Tailored trousers.
Watch that probably cost more than my truck.
He scanned the bleachers.
Found me.
Walked over.
“Ethan.”
I kept watching Noah warm up.
“Adrian.”
He sat beside me.
I hated how natural the movement looked.
Like he had simply been late.
For fourteen years.
He cleared his throat.
“I wasn’t sure you’d let me sit here.”
“Noah chose the seat.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then Adrian said:
“I’m doing well.”
I almost turned toward him.
What a ridiculous opening.
“Congratulations.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
He adjusted his sleeve.
“My wife has helped me a lot.”
“Good.”
“I went through therapy.”
“Good.”
“I wasn’t well after—”
“Don’t.”
