Page 43 of Iron

I grab his chin and pull it to me, kissing his plush lips. “Accurate.”

Gregory leans across the table, delighted. “Okay, but for real, we need details. Netra’s been dying since the clip went viral.”

“There are no details,” I say.

At the same moment TJ says, “There are so many details,” and the table erupts into laughter, Bill nearly choking on his drink.

A cute waiter bops up to our table and gushes, “Ooh, hello honey. What can I get you to drink?”

I growl. “We’ll share a margarita.”

TJ shivers. “Ooh, growly, I like it.” He leans over and pecks my lips, and I smile under his mouth.

“I like him,” Bill announces, pointing at TJ with his fork. “He’s funny. Better than the last six years of you brooding into a bourbon alone.”

“We don’t need to re-litigate the bourbon.”

“We’re absolutely going to re-litigate the bourbon,” Netra says, delighted. “TJ, sweetheart, did you know this man spent an entire evening in a bar in Illinois refusing to look happy about anything while your pretty face was on every screen in the building?”

TJ turns to me, eyebrows raised, clearly filing this away for future use. “Is that true?”

“That’s grossly exaggerated.”

“It is not exaggerated at all,” Gregory says. “I have the group chats. He texted us that night. It was very sad.” He turns to me. “We were all very worried about you.”

“I hate all of you.”

“You love us,” Netra says, entirely unbothered, and reaches over to pat my hand fondly before turning her full attention back to TJ. “So. Tell us everything. How’d you actually land this disaster of a man?”

TJ launches into it, animated, funny, telling the story of the tenth hole in Denver with more color and self-deprecating humor than I remember it having when I lived through it. The table eats it up, Gregory gasping in all the right places, Bill demanding details about the caddie swap I know are going to get exaggerated with every retelling from here on out.

“Because you needed Stephen and I could give him to you,” TJ says gruffly, imitating me and I grin. “Just fucking melt me on toast.”

Bill giggles and Gregory just coos.

I mostly just watch. Watch the way he fits into this table like he’s always belonged here, easy with my friends in a way that took me years to be easy with anyone. Watch Netra’s initial appraising skepticism melt entirely into open affection within twenty minutes.

“Okay,” she says eventually, leaning back, satisfied, like she’s reached a verdict. “I approve. You may keep him.”

“Thanks, I think,” TJ says, laughing.

“Don’t thank her,” Gregory warns. “It means she’s going to text you directly now instead of going through him.”

“Absolutely, I am,” Netra confirms, already pulling out her phone. “TJ. Digits. Now. I need updates that aren’t filtered through this one’s emotional constipation.”

TJ laughs, delighted, and hands over his phone without hesitation, and I watch my friends, the people who’ve held me together through six years of walls and bourbon and careful, controlled distance, fold him into the group like he’s always been here.

Something loosens in my chest, warm and unfamiliar and entirely welcome.

Under the table, TJ’s hand finds mine, laces our fingers together, tightens, and doesn’t let go for the rest of the night.

33

TJ

August is a fucking grind. Each week, a different event. And no Gavin except for video calls.

“How’s Nebraska, baby?” Gavin asks. “Better than Utah?”