The Beautiful Truth

// 50

"Is that a picture of you in the back of a cab with Barton and Andrew McMahon?!" Talyn asked from the other end of my phone while I pushed my way into my dorm Friday morning.

The door slammed shut behind me. The wind off the bay was fierce today. My teeth chattered. This was the first thing he'd said after I'd answered 'hello.'

But I grinned in spite of myself. I'd posted that picture of the three of us from last night to my Facebook as soon as we'd gotten back to Berkeley last night, just before I'd climbed into Barton's bed and fallen dead asleep...again.

"Yes, it is."

"OK, SF, there's a story there. Come on."

I laughed. Of course there was. I was relieved that Talyn seemed back to normal after my stupid cry-fest after the Sugar Bowl. I hadn't known what to say after that. Thank God he'd finally just called, or I could have avoided him for another week or so. I'd missed him, though. Despite having had a near heart attack when I'd pulled my phone out of my pocket to answer it, it was good to hear his voice again.

I gave him a complete retelling of events from the night before. He'd been appropriately jealous and impressed—Talyn, too, liked Jack's Mannequin and Something Corporate, although that was due in large part to my forcing it on him so often in the last five or six years.

"And now you have Andy McMahon's phone number?" Talyn laughed. "I think that's a clear indication that the night was a success."

"Oh, obviously."

Talyn laughed.

I sighed. "I'm sorry I've been so AWOL, Tally, how are you doing?"

"I'm OK, SF, don't worry about me. Besides, if you don't believe me, only a few more weeks and you'll be here to check it out for yourself."

I shook my head quickly. I'd all but forgotten I had a confirmation for my ticket to Los Angeles tacked to my corkboard above my desk. "That's right!"

"Counting down the days, I see."

I couldn't tell if he was joking, or if he was bitter because my voice and my reaction clearly gave me away in that I'd almost forgotten.

"I miss you, Talyn," I blurted out stupidly, although I really, really meant it, and my heart ached, just allowing myself to say the words.

He sighed on the other end. "I miss you too. Oh, and hey, the good news is, you'll have your own bed when you're here—Jerome left before classes started back. Got the room to myself now."

"Jesus."

Talyn forced a laugh. "Yeah, he knew they'd strip him of his scholarship. I mean, he could have stayed, but he couldn't have played here again. Those are the terms, if you haven't heard. Winter's out. All the players they have shit on are out—there's only five of them, but it's some major shit, so..." he sighed loudly. "It's been a fuckin' shit storm down here, Sawyer, I'm not gonna lie. At least they're not after me."

"Exactly," I sighed, having long since taken a seat outside my dorm room against the cool wall. "You know you can always call me...if you want to talk about things."

"Things were so much easier when you were across the street...and I could just walk over and hang out on your couch for a while. Forget it all."

I frowned. I hated to hear him sound so...agitated and bored, not to mention somewhat hurt. "I know. Hey, just a few more days, though, right?"

"Yeah, enough about me, though, SF, what've you been up to?"

And then I realized he didn't yet know about the unpublished epilogue to my dad's book—the catalyst for so much of what had been running through my mind in the last week or so.