Chapter 1
Five Years Later by Patrick Bryce Wright
Being a Monday afternoon in late April, Conrad Jameson was close to graduation and facing finals at the University of Chicago—or, rather, facing finals and the rest of his life.
He slipped into Java Junction, away from the roar of car engines and the squealing of bus air brakes.
Java Junction was an old-school diner. The rich, tempting aroma of coffee and sweet scent of pastries wafted over him.
The soothing hum of chatting patrons filled the air.
People dotted the tables and booths, scrolling on their phones or typing on their laptops.
The yellow and blue décor flooded his senses: yellow walls, blue booths and stools, and sunflower and blue jay pictures.
Java Junction screamed joy to most everyone.
But not to him.
Finishing his finals and graduating was all right. His real problem was that he was limping his way through a messy breakup. His ex-boyfriend, Brian, wasn’t being mature about the end of their relationship. Just what I need going into finals week: relationship drama.
Approaching the counter, Conrad slipped onto an empty stool. A fellow college student with neon pink hair, wearing Java Junction’s uniform of a white apron, blue polo shirt, and light yellow slacks, bustled over and stood across the counter from him.
“Whatdaya have?” She ran the words together.
“Espresso. Banana nut muffin.”
As she bounced off, Conrad scanned the diner. He knew he was taking a chance. Brian loved Java Junction. At the same time, running away because he might see Brian felt stupid, too. He resented the idea of letting anyone, especially Brian, chase him out of a public place.
Since Conrad had been the one to call it off, Brian had sent him increasingly unhinged texts full of ridiculous accusations.
Conrad’s therapist had suggested blocking Brian, but Conrad had tried to explain it wasn’t that easy.
If he didn’t know what Brian was saying to his face, he’d have no idea what Brian was saying behind his back.
Movement in the corner of Conrad’s vision drew his attention, and he turned his head. A tall, college-aged man stood from a corner table and smirked at him. He was black-haired, lanky, and swallowed by his brown bomber jacket. He sauntered toward Conrad, carrying his iced coffee with him.
Hunter Sanderson. Conrad’s stomach twisted. The only way this could be worse would be if it were Brian. Hunter was another of his ex-boyfriends, so Conrad knew he was up to no good.
He slid onto the stool to Conrad’s right.
In a sense, they were mirrors of each other, both tall and thin and brunet.
Some of Conrad’s friends believed in the superstition that gay couples who looked like brothers worked out the best. They’d been shocked when Conrad had dumped Hunter in disgust. However, Hunter’s green eyes carried a cold glint Conrad wished he’d paid more attention to from the beginning.
“Hiya, Con. Haven’t seen you around since we took Music Theory.”
“Hey.” Conrad’s flat tone implied his unasked question: What do you want?
“Heard you’re ghosting Brian Duvall.” Hunter sipped his iced coffee and then grinned at the blue countertop. “Could’ve told you the guy’s a loser.” When he turned his gaze on Conrad, false innocence filled his eyes. “Does that mean you’re free?”
Conrad stifled a groan. In his five years of college, Conrad had dated three guys, and it’d gone bust every time. He hadn’t imagined he’d be graduating from college having batted zero. “And that’s your business why?”
With a snort, Hunter thunked down his glass. “Man, what’s up with you? A guy tries to show you a good time, and you get pissy. You shot me down before I could even ask you out again.”
“I’m not in it for good times only. I’m more of a James Taylor kind of guy and less of a Prince kind of guy.”
“Sex phobe,” Hunter muttered.
Conrad punched him in the upper arm.
Hunter grunted in pain, looked down at his arm, and then up at Conrad with wide eyes. “Hey, that actually hurt!”
“You don’t get to pass judgment on me,” Conrad hissed. “On our first date, you smacked my ass like I was a stripper. I tried to see that as flirting. You only got worse. A boyfriend is more than a cheap lay, you know.”
“God, so intense.” Hunter stood. “Forget I said anything. I just remembered how you made every date about stargazing and talking about trauma.” He snatched up his glass and stalked off.
Conrad slumped. Exhausting! He turned and stared at a coffee stain on the blue countertop. It was ameba-shaped and dark, a blot on an otherwise perfect surface. Why do I draw these creeps? I don’t get it. I made plenty of friends in college, but the instant I try to date, it all goes to shit.
