Because I can’t control what the media thinks about me.
I can’t control if I’ll even get on the Lucky Strikers’ team.
But I do have all the power to give this comeback my best shot.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
RILEY
A shrieking alarm grabs me by the collar and jerks me out of sleep. Sunlight slices through the room, a samurai sword out to blind me. I immediately close my eyes again, but the damage has been done.
Light is seeping past my eyelids. There’s no escaping it.
Why is it so noisy in here?
Blindly, I reach out and feel around my dresser until I get to my phone where I slide my thumb in all kinds of directions until I’ve silenced the alarm.
Strangely, the pulse in my head continues.
I peek an eye open and immediately regret it. The light is like a hand slapping my eyeballs and I don’t remember feeling this awful in my life.
Is this all because of drinking?
I will never put myself in this position again. Consider this lesson learned.
The desire to hunker under the comforters and hide from the light overwhelms me, but my brain kicks into gear. I have to get to the auto shop. Jimmy, Carlos and Blade don’t have keys and ifthey see me slacking off, they’re going to slack off even further—which might result in them not showing up to work at all.
Pushing off the bed, I sit up straight. My heart pounds like an engine stuck at full-throttle and my stomach gurgles unhappily.
I hate alcohol.
For as long as I live, I will never drink again.
As my gaze sweeps the room, I notice that my work boots are standing neatly at the edge of my bed. Whenever I take off my shoes, I kick them off haphazardly and leave them wherever they land, so I’m definitely not responsible for putting my footwear up so neatly.
Then it must have been…
I gasp and come fully awake.
Nat.
Scattered memories assault me.
Nat helping me at the toilet.
Nat taking me to bed.
Nat kissing my forehead.
I gasp dramatically again and slap a hand to my forehead. Did I dream that or was it real?
It’s hard to tell.
I really can’t pick apart what’s memory and what’s my own yearning imagination.
Pushing myself to my feet, I slip out of my bedroom and head to the bathroom. Once I’m finished with my business, I wash my face and stare at myself in the mirror.
“Oh, mother of turbine engines!” I fly all the way backwards because who is that witch in the mirror?
