Page 56 of Backward Motion

“I’m sure. Thanks again for all your hard work. I’ve really enjoyed having you here. Good luck with everything, Sam.” Connor reached out a hand, and Sam took it, feeling the jolt of electricity when their skin touched. Then Connor let go and turned toward the workshop door. “I’ve got to pack up for a job. Are you all right to see yourself out?”

Crestfallen, Sam was about to nod, but Connor already had his back to him. He was already walking away.

Connor returned to the office at the end of the day to find it dark and quiet. He surveyed the empty room and wondered if it had always been this depressing. After Sam had left that morning, Connor kept himself moving from job to job, refusing to stop in at the office as he usually would around lunchtime. If he’d had a hard time concentrating on work in the throes of their new relationship, it was even harder at its end. He reached over to flick on the lights then took a seat behind the desk and exhaled, utterly defeated.

He tried to pinpoint the exact moment it had all gone wrong. Was it when his father opened his big mouth or when Sam had nominated him for the stupid award in the first place? Perhaps it was earlier than that—the night he’d come across Sam on the football field and invited him home. Maybe the whole thing had been doomed from the start. Even a decade on, did Connor really think he had achance with the cute boy from school with the shy smile and a knack for avoiding conflict?

Connor looked down at Sam’s workstation. There were Post-it notes attached to the monitor with billing cycle dates and product codes and one that simply said,Small victories, in Sam’s neat handwriting. Connor traced the words with a finger. Sam had taken to the job with such enthusiasm. He’d gotten up to speed in record time and then gone and added his own improvements to the mix. Connor meant what he’d said; he already felt lost without him.

He pulled open the top drawer of the desk to find it filled with stationery, pens, paperclips, and boxes of staples organized into tidy sections. The drawer below housed a stack of folders, and Connor spotted his name scrawled across the one on top. He took the folder from the drawer and opened it on the desk. It was the nomination Sam had put together for the Oakdale Business Awards. In the cover letter, Sam described Connor’s accomplishments and strengths using phrases likewealth of experienceandexceptional dedication. Connor read about himself in awe. Sam had managed to transform his mundane life into an inspiring tale of triumph. Beneath the letter was the pile of photocopied testimonials and the rest of the supporting documentation he’d collected to present to the judges.

Connor stared at the folder. He’d been unaware Sam had put so much effort into seeing that he was recognized. His stomach felt heavy as he placed the papers back in the folder and shoved it into the drawer.

There was a knock at the office door, and Connor stood quickly.Could it be...?But when he opened the door, it wasn’t Sam standing outside. It was Brian.

“A little birdie told me about your big win. I thought we could celebrate.” Brian held up the bottle of wine in his hand. “I’m too cheap for champagne, but I have some of Jim’s best bottom-shelf chardonnay.”

“I’m not really in the mood,” Connor said, not offering an explanation.

Brian gave him a curious look. “Why so gloomy? Or should I ask Sam?”

“Don’t—” Connor spluttered before realizing the man was teasing.

“Well, if you’re not going to drink it, I will. Come on—I’ll race you to the lookout.”

Connor shook his head ruefully. “We haven’t done that in years.”

“Not since the night before my wedding. When you so graciously talked me down. Jules will be forever in your debt.”

“And here I was thinking she’d be mad I didn’t save her from you.”

“Sticks and stones, man. I’m just going to stand here until you agree.”

Connor let out a reluctant sigh. He was no match for Brian’s persistence. He grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door and locked the office behind him.

There was a playground a couple of streets behind the school that backed up to a modest hill covered in woody shrubs. Over the years, a winding trail to the top of the slope had been forged through the undergrowth. It was an easy enough climb and led to a small clearing at the summit, which offered an obscured view of the town below. The lookout had been a favorite spot of theirs when they were younger. He, Brian, and a ragtag collection of friends would make the trek in pursuit of a private place to get drunk on whatever they could steal from their parents’ liquor cabinets.

As they made their way up the slope, careful of the exposed roots that snaked across the path, Connor felt the fresh air ease his nerves. Beside him, Brian panted, sweat beading along his brow. He stopped for a second to catch his breath. “Ithasbeen a while.”

Connor smirked. “No, what makes you saythat?”

“You spend every waking moment bowing to the demands of tiny demons, and we’ll see how many times you make it to the gym,” Brian shot back.

Connor held up his hands in mock surrender. “Let me carry the wine, then—lighten the load.”

“Ha ha.” Brian pushed past him and continued up the hill.

They made it to the clearing, and Connor was surprised to find it deserted. He’d imagined them having to convince a group of teenagers to scram. But kids these days didn’t hike up hills to meet their friends. They scrolled through their phones at home and traded clever observations over group chats.

Brian plopped down on the grass with a loud groan. “Okay, well, that was more effort than it was worth.”

Connor relieved Brian of the wine and sat down across from him on the ground. Only after cracking open the lid did he realize they hadn’t brought anything to drink it in.Fuck it,he thought and lifted the bottle to his lips to take a long swig.

He handed it back to Brian. “Hope you like cooties.”

“You’ll have to do better than that. My gross-out threshold is off the charts.” Brian chugged back several mouthfuls then made a face. “Look at us, two grown men acting like animals. Why didn’t I bring mugs?”

“Or glasses, like a normal person.”