Page 6

Driving down the familiar lakeshore drive of his hometown with the top off of his rented new Ford Bronco, Quinn took in a deep breath, letting the unsalted air fill his lungs.

Living in California was great, known for its breathtaking views, but the air up here in Northern Michigan was fresher and cleaner, more crisp.

Quinn gripped the steering wheel with his left hand while his right arm hung in a sling across his chest.

Quinn wondered what the last words were that they had spoken to each other.

Had he just told her "I'm off to Arizona, don't forget to eat"?

Did she say anything to him? When was the last time she'd spoken to him at all?

He and his mother had been passing strangers.

They'd never had any kind of relationship, but were just sort of there, living in the same house, breathing in the same misery.

On the plane, Quinn had taken to Facebook to look up his two best friends from middle and high school who he was pretty sure were still in the area.

Last time he’d talked to them, they were in the process of opening their own sports bar right in their hometown.

He was happy to see that not only had they succeeded in opening a place of their own, but it was thriving.

Traverse City was home to several breweries, distilleries, and wineries, and was famous for craft beer, with the best bar hops and brew tours in the state.

With so many craft bars to choose from, Jett Miller and Chris Watson- the third - went for a classic sports bar featuring a variety of domestic draughts, local brews, and local ciders.

It was the best of both worlds. While many of the bars in Traverse City boasted a very hipster vibe, Trojan Horse Sports Bar was a veritable man cave.

An idea began to form at the thought of the bar and his old friends.

Quinn pressed the button on his steering wheel and spoke to Siri through the Bronco's bluetooth, "GPS to Trojan Horse Sports Bar, Traverse City, Michigan.

" The screen in the center console brought up the directions in maps.

Only eight minutes away, it was worth the detour.

Quinn wasn't much of a drinker, but he knew he needed something to ease his nerves and loosen up the knot in his stomach.

Plus, the idea of seeing Chris and Jett again after so many years brought a much-needed smile to his face.

About ten minutes later he found himself parked in front of Trojan Horse.

His nerves turned to excitement and he was having a hard time keeping the grin off his face, wondering what his old friends would say at the sight of him walking through the door.

He made an awkward attempt to smooth his ever-unruly hair with one hand and threw on his aviators, he hopped out of the Bronco and sauntered into the bar.

The space was longer than it was wide, with large flat screens available at every angle, playing a variety of sports channels.

The bar itself ran almost the entire length of one side of the building, with trendy bare-bulb rustic lights hanging down from wood beams. The place was done in dark wood tones, and where there weren't flat screens on the walls there were photos of sports teams, posters, jerseys, and various sports equipment hung up.

Quinn scanned the walls and the bar again, the liquor bottles backlit on their shelves.

There was a section of wall behind the bar that didn't have shelves filled with liquor, but instead boasted the white and blue number twelve LA jersey, with CASEY emblazoned across the top.

He couldn't help smiling, swelling with pride and appreciation that his two friends had made a special spot for him on their walls.

The bar was pretty much empty, which wasn't surprising as it was 2:30 on a Monday afternoon.

There were two men at the bar, one sitting on a bar stool with a laptop and notebooks on the bar top, and the other behind it, counting liquor bottles.

Fair-skinned Jett Miller was pulling out bottles of Hendrick's from beneath the bar, his light brown hair as curly as Quinn had remembered.

Chris was tall with coffee-colored skin, his black hair shaved short.

Quinn took a deep breath and let it out, "Jesus, boys, I heard business was thriving. Maybe if you took down that hideous number twelve, you'd get some business."

Both men looked up immediately as Quinn took his sunglasses off, their eyes doubling in size as they realized their old friend was standing in their bar.

They erupted in exclamations of disbelief and surprise that he'd shown up unannounced, stopping what they were doing and coming over to greet him with manly, back-slapping hugs, though careful of the obviously injured arm.

"What the fuck is this? You're not really benched, are you?" Jett gestured to Quinn's sling, "Shit, I can't believe you came back! How long has it been?"

"Fuck, I couldn't tell you," Quinn shook his head and looked around. "This place is fuckin awesome, guys."

