Page 112 of Puck the Coach's Son
I nod.
“Yeah.”
He slides out of the booth. Goes to the bar. I stare at the dead OPE sign. My hands are doing the thing where they're fine if I'm holding something and not fine if I'm not. I pick up the beer. Empty it. Set it down.
My phone buzzes.
I look down. It’s Theo.
Can you come get me?
The phone is cold in my hand. The text is three seconds old. I read it again because the brain wants to make sure.
Theo: please
Theo: paul is losing his mind
Theo: i can't do this by myself right now
Phoenix is at the bar waiting on the bartender. I'm already sliding out of the booth. I'm already pulling on my jacket. I'm already typing.
Where?
Theo: not home. bench at the reservoir. the one with the map
Me: 12 min
Theo: ok
Theo: thank you
I don't know what he's thanking me for. I haven't done anything yet. I'm going to, though. I'm going to do every single thing.
Phoenix turns from the bar with two beers in his hands and sees me on my feet with my jacket half on. His face drops.
“What?”
I zip the jacket the rest of the way up.
“Theo.”
“Is he okay?”
“Don't know yet.”
Phoenix closes the distance between us in three steps.
“You want me with you?”
I look at him. I mean really look. The jaw muscle. The hands on two beers he's not going to drink. The man who was just warning me and still offered to come, which is the Phoenix Reyes special. Yells at you for the dumb thing and then helps you do it anyway.
“No,” I say. “You've done enough. I owe you one.”
“You owe me ten.” He picks up one beer. Drinks it down in three swallows. Slams it. “Go. Text me when he's okay.”
“Yeah.”
I'm at the door before he's sat back down.
