by Ace Gray
My first instinct was to lunge off the board and drown the fucker. I chuckled instead, jerking my chin in Max and Bert’s direction. “I can’t imagine those two being adventurous enough.”
“Hawaii,” Rousse said from beside me; I hadn’t noticed he was paddling out. “Wishful thinking because of those lips.”
Danger whistled then started laughing again. “Wishful thinking. She’d never blow you.”
“You guys, she’s not just my assistant, she’s my friend.”
“Friends with benefits,” Danger hollered.
“You guys are terrible,” I muttered.
“In Rousse’s case you spell that h-o-r-n-y.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. At the joke, of course, but at these two, too.
“You both need a hobby,” I said as we settled on a spot. I pushed up first and each of them followed until we aimlessly floated like corks on the sea.
“I have a hobby. Cars,” Rousse answered.
And just like that, the world was back in focus. This was the path I’d wanted to walk him down today.
“Right, I remember you saying that.” I smiled at Rousse then looked for the waves.
When a good set started to churn, I smiled at them too.
I’d surrendered to the waves, and every crash or two, the way things used to be almost pulled me under. The insults were right there to volley back at Danger when he picked at Rousse. The horn-dog comments ready for Diego when he made a pass at anything with tits. I’d managed to stay present—to stay Row—but as I climbed the stairs to the parking lot, a deep exhaustion gnawed at my bones.
Max and Bert had disappeared ages ago, and I relished the sound of the water and gulls as
I slid my board into the backseat.
“Whoa.” Rousse whistled behind me.
I ground my teeth at the interruption, closing my eyes and sucking in a deep breath before turning.
“Hey Rousse.” I leaned against the door, crossed my arms on my chest, and waited for him to speak if only because I couldn’t muster more myself.
“This car, man.” He ran his hand along the lines of the hood then crouched down to inspect it even further.
“Wanna look?” I reached in the open window and popped the hood.
He never answered, instead just bending over, lifting the hood, and peaking around. I settled in against the car door and waited while he prattled off different car terms and stats. I knew each one, and the urge to cut him off was almost overwhelming. Almost. I let him go on with a yeah and umhum here and there. I let him think I cared.
“Come home with me?” he asked.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Apparently, I let him think I cared a bit too much.
“God, that sounded gay. I’m so glad Danger isn’t around.” His eyes darted side to side anyway. “It came out wrong. Just wanted you to come see what’s under my hood.”
“That came out wrong too.” I felt a little lighter as I chuckled at Rousse.
“I’m not slick like those guys.”
“It’s better that way.” I stepped next to him, moved the hood prop, and let it shut. “And yes, I’ll go home with you in the totally-not-gay-and-just-about-cars way.”
He laughed it off, but I couldn’t forget the sound of Rousse’s embarrassment. The heartstring Mercy had pulled on a few days ago snapped again.
“Get in.” I jerked my chin toward the passenger seat.
He slid his board in then folded his lanky body beside me. “I get why Jordan likes you.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“No, no, no,” he scrambled. “It’s a good thing. I really like her. She’s sweet like Bert, and patient. She thinks before she speaks, which is a blessing as far as I’m concerned.” He sighed. “Turn left.” He gave directions and I was grateful he spoke before he noticed I was turning on my own.
“If they bother you, why do you live with them?” I asked as we wound back up the coast.
“They’re the only family I can count on.” He shoved his head back against the headrest. “Sure, half the time it’s that I can count on them to shred me, but the rest of the time, they have my back. My parents only care about appearances. They only get involved to course correct. They’re term, not mine.”
“They course correct recently?” I asked, and he smirked, giving me directions rather than an answer.
I looked over at the man in the passenger seat and saw my friend. I saw the man who craved a place with a family that wanted him. That loved him. I saw the Rousse that was always last, that couldn’t grind the library rail but never gave up. Never had a shred of ill will about it. I saw my blood brother.
“No.” He shoved his hands into his hair, showing off the swath of freckles hidden under his swooped hair and smiled big and bright. “I got into competitive racing a few years ago, been undefeated for going on four years so I don’t need their money.”
I whistled and my hands flexed involuntarily on the steering wheel, remembering exactly what happened almost four years ago. And where I’d seen the man I knew and loved, that singular number reminded me that man never existed. Not really. He was a facade and underneath laid the devil.
“Four years, huh?” I had to work to keep the edge out of my voice.
