“He just wants you to be safe.”
I scoff. “He’s the most possessive asshole I’ve ever met; he said we’re over, which means he has no right to dictate how I do anything.”
“I know, but this is just temporary, right? You’ll be back together soon,” he says.
“Oh yeah, and what makes you think this is temporary?” I ask, remembering the look in Angel’s eyes when I saw him at the clubhouse.
Slim shrugs. “I’ve never seen him happy before, but the last couple of months, he has been.”
I can’t let myself think too much on those words because it immediately makes me want to cry…
“Look, I don’t want to put you out. You’re going to be driving here, there, and everywhere for me at stupid times, he can’t expect you to do it all.”
“It’s just tonight and tomorrow, after that we’re gonna take it in shifts.” The look on my face clearly tells him that I’m not any more inclined to agree to this, so he adds, “But if you wanna make it easier on me, I’ll bring you back to the clubhouse after college so I can work, then I’ll take you to the diner.”
“Of course I want to make it easier on you, but… I don’t think I can see him yet.”
“He won’t be there, they’ve all gone to visit Diablos Rojos; it’s too far there and back in a day, so they’ll be staying the night.”
Again, I don’t really want to focus too much on that, knowing what I do about Diablos Rojos… and honestly, taking a bus to the diner will really suck.
“Then yeah, if it’s easier I’ll come back to the clubhouse with you. Wait there, I’ll pack my uniform.”
Once I’ve got everything I need in my backpack, we head out to his bike. My usual helmet is there; Angel must have given it to him.
“Thanks, Slim,” I say, hoping he knows that I’m thanking him for everything.
The clubhouse feels strangely empty with the guys gone and Slim working in the garage, but it gives me the chance to get some writing done. One good thing about heartbreak, it definitely gets the creative muse going, needing somewhere to funnel the emotion. I pick a particularly sad scene I’m planning to write for class and let it all come out. Most of it will be bullshit, it probably won’t even make sense. But the creative muse is funny like that, there’ll be little nuggets of gold in there that turn into something beautiful.
I don’t know how long I write for, when I’m in the zone, in a flow state, time ceases to exist, but I’m roused by voices as the main door opens. Imogen and Destiny walk in, bags of groceries in their arms, both laughing at something funny.
“Oh, Beth,” Imogen says, “I wasn’t expecting to see you around here ever again.”
I don’t know her well enough to know if there are layers to what she’s saying, her tone could mean it in a sad way, or a sarcastic way, or honestly any other way. So I figure it’s best to keep my answer simple.
“Slim’s dropping me off at work later, I’m just here to make it easier for him.”
“Ah, well it’s nice to see you,” Destiny says, her smile seems genuine so it’s safe to assume she means that.
I go back to writing while they take the groceries out to the kitchen area, assuming that will be all they say to me, they’re never very chatty when Ana isn’t here. I’m surprised when Destiny comes back in with two beers in her hands, offering me one. I shouldn’t, I’ve got work… but fuck it, I want a drink… so I accept it with a smile, “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry to hear about you and Diablo,” she says.
“Oh, you know about that?” I ask.
I don’t want to be talking about this with them, it’s weird knowing that they’ve both been with him. There’s no chance of changing the subject though when Imogen joins us at the table.
“I don’t know what shocked me more,” she says, “the fact that you got him to settle down in the first place, or the fact that you broke him so much he ended up getting his face smashed in at the Pit.”
Destiny winces at her words before saying, “That’s not fair.”
“What?” Imogen says, “I’m just saying what we’ve all been thinking. He spends a few minutes in a supply closet with her and suddenly we’re not good enough for him anymore.”
My brain is overwhelmed with the last few things she said, but I manage to ask, “Sorry, did you say his face was smashed in?”
My chest is tight with the thought of him being hurt or doing something stupid because of me.
Destiny takes my hand. “He’s okay. Way before he even met you, he’d sometimes go to this place called the Pit, they do underground fights and stuff. He used to go because he was always so angry, it was where he could vent. I think this is just him falling back into a bad habit.”
