If Chris heard him, he doesn’t show it. His attention, solely focused on sending me unspoken signals with his eyes.
“Um…there’s another electrical stimulation method that uses steroid treatment—iontophoresis.”
“I don’t like drugs,” he clips, jaw ticking as he shifts his attention to the windshield.
Shit. Why do I feel like I touched a nerve? I was just trying to be helpful, but I guess he didn’t ask me to solve his medical problems.
Glancing over, I catch him doing the same. His fists unclench on his thighs as his gaze rakes up my legs.
“What other kinds ofstimulationdo you do?”
Jamie groans from the backseat. It’s a splash of cold water to the heat creeping into my mid-section. He adopts his best impression of a sat nav narrator. “Turn left at Uranus, Missouri.”
“Heat. Ice. Light therapy. Exercises,” I blurt out as though it will erase my obnoxious friend’s commentary from my car. “Massage.”
“You give massages?” Chris raises a brow, sounding intrigued.
“S-sometimes. If…if the person needs it.”
“Welcome to Sphinctershire! You have reached your destination!” Myex-best friend mumbles from the backseat like he’s talking to himself, because at this point, he is.
I see my house up ahead and gun it only to have to slam on the brakes a few seconds later. “O-kay! We’re here!” I feel a sliver of guilt over how that sounds like ‘get the fuck out of my car right now,’ so I tone it down as I unclip my house key from my keychain and hand it to Jamie. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
Snatching it from my hand, he leans forward between the front seats. Without looking at either of us, he deliversa monotone, “I expect you alive and present for breakfast.” Glancing at Chris, he adds, “Goodnight,Kermit.”
Fucking hell. I need a new friend. Leaning my head back against the seat rest, I close my eyes until I hear him get out. When the door slams shut, I let out a sigh and shift back into drive.
“He hasn’t changed,” Chris says dryly.
“Not one bit.”
Look at us. Agreeing on things already. He stays quiet after that, and I realize I don’t know where I’m going yet.
“Um, so,whereis your house?”
He directs me to turn left twice and then stay on the new street until he says otherwise. Offhandedly, I realize this will send us back in the direction we just came from, but the silence that follows doesn’t let me dwell on it. I’ll find out soon enough where he lives, and then this peculiar encounter will be over.
“Do you ever think about college?” he suddenly asks quietly.
“No,” I blurt insistently, but cover it up by clearing my throat. “Er, sometimes.” When he doesn’t respond, my nervous energy shifts to rambling. “My mom actually sent me a box of my old stuff the other day. There was this mug in there that I think Jamie stole from the Sunshine Diner.”
“I remember that place.”
“Yeah.” I laugh for some reason, but a twinge of regret reminds me that Chris and I never went there together. “Um, the box had an old photo album in it. That brought back a few memories.” I fidget in my seat, wondering if he’s being unusually quiet or if I just have no concept of time at the moment. “There was one from when I was packing up my room to leave after the semester we all graduated.”
Shit. Why am I telling him this? Glancing over, I see him look away like he’s uncomfortable. Here I am being all hung up on my own memories when he has an entire set of his own. I supposethat time in our lives isn’t an easy one for him to remember. It wasn’t long after that his dreams were upended.
“I…tried to call you after your accident. I heard about it on the news. I mean, I’m sure everyone did.” God, that’s probably not a comforting thing to say. “Anyway, I just meant, I called and left you a message to see if you were okay or…or if there was anything I could do, but…I’m sure you had a lot to deal with.” I adjust my grip on the steering wheel, feeling like I’ve both said too much and yet not enough. “I’m sorry about what happened to you. That must have been horrible.”
We go a full block in silence. I want to pull over and bang my head against my dashboard.
“You called?”
“Uh…yeah. Or…sent a text. Or both.” Holy shit. Shut up, Remy. “I don’t remember,” I mumble, begging my mouth to stop speaking.
“I didn’t get anything.”
“Oh? Um, well, I did. I was worried about you. I mean… I felt bad.”
