Page 32 of Just One More Thing

Dock Lights and Late Nights. Annual fundraiser.

The whole town shows up. Some of them for charity. Most of them for gossip. And the rest for whatever happens in between.

Hank trots beside me in a navy bandana dotted with tiny white crabs. My bulldog owns more accessories than I do. His jowls bounce with purpose as he stops every few feet to sniff something urgent or accept a back scratch, then moves on again as if he’s got a schedule to keep.

Psskt.

Wayne: We’re on the bridge let the party begin

Ryan: If there’s no funnel cake, I’m leaving.

Follow the lights. Don’t flirt with anyone’s aunt.

Also, there is funnel cake.

I tuck the phone back in my pocket just as Hank veers off to greet a kid holding a glow stick, pretending it’s a light saber. The kid drops to his knees. Hank accepts the attention as the local celebrity he is.

“WHEELER!”

Wayne doesn’t walk so much as arrive. Loud before he even opens his mouth. Too much confidence. A grin wide enough to make strangers tell him things they should probably keep to themselves.

“My guy,” he says, arms wide like we didn’t talk yesterday.

Ryan comes up beside him in a Bucs tee and hat, normal in a way that somehow makes him stand out. He’s been one of my best friends since Tennessee, a teammate through the loud years and the ugly ones, and he’s never once turned the worst parts of my life into a headline.

“There he is,” Ryan says, immediately dropping to his knees to hug Hank.

It’s understood if anything ever happens to me, Ryan gets my bulldog.

Hank rears up and wraps his front legs around Ryan’s neck, returning the hug.

Wayne crouches to pet him, then pauses when Hank snorts directly at him. “Okay,” Wayne says, standing back up and wiping his glasses. “He hates me. I respect it.”

“You look good,” Ryan says, clapping my shoulder. “Small-town living suits you.”

“Careful,” Wayne adds. “He stays too long, he’ll start wearing boat shoes unironically.”

I point down.“Already do.”

“I knew it,” Wayne says. “You leave my influence and immediately go soft.”

“Know a lot about being soft, do you, Wayne?” Bethany says as she walks past and keeps walking.

“That woman,” Wayne says, turning to watch her go.

Bethany doesn’t look back. Wayne keeps looking anyway.

Ryan catches it too, because Ryan catches most things and comments on very few of them.

Wayne and Ryan are staying at Huey and the Snooze. Bethany insisted. Something about keeping the chaos and testosterone contained off The Point.

“You guys want to check in now?” I ask.

“We’re all checked in, my man,” Wayne says.

“I checked in,” Ryan adds. “He was checking out.”

“Dude, she was hot,” Wayne says. “You’ve been holding out on me, Wheeler. You never told me small-town girls?—“