His eyes lit up as he grinned at me. “You’ll have to carry me out there,” he warned with a chuckle.
“So, not much different from college, huh?” I joked. The number of times I’d had to go haul his drunken ass home was ridiculous. “I’ll get Em.”
“Don’t,” Andy said suddenly. “I thought it would be nice just you and me.”
I nodded, a little taken aback. It was rarely just him and me; it was always the three of us. I quickly scrawled down a note for her so she wouldn’t worry, then went to the fridge and grabbed a six-pack of beer.
“Here,” I said, giving it to him to nurse while I pushed his chair. “Do you need anything first?”
“Nope. I’m good.”
I pushed the chair down to the edge of the sand and then hoisted him out and over my shoulder.
“This is fucked up, man.” He laughed.
Yep, I was carrying a grown man over my shoulder. I guess it was pretty funny. Laying him down on the sand, I popped open a can and handed it to him.
“Are you sure you can drink?” I asked him doubtfully.
He shrugged. “No, but what’s it going to do? Kill me?” he sniggered. Good point. “Marta might kill you for feeding me alcohol, though.”
“Yeah, well, she can get in line,” I joked.
“Has she called much? Mom?” he asked.
“Yeah. Every day. I texted my mom and told her you were fine.”
“Em bought a disposable.” He chuckled. “She didn’t want to risk ratting me out.”
“I heard,” I said, shaking my head. “So . . . how are you?”
“Jesus, dude, will you stop asking me how I am?” he said, rolling his eyes. “No different from the last ten times you asked.”
Shit. The thing was, I always felt like I never knew what to say. I tried to act like myself around him, like nothing was different, but it was.
I hated that I felt so useless. What was I supposed to do here? Everything was pointless. Nobody cared about the weather, or how the previous night’s episode of Game of Thrones had been—not when there was a chance he wouldn’t be around for the next. What could I possibly say right now that had any merit?
“Dude, I don’t want a pity party, okay?” he shook his head. “We’ve been through this before. Talk to me like I’m not dying. Joke about my bad hairdo. Make fun of how fucking sick I look. Treat me like you always do, okay? That’s all I want from you.”
I swallowed hard. It was such a simple request: he wanted me to be myself and treat him normally. If I couldn’t manage that, then I sucked at friendship.
We sat there, both staring out at the sea, lost in thought.
Andy cleared his throat. “So, how long have you been in love with Em?”
What?
My head whipped toward him so fast I almost dislocated my neck. I couldn’t have heard him right. No fucking way he’d just asked me that. Even if he knew—which was fucking impossible—why bring it up?
“What are you talking about?” I laughed, figuring it was the best response here.
Andy smiled faintly and rolled his eyes. “You don’t hide it very well. Well, you try to,” he corrected himself, “but I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s the same way I do.” He didn’t sound angry, just wistful. He almost sounded jealous. “Spit it out, Seth. It’s not like I can beat the shit out of you, is it?” he said, his voice dry. No. He could barely lift his arms without help.
“Since the first day I saw her,” I finally said, my throat dry. My heart beat furiously as I recounted the memory. “We were sitting in the back of Mr. Gale’s class, and she walked in late. I remember feeling like I’d been punched in the stomach. She took my breath away. That long, dark hair . . .” I shook my head and smiled. “I still remember what she was wearing. A red sweater with black stripes and—”
“—a black skirt,” Andy finished, his lips twitching. “Shit, man. I had no idea. I never would’ve gone for her if I knew you liked her.”
I laughed. Was he kidding? He was apologizing to me?