Page 66 of Hidden & Held

“I-I don’t think my situation is exactly as simple as a software program.”

“No.” Jared reaches for another onion ring. “But I think the principle still applies.”

Sam takes another drink. “Knowing how you fucked up doesn’t unfuck the situation.”

I look through the crowd, not responding. How do you respond to the truth that you gutted the person you love?

Jared reaches for a few napkins out of the dispenser, swiping away the grease. Readjusting his glasses, he assesses me. “I don’t know you, but you look like shit,” he comments as if that is a normal statement to make.

I huff. “Thanks, glad you noticed.”

He shrugs, taking a sip of his pilsner. “Your hair is more messed up than when we saw you last weekend, as if you have been running your hands through it repeatedly. There are dark circles under your eyes, which is usually indicative of a lack of sleep and⁠—”

Sam pats Jared on the back, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “J, we talked about this. You don’t call people out who you just met.” He redirects to me, “But he’s right, you do look bad. I’m guessing Phoenix looks bad too.”

“She could never look bad,” I fire back too quickly.

Sam arches his eyebrow at me. “She hurt?” He phrases it as a question, but we both know the answer.

“Yes, she broke her ankle.”

“Dude, that’s not what he meant, and you know it,” Jared quips.

I look between the two of them, realizing I am out of my depth. Getting advice and some perspective from the people who know her couldn’t hurt.

“Yes, she’s hurt.” I sigh, hating that it’s true. “We worked together, and I messed things up. Badly.”

“Is she done? Have you already lost her then?” Jared asks as if he is running a diagnostic on my relationship.

“I … I don’t know.” I force the words out, not having allowed myself to go there yet.

“That’s a yes,” Jared relays with little emotion.

“Man, you can’t say those things.” Sam blows out a breath, looking up at the ceiling as if asking for patience.

Jared winces. “Sorry, what I mean to say is she’s gone. But maybe you can fix it,” he supplies, trying to be more helpful. “I once broke Kenzie’s favorite mug and spent four days finding the exact same one online. She knew it wasn’t the original, but she kept it anyway.”

Sam and I both stare at him.

“That’s not quite the same thing,” Sam says.

“No,” Jared agrees more cheerfully now. “But it worked out. Maybe yours will too.”

I almost smile, wishing I felt his optimism. I may not feel it is as simple as Jared is making it out, but a sliver of hope still exists inside me that one day I can attempt to make things right.

Sam moves his eyes back to the players. “I don’t know if I would say you can fix it,” he says aloud, almost to himself. “Fixing means making it work the same as before. I don’t know what happened, but I would hazard a guess that there was some serious damage.”

I grunt in response.

“You don’t rebuild something after damage by pretending it never broke in the first place.” He turns to me, eyes boring into mine. “She’s carrying consequences you don’t have to carry.”

Darlene squeezes in between us and sets my beer on the counter.

“Alright, they are calling for you all. Brawn and Brains is up against The Comeback Kids,” Darlene informs the crowd.

I lean against the barstool, watching Jared and Sam play a pair of gray-haired, pot-bellied retirees in a close game. Sam’s words never fully leave my mind.

I finish my beer, wave to Sam and Jared from a distance, wishing them luck, and head home. When I pull into the driveway, I see her light is still on, a shadow sitting on the couch, curled up with a reading lamp on.