Page 4

Wes

An hour later, Honor and I are back in my car, speeding back to Olympia.

I couldn’t have hustled her out of there any faster, looking over my shoulder to see if Mike was going to come after us.

I had already had to endure him smacking me on the shoulder and thanking me for “putting in a good word.” As if I ever would.

Honor quizzes me on various aspects of fighting and armor as we zip along the highway. I answer, but my mind is distracted. All I can think of is how I had felt when I had seen Mike with Honor.

Watching Mike move in on Honor had made every muscle in my body tense. I had wanted to stomp over there and forcibly separate them. I had wanted to punch Mike in the face, which was shocking in itself. Outside of Buhurt, I have zero violent tendencies, and yet my hands clenched into fists.

But most of all, I had felt betrayed. By Honor. I had no right to feel that way, and reminding myself of that cooled my jealous rage, if not my frustration. But the frustration was only at myself, for being too big of a coward.

Instead of saying what I truly wanted to say to Mike, I practiced what I wanted to say to Honor. I love you. I think I’ve loved you for years. Don’t go on a date with Mike. Go on a date with me.

But it couldn’t be a simple statement. She would be shocked and unprepared, surely.

I need to explain to her what happened, even if I’m not entirely sure myself.

I know we’ve been best friends forever. But it all started when we took a spring break trip to San Francisco and we went out to dinner and you looked beautiful and looked at me in a way that felt new and…

No, that wouldn’t work. And it wasn’t even true: I loved her a long time before that.

“Hellooo, earth to Wes, are you even listening to me?” Honor asks.

I startle. “Sorry, what did you ask me?”

“I was asking why you and your teammates have different styles of helmets. Seems like there would be one style that history would have proven worked best.”

Ah, a Buhurt question. Safe ground. “Depends on the type of fighting you want to do. If you’re more of a dueler and you’re worried about big openings in your helmet because you don’t want a sword to come through, you want something with smaller eye holes or breathing holes.

But if you’re doing something that exerts a lot of energy like melees or pro fights, you prioritize your sight and breathing over protection.

There’s a trade-off between visibility and protection. ”

“That makes sense. I thought it was just one style looked cooler than another.”

I grin. “That probably plays a role, too.”

“What about the one that Mike wore?”

I tense at hearing his name. I don’t want to hear his name coming from her mouth. “What about it?”

“It looked like it had Viking horns on it. Is that useful for something?”

Useful for Mike being a total tool. “No, it’s just for looks. And it probably is a detriment to fighting,” I couldn’t help myself from adding.

“Why would he wear it then?”

Because he’s more interested in cosplay than actual sport. “I guess he likes the look,” I say, grinding my teeth to keep the words I want to say from coming out.

“And what about the weapons? How do you decide what type of weapon to wield?”

I hold back my frustration. I don’t want to talk about Buhurt.

I want to talk about us . “In dueling, there are categories of weapons, so you don’t really have a choice.

But in pro-fights and melees, it’s up to you.

The general deciding factors are: do you want a really long weapon to strike people, or do you want a short weapon that is easier to grapple with? ”

“Do you practice with both, or do you just have an ax?”

“Right now I just have an ax, but I ordered the sword for the tournament at the end of the summer.” I keep my answer short. “Honor, I–”

“Ooh, there’s a tournament?” she asks, her eyes lighting up.

I can’t get a word in here. I need to tell her how I feel. “The Midsommer Faire in August. It’s happening in Bonney Lake.”

“Midsommer Faire! Are you going to fight in it?”

“Probably. But look–”

“Maybe I’ll come and watch you fight. Although I don’t know if I can take it again, especially if you and Mike are fighting against each other.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, momentarily distracted.

“You told me about the fighting, of course, and showed me some videos, but it just wasn’t the same as actually watching it. Watching you get hurt, I mean.” She twists a piece of her skirt in her fingers.

“I wasn’t really hurt,” I protest. “The armor takes a lot of the damage.”

“Okay, liar. You were limping by the end.”

“Barely,” I mumble.

“And I can only imagine it would be ten times worse watching both my best friend and my boyfriend in a fight.”

My jealousy immediately surfaces. “Mike isn’t your boyfriend.”

“Not now, but who knows?”

I should have told Mike off as soon as he mentioned Honor’s name. “You can’t seriously like him, right?” The words are out before I can call them back.

“Why not?” She blinks at me.

A thousand thoughts buzz through my head, none of them good. “I just don’t think he’s your type,” I finally say.

She crosses her arms. “And who do you think is my type?”

Me. I shift in my seat. “Someone more like…me, I guess.” It’s so close and yet so far from what I truly want to say.

Honor laughs. “Someone like you? What does that mean? A shy IT nerd with a sudden penchant for medieval life? When’s the last time you went on a date? If I were waiting for someone like you, I’d be waiting for the rest of my life. Mike came right up and asked me out on a date.”

I shift again, my insides curling. I know she doesn’t mean it unkindly, and yet the truth of it scrapes like rocks in my guts.

I have to tell her how I feel. The familiar fear of her rejection sends a metallic taste down the back of my throat, but I swallow it down.

Even if she rejects me, at least I will have an answer instead of this awful unknowing.

I take a breath. Be strong, Wes. You can do this. Tell her you love her. I gather my courage again. “We’ve been friends for a long time,” I begin.

“Best friends,” Honor interrupts.

“Right, best friends.”

“I just don’t want you to think that you’re the same as all my other friends,” Honor interjects.

“Well, that’s exactly what I’m trying to say.”

“Is it? That’s nice. I really appreciate having you as my friend, too.”

Ugh, this conversation is getting off track again. “Look, what I’m trying to say is that I love you.”

There, it’s out. I steal a glance at her. Is this it? Is this the moment that will change my life? Will she return my feelings or reject me?

Honor clasps her hands together. “Oh, Wes, that’s so sweet. I love you, too.”

“You–you do?” I can barely keep my eyes on the road.

“Of course, dummy! Didn’t I just say that you were my best friend?”

My heart sinks. She loves me…as a friend.

“That’s why it would be so cool if Mike and I actually like each other. If I’m honest, I feel like I’ve been cut out of your life since you started Buhurt. This way, maybe I’d be more involved.”

Guilt spears through me. I had cut her out. “I’m sorry you felt that way.”

She shrugs. “No worries. I know you don’t think Mike is right for me but let me be the judge. Maybe he’s not my type, but I won’t know that until I get to know him.”

She’s right. I’m the one who’s been the coward, who’s avoided her when she did nothing wrong. I can’t interfere just because someone else has asked her out. If I’m right, she’ll go out once with Mike and never want to again. I can wait.

And if I’m wrong and she turns out to hit it off with Mike…well, then I guess we were never meant to be more than friends in the first place. It will kill me, but I will have to accept it.

“Okay,” I say. “You’re right. You should make your own decision about Mike.”

She smiles. “Great! But I hope you’ll come to Cup of Swords, too. I could use a wingman.” She winks.

My fingers curl around the steering wheel. Not only do I have to be silent while she goes on a date with another guy, but I also have to play wingman, too? Somewhere, the universe is laughing at me. “I’m sure Mike would rather have you to himself.” Even saying the words makes me want to throw up.

“C’mon, Wes. I don’t know him at all, and you do. Please?”

“I don’t want to be a third wheel.”

“You won’t be! Please, Wes, I need you.”

And with those three words, the nails hammer into my coffin. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

“Thank you!” Then she leans over and kisses me on my cheek.

I bite back a groan at the irony of feeling her soft lips on my cheek in gratitude as I help her date another man. I’m cursed.