasn’t one of them. At least not when it came to Casey.
And that was possibly going to lead to a lot of heartache.
Would I rather keep things one hundred percent platonic if it meant keeping Casey Joe in my life? Hell, yes.
But at that moment, the invisible thread that seemed to stretch between us yanked on something deep in my chest as the noise grew louder.
The commotion off to the left of my table at Haven Grove’s Fall Fest was enough to wake the dead.
The addition of Casey’s cursing and Lance’s laughter from behind the tarp-covered apparatus they were wrestling with had me grinning like a fool and watching them make their way toward my table.
“Whatcha got there?” I nodded toward whatever the guys had been struggling with.
“CJ got you something,” Lance said, his eyes sparkling with mirth in the way only a best friend giving his buddy shit could.
Casey Joe grunted. “Just thought it might bring people to the table, maybe help us get some memberships signed up.” The way Casey had gone all-in on helping me with the gym and making plans for building up our client list warmed something deep in my belly.
He’d probably threaten to punch me in the face if I made a big deal out of it or even hinted he was a good guy under all that gruffness, but he truly was a big softie once you got to know him.
Sure, you had to look beyond the cussing and general bad mood, and it was imperative you understood where it all came from, but once you made it there, you were golden.
Casey Joe was the best friend a guy could have.
The best friend in question yanked the tarp up to reveal an honest-to-god strongman game complete with hammer, bell, and flashing lights.
“No way,” I murmured.
“The name Armstrong and your logo made me think of strongman,” Casey said, a ferocious glare daring anyone to make too big a deal of his gift. “And it’s not ours, it’s just a rental.”
It had been well-past midnight when Casey had gotten home the other night. The next morning, he’d had music blaring in the gym when I’d joined him, and I’d gotten the back-off-I-don’t-want-to-talk vibe loud and clear.
We’d worked on the gym with music blasting and very little talking for two days. It was comfortably awkward—which made zero sense, but it just was—and we got a shitload of work done while listening to every single song from the eighties and nineties put together.
The few times I’d tried to say something about the day I’d fucked things up, Casey Joe cranked the music, turned his back, or suddenly had something very important to pay attention to.
I wasn’t one to let something fester without some good ol’ fashioned communication, but something told me Casey was ruminating and maybe needed a little time to organize his thoughts.
So, I let him be.
But not for long because ruminating was one thing, festering was something altogether different.
The day of the Fall Fest dawned crisp and cool. Haven Grove’s leaves were about a week away from being in their full glory, but the scent of autumn danced on the breeze, hinting at the biting winds of winter only a few months away.
I’d gotten dressed, glanced at Casey’s closed bedroom door, and decided right then and there I’d talk to him before we went to bed that night. Even if he didn’t come to the event to help at our table, I was determined to clear the air before another day passed.
The fact Casey had not only shown up to help but had brought a strongman game to draw people to our table had ridiculous flutters warming my heart and made me certain we’d be able to work through whatever awkwardness was between us because of my screw up.
My heart ached, and my ego stung a bit, but if apologizing for my offer and promising it would never happen again was the only way to keep Casey Joe as my friend, I was ready and willing.
Lance gave me a smile and a nod—the kind of look that made me wonder if his best friend had told him what I’d said.
Shit.
I wasn’t sure if I hoped Casey had told Lance or not.
What would it mean if he had? Was it an outraged, disgusted story with threats of never speaking to me again after he punched me in the face?
Or had Casey told Lance what I’d offered as a way to get feedback and ideas for how to respond?
Did he tell Lance because he was interested?
Or because he wanted to reply in a way that let me down easy?
And what had Lance said? The smile and nod had seemed friendly enough. Lance was involved with Hudson, so I wasn’t worried about bigoted backlash. But what was the guy thinking?
Something like giddiness sparked in my chest. Feeling like a damn middle schooler wanting to ask the friend of my crush if they’d said anything about me, I returned the smile and gave a nod of my own.
