Sharks in the Shallows

The pool hall smelled of stale beer and chlorine, a strange combination that always reminded Marcus of the summer he turned thirty. He hadn't picked up a cue in three years, not since the night Darren had told him that Lisa was leaving him for a financial advisor who drove a Porsche.

"Your shot, man," Darren said now, sliding a beer across the green felt. He looked older—thinner at the temples, heavier around the middle. They both did.

Marcus lined up the shot. The eight ball sat precariously close to the corner pocket. "Remember when we played baseball together? College league?"

Darren laughed, but his eyes didn't crinkle like they used to. "We were terrible. I think we lost every single game that summer."

"We had fun though. Until I screwed up my shoulder." Marcus missed the shot. The cue ball spun harmlessly. "That's when I met Lisa. You introduced us at the hospital."

"I know," Darren said quietly. He leaned over the table, studied the angles with surgical precision. "I also know she reached out to me last week. Asked how you were doing."

Marcus felt something tighten in his chest. "You're just talking a bunch of bull to mess with me."

"I'm not." Darren sank two balls in rapid succession. "She wants to see you, Marc. She said she made a mistake."

"With the financial advisor?"

"With everything." Darren straightened up, met Marcus's eyes. "You're still my oldest friend. I'm not going to lie to you about something like this."

The jukebox switched to some song from their twenties, something about redemption and second chances. Marcus remembered Darren's wedding, standing beside him in that ridiculous rented tuxedo, both of them so young and so certain that life would work out exactly as planned.

"What did you tell her?" Marcus asked.

"I told her you'd moved on. That you were doing fine." Darren chalked his cue. "But maybe I was the one talking bull."

Marcus watched Darren sink the final ball with practiced ease. The game was over, but something between them had finally shifted—like tectonic plates settling after years of tension. He thought about Lisa, about the baseball diamond where they'd played so badly, about all the lies they'd told themselves to keep going.

"She still have my number?" Marcus asked.

Darren smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "She does."

Outside, the rain had started to fall. Marcus wasn't ready to call her yet, but for the first time in three years, he thought he might be ready to stop pretending he didn't want to.