Sharks at the Pool Table

Marcus stood in the doorway of O'Malley's, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling fans. The pool hall was half-empty at 2 AM, just the way he liked it. He spotted David at table seven, lining up a shot like he was trying to decide whether to live or die.

They hadn't spoken since the funeral. Three months of silence, and here David was, looking like a zombie in a stained button-down, eyes hollowed out by whatever the last year had done to him.

"You're missing your shots on purpose," Marcus said, dropping onto the stool beside David's beer.

David didn't look up. "Just like you missed the memorial service."

"I was there. In the back."

"Bullshit." David finally met his eyes, and Marcus saw it all—the rage, the grief, the exhaustion. "You disappeared, Marcus. That's what you do."

Marcus signaled the bartender for two more. "I'm here now."

David snorted. "Yeah. Now that the damage is done. Now that Sarah's gone and I'm sleeping on my brother's couch and my career is imploding—now you show up at the pool hall like we're twenty-five again."

"The market crashed, Dave. It wasn't your fault."

"I was the portfolio manager. I took the bull by the horns, remember? That was my slogan—my big ego move." David's hands shook as he lifted his fresh drink. "Now I'm thirty-nine with nothing to show for it except a dead wife and a depleted 401k."

Marcus watched his oldest friend, this stranger who'd once talked him out of a suicide pact over a failed romance in college. David had saved him then. Now Marcus had no idea how to return the favor.

"Sarah's life insurance," Marcus said quietly. "It's enough to start over."

David's knuckles went white around his glass. "I can't touch it. Every time I think about that money..."

"She wanted you to live, David."

"I feel like I'm already dead." David's voice cracked. "Like I'm walking around undead, watching other people live. Some kind of fucking corporate zombie."

Marcus stood up and grabbed a pool cue from the wall rack. "Rack 'em."

"What?"

"You and me. Right now. Like old times." Marcus chalked the cue tip with practiced motions. "I win, you make an appointment with a therapist tomorrow. You win, I never bring it up again."

David stared at him, something flickering behind the dead eyes. "You haven't beaten me in fifteen years."

"Everybody's luck runs out eventually." Marcus bent over the table, sighting the break. "Even yours."