The nod was a Midwestern necessity, relaying so much with very little effort.
A lift or dip of the chin could mean so many things depending on the situation.
I hoped my nod was taken as sorry if I screwed up by offering to fuck your best friend, I’m trying to make it right.
Lance shot a look between me and Casey, slapped his best friend on the back, and said, “I’m meeting Hudson at the store to help him carry things to the table before everything gets started. We’ll see you around.”
Casey returned the shoulder slap. “Thanks for your help.”
And then we were alone.
Just when I started to apologize, Casey gestured toward the strongman game. “Help me get it positioned. We’ll get everything set up and then take a walk around to check out all the shit before it gets busy.”
“Oh, you don’t have to miss everything—”
Casey glowered. “Still plan on me workin’ for you?”
I nodded.
“Then I’ll be at the table helpin’ to bring in memberships.” He grunted and pointed toward the edge of the game. “Grab it there. Need to get it moved over some.”
The strongman was awkward as hell to move, but we got it positioned in a spot where there was plenty of room for a line and swinging the hammer.
“Keep all the paper stuff in the folders for now,” Casey suggested. “Don’t want them blowing off the table.” The day wasn’t windy, but the occasional autumn breeze ruffled through the booths.
“We can use the swag as prizes for the game. If they ring the bell, they get a month free maybe,” I suggested.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Lance and I tried to ring the bell when we picked it up,” Casey said, nodding toward the strongman game. “It’s easier said than done.”
“Good,” I said with a chuckle. “Don’t want to be giving away too many free months.
But it needs to be attainable so people see others win or at least get close so they’ll come try it out.
” I glanced at the table. It looked good.
A mix of excitement and nervousness swirled through me.
Haven Grove was ready for a gym—tons of people had told me they were definitely signing up for one of our membership choices.
I knew opening as the colder months set in was optimal on one hand because many folks don’t like to battle the cold to get their workout in.
On the other hand, a lot of people go into the winter months ready to be comfy cozy and surrounded by yummy food.
So, it was a slight gamble, but waiting until spring wasn’t something I was patient enough for. “I think it looks good.”
Casey Joe studied the table and gave a quick nod.
“The QR code on the flyers and the banner go to our landing page where folks can find the link to the gym’s website along with our social media.
Everything is up and runnin’ so anyone lookin’ at our shit will see some decent videos along with progress on the renovations and membership choices. ”
“Thanks,” I said. “Seriously, your help with all of this has saved me a lot of time.” I gripped the back of my neck. “Not gonna lie, I kinda hate social media, so if you can keep taking that on, I’d be grateful.”
“What’s wrong with social media?” Casey Joe asked.
“Nothing wrong with it,” I said.
“Well, there’s a shit ton wrong with it if we’re being honest,” Casey offered. “I pretty much hate it, but maybe just because I hate a lot of shit.”
“True that.” I huffed out a laugh. “I spent a lot of time on socials chasing the likes, follows, comments when I was out in California. It got pretty bad. Like I couldn’t even function some days because I was so focused and dependent on that next dopamine hit.
I’d find myself lost in this haze and several hours would have disappeared while I just kept scrolling, posting, and checking my likes. ”
Casey cocked his head with a frown. “Damn, man. That sucks. Yeah, I can see it. Don’t sweat it; I’ve got the socials covered—I don’t like them, but I don’t have an issue with them. Hell, it’s kinda refreshin’ that there’s somethin’ I don’t have to worry about bein’ a problem for me.”
“Thanks.” It felt like more needed to be said, but the words weren’t flowing, and Casey had already moved on.
He hefted the hammer and put it under the table before letting the cloth fall to obscure the hiding spot.
“Don’t need any kids whackin’ each other with that damn thing before we’re back here to keep an eye on shit.
” He gestured toward the other booths setting up at the festival. “Let’s go see what they’ve got.”