Blade scuffs his work boots against the ground, but he doesn’t repeat himself.
Wise choice.
Jimmy glances at Carlos and then scurries toward me, rubbing his hands nervously. “Boss Lady, is everything okay?”
“I’m fine, Jimmy.” I grab the tablet we use to run trouble codes.
“If you’re upset about what they’re saying about you online, don’t give it a second thought. No one in town believes you’re a psycho. You don’t have to worry.”
“I’m not worried.” In fact, I’m starting to think that Layla was right. I reallyama psycho. How else did I end up deluding myself and believing Nat when he said he was fine?
The signs were in front of me all along. Nat was definitely experiencing intense pain since the day of the truck bed picnic.
Maybe even before then.
However, I rationalized it away, pretending that all was well and I was just overthinking.
Some patterns never change.
Because it involved Nat, I rewrote a very obvious reality.
I should have never quieted my intuition. I should have called him out right then and there. Maybe I could have done something to stop this.
Now, Nat is popping pills like they’re candy, which is insanely toxic and dangerous.
I checked online.
He could lose his life if he continues.
In all of my frustration, I also feel sympathy for Nat. The pain must be unthinkable to drive him this far.
Then I get angry again because he genuinely intends to play an entire league-qualifier season… with his leg a mess.
It makes no sense.
The emotional rollercoaster is enough to drive anyone insane.
I slam the tablet down and run my fingers through my hair. “Jimmy, one of the customers called and said they’d purchased their own brake pad. Remind the others not to buy any new parts for that car.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And call Carlos over here.”
“Got it.” Jimmy skitters out of my way.
“Boss?” Carlos asks, keeping a safe distance.
“You said the test readings were above average, but I’m not getting the same results. Walk me through what you saw.”
I dive into work with gusto and the mechanics keep their distance unless absolutely necessary. Even Blade withholds from any snide comments which is somewhat of a miracle for him.
Around lunch time, I get a text.
Nat: Riles, please. Can we talk?
Riley: Are you ready to see a doctor? If not, then you know the answer.
Jaw firm, I pocket the phone and find something else to keep my hands busy. Nat has been texting since he left—well, since helimpedout of my apartment last night.
