Next

The man at the door looks a couple years older than Sam. He’s got curly hair, sweat across his body, and a cigarette in his mouth.

“Hey neighbor,” Sam says, holding out his hand. “I’m Sam. I just moved in next door.”

The man looks at Sam from head-to-toe. His face does not betray his thoughts.

“Gabriel,” the man says. He inhales on his cigarette and releases a puff of smoke. Sam wants to swipe away the nicotine smell, but he figures that would be impolite. So he just stands in the smoke.

“Sorry about the hammering,” Gabriel says, turning around to face a wall inside his room. Mounted there, a taxidermied tiger shark with the words Pensacola Beach painted onto its belly.

It seems that Gabriel comes from Florida. That means he came from across the country, too.

“Florida,” Sam says, placing his hands on his hips. “I’ve been surfing at Daytona. Cool waves.”

Gabriel doesn’t acknowledge any of that. Instead, he wipes the sweat from his toned abs and rubs it onto his jeans.

What else is Sam supposed to say? Gabriel isn’t giving him anything. It reminds him of the first few weeks of football practice, when every guy wants to intimidate each other. But months later, after training and paining and gaming together, they grew close. They became like brothers.

“So what brings you here?” Sam says, immediately regretting it. That’s a very personal question.

Gabriel finishes his cigarette. He presses the tip against the doorframe until the embers die.

“My girl cheated on me,” Gabriel says. His voice is deep and sultry. There’s a glimpse of pain there. But more than anything, the crashing of rage. He continues, saying, “Nothing left to lose.”

Finally, Gabriel reaches his hand out and grabs Sam’s. They shake.