Penalty Kill

Harper

Sitting in a half-full train car as it rattles its way down old, rickety tracks, my brain pours over the last twelvish or so hours in an attempt to figure out why I'm struggling to fight back tears. Buildings blur past, the water in my eyes giving them abstract forms mixed with the speed of the train, and I blink furiously trying to get a grip on reality as our goodbye plays back in my mind.

I'm standing in front of a man who's made me feel and see life in brighter, bolder colors than I ever dreamed possible. Goodbyes are always hard and a little odd, no matter who they're with. Goodbyes with Jake have always been bittersweet in ways I have yet to fully understand. It brings me insurmountable joy to watch him go do what he loves, while knowing I'll be without him dims my own smile just the tiniest bit.

He's digging in the front pocket of his dress pants, and I watch with a perplexed expression as he fishes out his keys. His calloused fingers work off a metal loop that holds a single shiny gold key. With a smile chock full of trepidation, he hovers it between pinched fingers in the air between us.

"Take this."

"A key? To what? Your heart? A safe? The declaration of independence? Are you Nicolas Caging me?"

Ah, yes. There I go, the queen of deflection. Never one being able to deal with very real gestures that are so sweet and meaningful in a way that's normal or nice.

"To my apartment, smart-ass."

"Wait, are you tricking me into house sitting? Was coming over just an elaborate ruse to get me to watch Huey? Because that was a waste of time—I'd die for that dog. He's the goodest boy."

"What about me?" He feigns hurt, his key-free hand resting over his suit-clad chest, right over his heart. "Aren't I the goodest boy?"

"Mmm, it's a tight race, Bryers. You'll need to work a little harder to be cute and unyieldingly loyal."

"Done and more done." Unable to do anything to stop the blush that's ripping through my cheeks, I reach up and gingerly take the key from his fingers, holding it in my upturned palm as I try to parse together what exactly this might mean.

"I just figured, you know, since I travel a lot, it'd be easier so you don't have to come to the airport all the time, you can meet me at my place. And since I'm gone so much during the season, there's a fancy tub that's hardly used, a lovable pooch who would love some company outside of his visits with the pet sitter, and an incredibly comfortable bed that's designed to literally revitalize aging athletes bodies—so you could always take a nice post-work nap."

Blinking down at the key, I can't help but smirk as he lists off reasons—all incredibly valid ones, too—in a bit of a rush. Words aren't coming to my lips to express how sweet of a gesture this is, how nice it is for him to trust me with his place, with his space. So instead, I settle for making a gesture of my own. It's nowhere near as grand or as meaningful, but it's from the heart.

"I've actually got something for you, too."

"You've already given me something, Chirpy, it's hard, and in between—"

I give him a quick punch in the gut, which has him grabbing his abs in pretend hurt, and I suppose that will have to be satisfying enough since I'll never be able to actually penetrate the inches of his well-honed muscle to truly get him to double over. Reaching into my bag, I fish out what I slid into it yesterday before I left the library.

He's laughing before I even hand it to him. Amused-induced tears are coming out of the corners of his eyes as he holds Green Eggs and Ham in his hands, earning us looks from other airport goers that are filtering past. Wiping his eyes with one of his knuckles, an ear-to-ear smile filling his bearded face, he shakes his head as his thumb strokes the cover.