Josh
At some point, we’ll talk it all out. Right now, I need to be alone.
Except he wasn’t alone yet. And he might need his brothers’ help if local gossip caught up to the online gossip.
Josh
Monica didn’t actually leave today. She was in an accident. That was the call out I got. She’s fine, but I’ve brought her back to my place to sleep off what might be a concussion. She might fly out in the morning.
Which made him think of something he could offer her. An olive branch, maybe. A final generous bit of assistance.
Josh
Seth, any chance you could fly her to Toronto?
Seth
Yeah, of course. I don’t have any charters tomorrow. Keep me posted.
Josh
And to the rest of you…It’s hard, okay? Really fucking hard. And I’m glad I’m not online. I don’t know how to explain any of this to anyone else, because I don’t know what to make of it for myself. But it’s nobody’s business but mine and hers, so tell Catie to cool it on the powerpoint presentations about gossip.
One by one, his brothers liked his text, but they didn’t chirp again.
He dropped his phone on the couch and leaned his head back. The TV flickered a flash of red. A goal for Hamilton, and they were up three to two.
Good.
Someone should have a good night tonight.
She was leaving in the morning.
He’d yelled at her. Told her to get the fuck out of his town. But now, as he made arrangements to safely ensure that was exactly what she did…he only felt hollow inside.
He closed his eyes. Not ready to fall asleep yet, but sort of done with being awake. His brain went fuzzy, drifting. Sinking into memories of a street race, and a fight, and a dagger to the heart. Monica telling him she’d made a mistake.
He woke up, his heart pounding.
That wasn’t the order of it, though. Monica had told broken up with him at his apartment. Then he’d gone out that night, looking for a fight. For a race, and not the safe kind. Nothing on a track or even on the highway. He’d headed to the corners of Los Angeles where races went sideways, and he’d driven his car like he had something to prove. Burned out a set of tires and earned some grudging admiration from strangers, which did nothing to fill the wound of his wife saying she didn’t love him after all.
The next day, he’d packed up and hit the road, needing to be anywhere but there. Arizona was next, then Missouri. Ohio. That was when he realized that he was heading home, conscious or not.
He cashed out everything he had in the States and bought this garage with a single email.
If he was going home, he decided it would be his choice.
And he hadn’t looked back.
Now, he pushed off his couch. The game had ended, so he turned off the TV. He hadn’t had the foresight to grab clothes for himself when he showed Monica the bedroom, so he was stuck in what he was wearing, which was fine.
He’d spent whole weekends wearing the same grimy clothes around races before. He could sleep in his jeans.
He headed to the bathroom to wash up, and just before he got there, heard a groan from his bedroom.
Pausing, he directed all of his attention to the door. To the injured woman beyond, and his pulse jacked up.
He heard it again, a low, upset groan.
