“. . . but just behind my officially authorized behind-the-scenes Mighty Moat: The Last First Tour poster.”

“That’s real cold, man.” Q chuckles, strokes his chin like he’s deliberating. “But also, I respect the honesty. Thanks for keeping it real.”

And we hug. And not the cool, nonchalant bro hug we normally do. I’m talking a full-on, both-arms-wrapped, sweaty-chest-to-sweaty-chest, nearly-fall-onto-the-sand HUG.

And boy, it feels good.

And man, I don’t want to let go.

But I guess that’s sorta the crux. Everything ends at some point.

Q drops his arms, steps back. “You be good to our girls, okay? And to your amazing sister. And to your sister’s kid, who hopefully looks nothing like you. And most of all, to my mom, because one, I’m biased, and because two, she’s gonna need you. She’s gonna need you and you’ve gotta step up. You hear me?”

“I hear you. And I will.” I grin. “Especially your mom. I’ll be sure to keep her real safe, you know what I’m saying? You know what I’m saying?” I hit him with a few pelvic thrusts just in case he doesn’t know what I’m saying.

Q groans. “Bro, really? My mom? That’s just over-the-top nasty.”

“Yeah? That bad?”

“Yep. And I thought we agreed that you were done with that whole Fresh Prince bit.”

“I’m telling you, one day it’s gonna make someone laugh.”

Q smiles his trademark smile, the one that’s been lighting up rooms for seventeen years. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

“Uh-oh, speaking of breath holding . . .” I clear my throat, nod toward the waves. A cluster of small fishing boats dot the horizon. “You wanna play one last round of Mercy?”

Q scratches his head. “You really want the last thing you remember about me to be me kicking your ass for the millionth time?”

“Nah, I’m feeling magical tonight.”

Q laughs. “That’s what you always say. Right before you lose.”

“Well, you’ve got bigger lungs, so genetic advantage.”

Q smirks. “Just working with what I was given, shorty. Plus, you got them gargantuan chipmunk cheeks. You oughta be able to hold four times as much air in there as me.”

He grabs my cheek, and I slap his hand away. I smile. “Yeah, well, I’m going for the record this time.”

“Good,” he says. “And don’t even think about letting me win. I want the final L I give you to be undeniably a loss you earned.”

“Whatever.”

“Plus, you know you like to mope. I don’t want you walking around thinking you coulda won if you wanted to.”