“You’re welcome.”

“You’re a terrible influence on me. I’m too old for this.”

“At least you’re not a stiff old asshole anymore, like your clone. I think I’ve been a very good influence on you. I’ve turned you into someone who’s actually cool.”

“Just like My Fair Lady. In reverse.”

“Well, my name is Higgins, after all.”

“So it is.” Jeremiah smiled. “What do we do now, Mr. Higgins?”

For the next few hours, they played IF at full volume on the wall monitor and got slowly but sufficiently sauced, going through an entire bottle in record time. Jeremiah hadn’t drunk like this since his college days and he began to regret doing it on top of the three greasy burgers he’d wolfed down earlier. It wasn’t long before he was leaning back on the couch alternating between a beer and bottled water, ruing the headache he was certain to have in the morning. He took off his headset and put down his controller, letting Brent tackle the battlefield on his own for a while. The game had started to make his head spin. He closed his eyes and listened to the muffled explosions coming from Brent’s headset. As usual, it was on too loud.

He had to admit, though, it felt good to let loose. They hadn’t typed a single word in the in-game chat and had not—even for a minute—discussed the actual issue at hand. It was an understood, shared decision to avoid it entirely. Jeremiah welcomed the distraction, and, for his part, Brent obviously realized just how much a distraction was needed. He was a good friend, Jeremiah thought, and the irony of that gnawed at him. He hadn’t had a real friend in a long time. He hadn’t made the effort. But Brent had stepped up to help him when he should have refused and run away. Jeremiah wouldn’t have blamed him. He was a kid. He had a lot to lose if something went wrong. He had everything to lose. And there was plenty that could go wrong. It was a big risk. And in return? Jeremiah would be literally stabbing him in the back. In twenty-four hours, he’d have to take a knife to the man and very likely never see him again.

“You know, Brent,” he said, loud enough to cut through the din of the game, “I have a lot to thank you for.”

“Yeah. I am pretty amazing.”

“I mean it. Most people wouldn’t do something like this.”

“Most people don’t find themselves in this kind of situation. Special circumstances.”

“You still think I’m doing the right thing?”

Brent took his headset off and turned off the controller in his hand. The sudden silence in the room was almost startling. “Do we need to make another smoothie for this conversation?” he asked.

“No,” Jeremiah said. “I just want to make sure I said thank you.”

“Don’t worry about me. Don’t go all sappy on me.”

“I’m not. I won’t.”

“Everything’s going to work out, Jeremiah. Don’t worry. And now that we know the truth, I don’t see that we have much choice.”