John knew it wouldn’t last, this feeling of being safe and sound inside a cocoon where no bad things could get to him, but it was nice—more than nice—to enjoy while it lasted.

Since he was expecting it on an unconscious level, John was not surprised two mornings later when Rico showed up at the house. He sighed as he opened the front door; sometimes he hated being right. Rico looked the worse for wear, and for a second John wondered if he was couch surfing or sleeping in his car. Thinking about the bank account and credit cards, the base level of betrayal Rico had achieved, John concluded anything Rico was suffering right now he’d brought on himself.

He opened the door, stepped outside, and shut it behind him.

“Why are you here, Rico? You’re not welcome anywhere near me ever again.”

Rico’s eyes were bloodshot, and he had bags under his eyes. John took in his clothing, which was distinctly rumpled.

“John, baby—” Rico spread his hands, pleading.

“Read my lips, Rico. We are done. You burnt that bridge. If there was ever anything between us, it’s gone.”

“You owe me!” Rico screamed, spittle flying. John stepped back so none would land on him.

“I owe you? What could I possibly owe you?” John nearly laughed at the thought that he owed Rico anything.

“You stole the best years of my life, my looks—all my friends have deserted me.”

“If I were you, I’d think twice before talking about stealing things,” John said. “As for your friends, did you ever think that maybe if you’d been a better friend to them, they’d be more willing to return the favor? Now, quit making a scene and get off my porch. If I ever see you again—here or at the theater—I’m calling the cops.”

The door behind him opened. “Everything all right out here?” Chance asked.

“Rico is just leaving and never coming back,” John answered, not looking behind him, wanting to make sure Rico followed instructions.

Rico started sobbing. John cringed, wishing he would go away. Just then Doug Maxwell, his neighbor four doors down, walked by with his golden retriever. Doug’s eyes widened as he took in the scene. John would’ve stared too. Rico was not a pretty sight.

Reaching deep for patience he wasn’t sure he possessed, John asked, “Why are you still here, Rico?” He was clueless as to how Rico could convince himself there was something left to salvage between them.

A pleasantly warm arm snuck around his waist as Chance slipped out onto the porch next to him. John leaned in just a little, soaking up the wordless support.

The tears turned off as quickly as they’d started. Rico glared at them.

“I don’t know why I wasted two years of my life with you,” he said.

“I am going to have to agree with that sentiment. Can we also agree to move on? Please? It’s almost the new year; we can both start fresh.”

For a moment John thought Rico was going to stay and continue arguing. Then his expression shifted to something more . . . resigned.

“I guess.”