Page 72 of Twisted Knight

“C’mon, Hold. I’ll stay right outside on the sidewalk. You can leave the door open so you can hear me. I won’t talk to strangers.” He rolls his eyes on that one. “I know all the stuff.”

I sigh. This paper isn’t going to write itself and it sure as hell isn’t going to get a dent in it with Mason sitting here bugging me every five seconds to go outside with him.

What’s it going to hurt?

“Fine—”

Mason whoops and throws his fist in the air that’s holding his helmet in the air and we both laugh when the chin strap flails and hits him in the face. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

“But.” I hold a finger up. “You can’t go past the complex or off the sidewalk. You can’t go in anyone’s apartment. You can’t—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Mom will have my ass if she—”

“Quit being an old man.” He waves a hand at me as he opens the front door.

“Whatever. Leave the door open.”

“’Kay,” he says as I look back to my screen. “Holden?”

“Mmm?” When he doesn’t speak, I look up to see him standing in the open doorway looking at me, his grin wide and eyes bright.

“Thanks.”

I just nod as he stands on the porch buckling his helmet on and then rides his board down the walkway. I have one brief moment of hesitancy, but … a glance at the clock tells me I need to get my ass in gear.

Mase will be fine.

I get lost in trying to grind out my paper, getting up every five or ten minutes to check on my brother when I can’t hear the click of his board’s wheels going over the cracks in the sidewalk.

I’m making good time and am just starting my conclusion when I hear the screech of brakes, followed shortly thereafter by the squeal of tires. Those sounds are nothing new in this neighborhood—the end of a drug deal, someone taking off after doing something they shouldn’t be doing—but it’s nothing I want Mason near. I’m out of my seat in seconds and jogging to the front door.

“Mase. It’s been long enough. You need to come in, dude.…”

Seconds feel like infinity as I take in the white car at an odd angle. As I try to process the faded blue jeans and red sweatshirt collapsed in a lump on the pavement in front of the tires and against the curb.

It all happens so fast.

The passenger door slamming shut.

Someone yelling, “Go. Go. Go.”

Another squeal of tires as the car slams into reverse before jerking forward and taking off the opposite way.

It all happens, but I can’t focus on it.

All I see is Mason.

His crumpled body.

The skateboard across the street, upside down and wheels still spinning.

TWENTY-TWO

Holden

It’s been a long fucking week. Long days at the office followed by sleepless nights at home or driving around this city I have a love/hate relationship with.