"Quinn fucking Casey," Chris shook his head, taking in the sight of him. "Seriously though, what's the injury? It's not serious, right? Y’all won't keep your winning streak if you’re out!"

"No, no, it's not serious. Just had surgery yesterday. I'm hoping I can find a decent PT while I'm here, but I should be good to go by the middle of next season," said Quinn, running his free hand through his hair again.

"How long are you in town?" Jett asked, then ushered Quinn toward the bar. "Fuck, man, let's get you a drink- on the house! "

Quinn slid onto a bar stool and Chris resumed his spot in front of his laptop. "You don't need to buy my drinks for me, guys.” He shook his head as Jett grabbed a rocks glass from behind the bar.

"I do, actually," said Jett. "Then you can just leave us a good tip."

Quinn laughed, resigned, "Okay, that's fair. I'll have a Maker's on the rocks."

Jett tapped the bar top before turning around and grabbing the bottle of Maker's Mark off the shelf and pouring a glass.

"So, what brings you back?" Chris asked. "I would've thought your guys would have you set up with a physical therapist out there already."

Quinn took a sip of the amber colored liquid.

It had been a long time since he last drank whiskey, but he felt the occasion called for it.

Maker's was smooth, but still gave him the much needed burn to spark his senses.

He took a moment before answering the question.

Jett and Chris were two out of the three people who really knew what his life was like growing up with his mom.

They'd been into his house and seen the worst his home life had to offer.

It had been a long time since he'd been able to be honest about it.

"Well," Quinn sighed, "my mom's dying. I guess I should say goodbye or do what I can to…" he hesitated, thinking, "clean up any loose ends."

"Shit," Jett muttered while Chris grimaced and gave an "Oof."

"Yeah…" Quinn paused. "I wasn't sure how to take the news. I was on my way to the house but I thought you guys deserved a visit first. The bar was a happy coincidence, huh?"

Chris looked like he was considering what to say and then said, "Do you need us to go with you? I mean, I'm sure you'd be okay, but you don't have to face it on your own."

Quinn appreciated the offer, and was glad he could sit here and talk to his two friends as if their lives hadn't been completely flipped upside down in the last ten years, but he wanted to go alone.

At least this first time. He had no idea what he'd be walking into and had a hard enough time preparing himself for his reaction, he didn't want to have to worry about theirs too .

"Thanks, man, but I think I should go alone. I have to meet with the nurse and go over all the boring medical stuff, ya know," Quinn said. "But seriously, thanks."

Jett and Chris seemed to accept this response and only took a few moments before changing subjects.

"Did you really sleep with Isla Merrin and Adriana Silva?" Jett asked, with the enthusiasm of a fifteen-year-old boy asking a buddy if he finally got to third base.

Chris laughed, putting his hands over his face as though embarrassed for his friend. "Jett, you're an idiot."

Quinn laughed too. "You are, and uh…yes, I did."

"Damn," Jett looked off in wonder, then back at Quinn. "When did you and Paula Harris break up?"

Glad to have another topic besides his mother and tragic childhood, Quinn accepted that this was the conversation now.

They discussed his various flings and hook-ups for a while; long enough for Quinn to start feeling.

..ashamed? A little self-conscious, at least. He rarely felt anything about the way he lived his life and he wasn’t sure what it was about being here with his two old friends that brought on this sudden uncertainty.

It wasn’t that he was actually with a new woman constantly, it was just that he had a way of intentionally avoiding connections with any of them.

There was a beat of silence and Chris looked quizzical before asking, "Have you seen her yet?"

"Seen who?" said Quinn, oblivious to the heavy tone in Chris’s voice.

"The long lost love of your life," Chris said, as if it were obvious.

Quinn looked at Chris, chewing on the inside of his cheek, the smile threatening to fade from his face. Leave it to Chris to bring up the serious stuff. Quinn refused to take the bait. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Chris looked challengingly back at Quinn, the two men having a stand-off, waiting for the other to break. Jett stood behind the bar, eyes going back and forth between his friends. Finally Quinn simply said, "I don't do love. "

Chris laughed humorlessly. "You've never given it a chance."