Page 157 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
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WHEN WE WERE GOOD, WE WERE REALLY GOOD
Jude
I don’t really have the time for a call, but I have to answer, considering the state William was in when I last saw him. What if I don’t and something happens? Or he breaks more than a hotel room? I step away from the crowds, darting into the doorway of a shuttered store. “Hey, mate. How’s it going?”
I brace myself for the usual lies—everything is great. I swear, I’m fine. I just miss all my friends.
But what I get instead is a deep breath. “Hey. I’m good. Really good. Listen, I wanted to say I’ve been thinking about what you said last time I saw you. When you took me home from the Luxe.”
Hope rises in me. “Yeah?”
“About making changes and whatnot,” he adds as if I don’t recall every word.
“And what are you thinking?”Rehab. Please say rehab.
He’s quiet, but New York’s not. Cabs lurch by, and crowds jabber. Somewhere nearby, a siren wails.
“I’m definitely thinking,” he finally says.
But if he can’t even say the word rehab, he might not be ready to quit drinking. “How’s it going this week? Have you been back at yoga?”
“Oh!” There’s sunny excitement in his voice. “I didn’t tell you?” I wince. Those words rarely mean good news with alcoholics.
“Tell me what?”
“I have been going on the reg. My new yoga teacher is fine as fuck, and we went out last night for a smoothie.”
“Is that code for something?”
“No, it was legit a smoothie. Tonight, we’re going to... a bonfire on the beach.”
Bonfires on the beach usually involve bottles. I check the time. “William, I need to take off. I’m due at the theater any minute. But be careful, okay?”
“At the beach? Don’t you worry. I’ll fight off all the sharks.”
“You know what I mean,” I say. Why the fuck won’t anyone else tell him the truth? Why won’t his family, his agent, his other friends? “I want you to think seriously about getting help,” I say, and tough love hurts. It’s gut-wrenching.
“I know you do, Jude. And like I said, I’m thinking about it. I’ll talk to Damian about it.”
“Is that your new guy?”
“Let’s hope so. Have I mentioned he’s hot?”
“Yes. Yes, you have,” I say, wishing his yoga fling was a good sign, when in fact, it’s probably a sign he’s turning to men, as well as alcohol, to fix whatever is empty inside him.
“Anyway, you enjoy the show. Say hi to TJ for me. Would be fun for us to hang again now that you’re back with your man,” he says, and that’s the guy I know. Earnest, real, unfiltered.
I latch onto the memory of the supportive person he can be. He’s always wanted his friends to be happy. “I will,” I say, though I know I won’t tell TJ I spoke to William.
Anytime his name comes up, TJ turns into a jealous dragon...
Wait a moment. This is bonkers. How did I miss that obvious fucking neon sign?
If TJ’s jealous, that might mean he’s not over me after all.
I’m practically buzzed as I tuck my phone into my pocket. When I reach the St. James, I’m still grinning. The lobby is teeming with photographers, snapping pics of influencers, producers, celebrities of all shapes and sizes.