‘You know it.’ He shoots her a sly grin. ‘On the house.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t—’

‘Gotta treat royalty right when you’re in the presence.’ A wink. He winks. Her smile broadens. My chest goes stiff. What? What?

They exchange parting nods as the guy rushes off to help another patron, and May turns back to me, the smile disappearing as quickly as it had crossed her face. ‘Anyway. Like I said. We were young.’

‘Yeah. We were, but …’ I sigh. Her exterior, frosty as it is, is proving impossible to crack. ‘May, did those years mean anything to you?’

‘What, other than the fact that we were two steers with our horns locked any time we got on the field?’ She chokes out a laugh, sweeping her ponytail off her shoulder. I spot an elaborate piece of ink, what looks like flowers, on the back of her arm. ‘It was a rivalry. That’s what it was.’

‘It was – yes, it was a rivalry. Something else was there, though,’ I blurt. May looks at me like I’ve sprouted the horns of the aforementioned steer. ‘Wasn’t it? And I left without a word …’

‘You had words,’ she corrects me. Her tone is biting, acidic. ‘Do you remember that text you sent me, Colt? That fucking paragraph?’

Ah. The paragraph.

‘I didn’t—’

‘“Hey,”’ May recites, voice a dull drone. ‘“Hope your senior year’s amazing. Been great playing with you all these years. Take care. Sending you strawberries from Mom’s garden. Keep in touch.”’

‘May …’ There’s so much I wish I could tell her. Like, ‘Do you ever feel like it’d be easier to cope with the fact that something will never happen by pretending the spark never existed?’ Or, ‘I’d never been more terrified to lose one of the most incredible parts of my life, so I just messed it up instead.’ Eventually, I can’t come up with my own words. I choose hers. ‘We were young.’

‘Sure. And the only person who benefits from that excuse is you.’ She takes a big swig of her rum and Coke. ‘Once someone runs you over, Colt, why the hell would you let them back up over you again?’

‘Please, May. I just wanted to talk.’

‘There’s nothing left to talk about.’ She smiles tightly, a much less open smile than she’d previously given the bartender. ‘Tell me about your illustrious career in New Haven or something. Anything. I just can’t stand to hear you rehash crap that’s been exhausted in my head for years. Nothing to talk about.’

Whoa.

I’m quiet for a minute. I fill the silence with a sip of my Bud Light. And once that’s done its job, I fill the silence with something so much worse than talking about high school.

‘I mean, if there’s nothing to talk about, there’s gotta be something to dance about.’