Although Conrad wanted to dismiss Hunter as a jackass, his mind cycled through the conversation, torturing him with the questions he wanted to avoid: Is there anything to what Hunter said?
What is up with me? Do I really bring up what Mom did on every date?
The way he remembered it, he barely talked about himself, and Hunter practically threatened to break up with him unless he shared something personal, only for the creep to make fun of him the instant he did.
Conrad’s mother had left the family five years earlier and vanished, abandoning his father and him.
Since then, he’d kept mostly to himself.
It had been his dad and him against the world, two guys trying to heal—each in his own way—from the wounds of having someone so central to their lives simply climb into her car and drive away without a word.
Should I relax and have more fun? Go out more? Or is it fine to wait for someone who’s more committed? When people say take a risk, it’s not always a clear-cut situation. He slipped his hand into his jeans pocket and wrapped it around his cellphone.
The door opened, admitting a blond guy in jeans and a red- and black-striped shirt. The man’s long, straight nose and full lips made Conrad do a double-take. To his shock, it was his old best friend from high school, Jude Laursen.
What’s he doing here? “Hey, Jude!” Conrad let go of his cellphone and waved to get Jude’s attention.
Jude glanced around. His gaze snapped to Conrad’s hand, then his face. “Con!” His face lit up with shocked recognition. He sprinted over and plopped on the stool Hunter had vacated. “What’re you doing here?” He grabbed Conrad’s hand and wrung it in a firm handshake.
“Getting enough caffeine to stay conscious and do my homework.” Given Conrad was a fifth-year senior, he assumed Jude had graduated the spring before.
He didn’t know, though, since they had lost track of each other.
Jude had gone to the University of Colorado Boulder and all but vanished from the Chicago area.
However, sitting by Conrad now, Jude didn’t look terribly different than he had before, just five years older. He had longish hair, blue eyes, and an overall Scandinavian appearance: tall, lean, attractive.
Conrad internally sighed. Here’s the guy I hung out with every day from seventh grade to twelfth grade, and now I barely know him. “What about you? Why’re you in town?”
“My mom finally divorced my dad, so I moved back.” Jude smiled, but he seemed serious. “I considered staying in Boulder, but I missed Chicago too much.”
A young, red-haired guy wearing the diner uniform stepped up behind the counter. “What can I get for you?”
“Me?” Jude asked, pointing to himself. “Black coffee and a bagel sandwich. Ham and cheese. Thanks.”
The server wrote it down on a pad, repeated it back, and ran off.
Jude refocused on Conrad. “I never meant to lose touch, you know.”
“College is college.” Conrad waved one hand through the air in dismissal. “Everyone gets busy, gets loaded down with classes and a job, and then loses touch. Besides, you got a great scholarship.”
The server with pink hair swept up with Conrad’s espresso and muffin, setting them down with a solid clink of glass before shooting off again.
“But, hey, if you’re back in Chicago…” Conrad let his sentence trail off.
He picked up the espresso and took a careful sip.
God, you would have made the perfect boyfriend.
He peered at Jude’s left ring finger. No ring.
Surely if he’d gotten married, I would have known, though.
His dad and Jude’s mom had stayed friends and still talked once a month.
“Yeah!” Jude laughed and sat up straighter.
The red-haired server returned with his black coffee.
“Thanks, man.” Jude turned back to Conrad. “I just moved. I’ve got an apartment in Highland Park. How about you? You talked about homework. Still going to the University of Chicago?”
“Two weeks to go,” Conrad said. “I’ve been doing interviews all over Chicago, but I haven’t heard back yet.
Right now, I’m working at a music store in Highland Park, and Dad and I still live in Evanston.
I’m gonna move out after I graduate.” He took a second sip of espresso and wondered if he needed the caffeine now.
His heart was racing. Jude’s moved to Highland Park.
He’s here to stay, I hope. “So did you bring a girlfriend back with you? Is there a future Mrs. Laursen with you?” Smooth, Jameson, smooth.
That sounds real natural—if you’re sixty years old, maybe.
Jude laughed and waved his hands, leaning back on the stool.
“No way! Shit, man, this brings back memories. The way we used to talk about girls, wondering when it would happen for us and how we were supposed to act. How to get a girl to even kiss us. You used to make these lists, you remember that? You still dating Jenny Perry, or did you find another genius-level music student to go out with?”