“Dad’s not showing up. Someone’s got to be here.”
“You’realwayshere. In the three years I’ve worked with you, you’ve never taken a day off.”
Not true. I flew to Paris. To Holden.
I pushed the thought away, but it stabbed me in the heart anyway.
Julio frowned. “I’m just saying, I’m here, bro. If you ever need some time off, take it.”
“Thanks, man. I will.”
I was lying, and we both knew it. There was nothing left for me but the work.
Julio went to handle a customer who’d driven up, and I went to assess a full body panel fitment for a ’67 Mustang GT500 when a familiar voice sounded from behind.
“Yo, Whitmore.”
Donte Weatherly stood in the drive, hands in his pockets. He looked good—tall and packed with the lean muscle of a wide receiver. He was dressed in expensive jeans, top-of-the-line basketball shoes, a leather jacket. A thick gold chain hung around his neck. His smile wasas charming as ever; if he ever got tired of football, he could switch to Hollywood, easy.
“Hey,” I said, my stomach tightening. I set down my clipboard and pen and stepped out into the sun. “Can I help you with something?”
“Nah, man, I’m not a customer, though that Mustang looks pretty sweet.”
“It’s coming along.” I crossed my arms. “How’s football life? The draft’s coming up, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re saying I could go in the top ten.”
“That’s what I heard. Awesome, man.” I waited for a twinge of jealousy to find me, that he was living the life I could’ve had. It never came. “Who’re you hoping for?”
“Anyone but the Browns,” he said and laughed. “Kidding. I’m just ready to play.” He cocked his head. “Don’t you miss it?”
“Not even a little.”
“I’m going to have to take a little offense at that. Our signature Whitmore-to-Weatherly bomb washighlysatisfying.”
“Those were pretty sweet, but I like cars more.”
“Cool, cool.” Donte’s trademark smile downshifted to a nervous grimace. “So yeah, I just came to see how you’re doing. It’s been a while. You free to grab dinner or a beer tonight?”
“Can’t,” I said, holding his gaze. “I have a date.”
Donte shoved his hands in his pockets. “That’s cool.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, I do. Whatever makes you happy, you know?”
“Since when?”
“My girlfriend’s brother is gay. I’ve been getting to know him and—”
“And lo and behold, it dawned on you that gay people are human too?” I snapped, the anger rushing to the fore. I sucked it back in. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I deserve it. And no, itdawned on methat I’ve been an asshole. That you needed my friendship, and I didn’t give it to you.I withheld it at the worst fucking time and for the dumbest fucking reason. You are who you are, and I miss you. I miss my friend.”
“Me too,” I said, not realizing how much until I’d said it.
Donte shook his head, remorse painted all over his face. “I’m sorry about all that shit that went down. I should’ve visited you in the hospital after the accident. I should’ve… Christ, I should’ve been at your mom’s funeral. I’m sorry, River. For whatever it’s worth.”
