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“That’s the plan. Everyone says I should be good to go by then, long as I don’t fuck myself up this season.”

He nods and goes silent for a minute. “So you still want to play pro?”

I laugh shortly. “Yeah, man. Haven’t I always?”

“I mean even after all these years? You still want it as bad as you used to?”

“Unless there’s some hidden danger you want to warn me about.”

He shakes his head, then drinks down his soda for an impressively long time.

“Something on your mind, Ant?”

He takes a heavy breath. “I’ve been thinking about the way we used to talk about being pro football players. The stupid little promises we made, right?”

“I guess we made promises. We were kids.”

“Yeah, but with you being such a guilt-bearing son of a bitch, I don’t know ... I just wanted to make sure you’re not still thinking about those things.”

“Trust me, I’m well aware you’re not interested in being my future roommate. Even if I do buy a fifteen-bedroom mansion with two pools and an indoor football field.”

He smiles. “Don’t forget the go-kart track.” Back in elementary school, we wrote the whole thing down in a spiral notebook, adding to it as new ideas bubbled up—the dreamhouse we’d buy together with our millions of dollars, the cars we’d collect. I wonder whether that notebook exists anymore. “But that’s not what I meant. It would piss me off if I found out you thought you owed me something because of what happened in high school.”

“Owed you something?”

“Like a football career or some shit.”

I turn to stare at him. “Come on, man. Because of the way we talked when we were little? Are you serious? I’ve centered my whole life around the game. I want it because I want it.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to figure into your life as an obligation. I don’t want a single part in shaping what you do with your life. Okay?”

“What is your problem, Anthony?”

“I know I told you I blame you for the way my life got completely thrown off track, but we both know that’s bullshit. Obviously I’m responsible. Maybe I was too angry to accept that back then, but I know it now. It wasn’t your fault.”

I’m still for a minute, caught off guard by his words and the unexpected relief that comes with them. “Okay,” I say slowly. “I get it. But just so we’re clear, I didn’t need you to blame me. I blamed myself.”

“Then stop,” he says sharply.

I nod. “You want to tell me where this is coming from and what it has to do with my future?”

“I don’t want you to doanythingfor me, Lorenzo. I don’t want that responsibility.”

I swallow. “What made you think you needed to come here and tell me that?”

“Because. It’s clear that when you think about me, you only think one thing.” He looks at me. “You could do anything you want with your life. And when you think about me, I don’t want it to feel shitty.”

I want to tell him it doesn’t feel shitty, but that would be a lie. I nod, and when he doesn’t say anything else, I add, “Well, thanks for the refreshments. You want to stick around? We could grab food.”

For a minute he stares out into the street, his mouth set in a straight line. “There’s one more thing.”

“Okay.”

He stares a few seconds longer before rubbing a hand through his hair and turning to me like it hurts. “Your parents never mentioned anything to you about ... us? Our family?”

I’m lost. “Our family? I don’t know where you’re going with this.”

“Is that a no?”