All The Summers Between Us | TSITP

Strobe Lights & Truth.

THE BOYS

The bar was narrow and loud, all vanished wood and baseball on muted TVs. The neon beer sign buzzed like it was slightly annoyed to be doing its job. Jeremiah was holding court at a high-top with Steven, both of them arguing about wings versus nachos as if the decision held national significance. Daniel laughed easily at their bickering, phone face-down beside his pint like a promise he'd try to keep. Conrad stood with them but apart—elbow on the rail, glass of seltzer and lime sweating into a ring.

"Two IPAs, one lager, and—Connie, you want anything real?" Steven asked.

"I'm good," Conrad said, tapping the lime to the rim. "Pace yourselves."

Jeremiah grinned. "Dad friend."

"Someone has to get you home."

Daniel chuckled, rolling his shoulders like he could loosen the week out of them. "I'll Venmo for the Uber—"

"Or," Steven cut in, "you could tell us about the honeymoon, huh? Mr. Spreadsheet. Where's the grand plan?"

Daniel hesitated. "We're... still finalising. Work's—" he gestured, a vague loop in the air. "I told the team I'm unreachable the week after, but we haven't picked hotels."

Jeremiah blinked. "Ten out of ten romance."

Daniel laughed, unbothered. "We'll get there."

Conrad watched him in the mirror behind the bar—the reflection a cleaner version of everything else.

Daniel's smile didn't touch his eyes; his hand drifted toward his phone twice, then pulled back like he remembered the audience.

You're the groom, Conrad thought, something dry and mean curling in his chest and then dissolving into tired. Stand in the center. Or at least pretend you want to.

The bartender dropped a basket of wings.

Jeremiah howled like an answered prayer. Steven toasted something about friendship and terrible decisions. Daniel lifted his glass. "To the next week," he said. "May it go fast."

Conrad's mouth twitched. That's the prayer, isn't it? Let's all get through this without looking too closely at what it is.

He lifted his seltzer anyway. Glass met glass.

Somewhere under the TV, a highlight reel flashed a perfect swing. Daniel's phone buzzed against varnish. He flipped it, thumb hovering, then read it anyway—face tipping into work mode with the reflex of a man who had trained himself to be needed somewhere else.

"You can get that, man," Conrad said, mild.

Daniel pocketed the screen like it had misbehaved. "It can wait."

Can it? Conrad wondered. He stared into the fizz of his drink, the way the bubbles rushed up and disappeared, and reminded himself that nothing he said tonight could change the part of the story that was already moving without him.

He laughed when Jeremiah made a dumb face; he answered Steven's question about cufflinks; he stood when the table needed a new round. He was present like a ghost is present: in the room, and not allowed to touch anything.

————

THE GIRLS

The club in town was a rectangle of heat—low ceiling, sticky floor, lights that couldn't keep a mood for more than a measure. The DJ bled one chorus into another so the room didn't notice it was breathing too fast.

Belly dragged Taylor by the wrist into the pulse; Denise caught Lydia's hand and squeezed once before letting go. "You need one night," she said, smile easy, eyes clear. "Just one."