Jake and I had spent our entire childhood making bets. Who could run faster, who could climb higher, who had the guts to take the biggest risk. We pushed each other constantly, turning every moment into a competition. But years later, when I won our final bet, there was no celebration—only heartbreak I never saw coming.
Jake and I had been best friends since before we could walk. Our moms loved to tell the story of how we met—two toddlers at daycare, both grabbing the same toy truck, refusing to let go. We wrestled for it until we were both crying. From that day on, we were inseparable.
We lived just a few doors apart, and our lives were so intertwined that our parents never had to wonder where we were. If I wasn’t at home, I was at Jake’s. If he wasn’t at his place, he was at mine. We did everything together. But the one thing that defined our friendship? The bets.
“Bet you can’t make it to the end of the block before I do,” Jake would challenge.
“Bet you I can,” I’d shoot back, already running.
We bet on everything—who could eat more slices of pizza, who could hold their breath the longest, who would ace the next test. Winning or losing never really mattered. What mattered was proving something to each other, pushing ourselves further, being braver. No one understood our bond. It wasn’t just about competition—it was about trust. If Jake dared me to do something crazy, I knew he’d do it too. If I jumped, he jumped. That was the rule.
One night, when we were sixteen, we lay on the roof of my house, staring at the stars. It was the kind of night where the world felt endless, where you could talk about anything.
“Paul,” Jake said, his voice softer than usual, “we should make the ultimate bet.”
I turned my head to look at him. “Yeah? What kind of bet?”
“Who lives longer.”
I let out a laugh. “That’s a dumb bet. How would we even know who won?”
Jake smirked. “Easy. Whoever goes first owes the other a beer.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “Fine. But you better not lose.”
He grinned. “I never lose.”
We thought we had forever. But forever had other plans.
Falling for Laura wasn’t something I planned. It just happened. She was different from the other girls—smart, funny, kind. She made me feel like I mattered. We had been friends for a while, but then I realized I wanted more.
I wasn’t sure how Jake would take it. Nothing had ever come between us before, but this felt different. I kept it to myself for weeks until one day, Jake caught me staring at her in the hallway.
“You like her, don’t you?” he said, smirking.
I hesitated. “Yeah. I do.”
His grin widened. “Then let’s make it interesting. First one to take her out wins.”
I blinked. “What?”
“A bet,” he said. “You and me. Whoever asks her out first, gets her.”
For the first time, I didn’t feel the usual rush of competition. I didn’t want to win. I just wanted her.
“She’s not a game, Jake,” I said quietly. “She’s a person.”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Paul. We’ve bet on everything. What’s the difference?”
“The difference is that this actually matters.”
He laughed. “You’re acting like you’re in love with her or something.”
I clenched my fists. “Maybe I am.”
His smile disappeared. “Oh.”
I shook my head and turned to leave. “I’m done with this, Jake.”
I didn’t see Laura standing by the lockers. I didn’t know she had heard the whole thing.
“Paul,” she called out, catching up to me.
I stopped, my heart pounding. “Laura.”
She smiled. “You really meant that?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
She reached for my hand, lacing her fingers with mine. “Then let’s make it official.”
Jake was furious. At first, he acted like he didn’t care. He joked that I had cheated. But then the rumors started. He told people I had stabbed him in the back, that I was always jealous of him, that I had betrayed him for a girl.
I tried to talk to him. “Jake, this isn’t about you and me. It’s about her.”
“She was supposed to be a bet,” he snapped. “Not the reason you picked someone else over me.”
“I never picked anyone over you,” I said. “You made this into a fight, not me.”
But he wouldn’t listen. By the time we graduated, Jake was gone. He packed up and left town without a word. My best friend—the person I had trusted more than anyone—became just a memory.
Life moved on. Laura and I got married. We stayed in town, built a life together. Our daughter, Emily, was born a few years later. She had Laura’s eyes and my stubbornness. I was happy. But some nights, after everyone had gone to bed, I’d sit outside and think about Jake. Wonder where he was. If he ever thought about me.
Then one day, I got a letter.
Paul,
I’m back in town. It’s been too long. Meet me at O’Malley’s tomorrow at seven. Let’s talk.
—Jake
I didn’t know what I’d say. I only knew I had to go.
The next evening, I arrived early. But Jake wasn’t there. Instead, a waitress walked over.
“You Paul?” she asked. I nodded. She handed me a folded note and a pint of beer. “He asked me to give you this.”
Confused, I unfolded the letter.
Paul,
If you’re reading this, it means I made it home. My last wish was to be buried in my hometown.
I sucked in a breath. My hands trembled as I read the rest.
I got sick right after graduation. Skin cancer. I fought it, but it came back. Worse this time. The doctors said I was out of options.
I didn’t write to make you feel bad. I wrote because I didn’t want to leave this world without fixing what I broke. I was a damn fool, Paul. You were my brother, and I threw it away over a stupid bet. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just hope you know I never stopped missing you.
And as for that last bet… well, looks like you won, my friend. The beer’s on me.
—Jake
I gripped the letter, my chest tight with grief. Jake was gone. I had come for a reunion, but all I got was a goodbye.
With shaky hands, I lifted the pint. “You idiot,” I whispered. Then I took a sip. It tasted bitter. Or maybe that was just the grief.
A week later, I stood at his grave. I placed a pint of beer beside his headstone.
“You still owe me a rematch,” I muttered. “But I guess this’ll have to do.”
I took a deep breath. “I forgive you, Jake.”
And for the first time in years, I finally felt at peace.