“Yeah.” He outstretched his arm from the side window. “Right here. This is me. Or us.”
I turned, feeling the tension in each of my muscles as I pulled into my former driveway. My memories from childhood were in these woods, from high school along these cliffs, and college this very house. Prison was the only place that came close to consuming me like this house.
“I’ll show you around inside then we can check out the garage.” The pride in his voice used to fill mine up when I talked about this place. About them.
With each drum of my heart, I had to slow myself. The walkways still had my footprints worn in them. The same paint was chipping on the front door, and when it swung into the wide open living space, it smelled faintly of worked wood, men’s cologne, and pineapple Sex Wax. There was a new couch in front of the TV that hung over the fireplace, but the coffee table was still ours, blanketed with skate shop stickers. The shag carpet hadn’t changed, but the wood floors seemed refinished and there were new stools at the breakfast bar. It was exactly how I remembered and completely different.
“You okay?” Rousse’s words barely broke through my haze. “You look a little pale.”
“Dehydrated,” I murmured and watched as he went to the third cabinet on the left, just above the sink, and grabbed me a glass then filled it. “Thanks.” I nodded.
“Our rooms are down this way.” He motioned down the hall that held not just my room, but ours. For a split second, I prayed to an unholy God that his words would manifest her body. “But you came for the garage.”
He turned back for the front door while I sat there, emotion rolling in my stomach. I couldn’t breathe right. Want and loss and misery and fury. The longer I stood there—in my home—the more my feelings morphed into one giant ball of hate. Even the want went rotten. I wanted nothing more than to grab Rousse by his shirt, shove him, and scream. Scream just long enough that my fury bubbled up and over and I made him bleed.
Instead I smiled that shit-eating grin that I hated almost as much as them and turned to follow him.
There was room for two cars in the garage but I’d always parked outside and let Rousse have his space to tinker. To breathe. A new car sat in the same space, his tools scattered about. Another space that hadn’t changed much—just enough to remind me everything was different. I dutifully circled the car as he had mine while I fought against the waves of emotion. Of revolt.
“Rousse? Is that you?” Mercy’s voice drifted into the garage, and my hands unclenched at my sides.
“Hey, Mercy,” he called as he hauled up the hood of his souped up drag car.
I saw her a moment before she saw me, lit up from the afternoon sun behind her. She was wearing overalls with a crop top and the golden sun pl
ayed up the curves and shadow of her body. Her hair was wild where it was piled in a top knot, but the rest of her features were blurred.
“Row? Hi,” she said as soon as she laid eyes on me. “I didn’t know you were here.” She took a hesitant step toward me.
“Hello, Mercy.”
She sucked in a deep breath and took another step as if drawn forward rather than taking conscious steps.
“What are you guys doing?” She didn’t take her eyes off me, searching back and forth, back and forth for something; that wild bundle of hate whirred inside of me. Hate and…
“I’m showing Row the good stuff. Did you see his car in the driveway?”
“I did.” Her smile spread, and her graceful body twisted back toward the driveway.
“You a racing fan?” I asked.
“Not really. It makes me nervous. I couldn’t ever bring myself to let…” she trailed off and looked back up at me. Her eyes searched mine and her tired face softened. She sucked in a deep breath, and she reached for me only for her arm to fall back to her side. “Be careful, okay?”
I nodded as she turned and clapped her small hand onto Rousse’s chest and gave him her motherly look. “You too,” she warned as Rousse smiled warmly at her as she slipped from the garage.
“You like her?” I asked automatically, a snarl on the tail of my words.
“Love her.”
Fire burned through my chest, a colorful mix of jealousy and hatred. The hatred at myself, for feeling anything, was what really clinched my fists.
“Like my little sister.” He smirked. “She’s the reason I make money doing this.”
“How’s that?” I quirked my eyebrow as I scanned the mechanics under the hood for a distraction.
“When I was trying to get my foot in the door, I was real hit or miss with winnings. This guy I knew would beat me any time he raced.” He said guy as if it was interchangeable with cockroach. “She kept him away long enough for me to make my name. Then he got out of the game permanently.” He had the audacity to chuckle at the end of the story.
I had to grab the frame beneath my hands and squeeze to keep from choking him. I visualized the way he’d scramble at my bigger hands and the color that he’d turn just before his body went limp. Any question as to whether I had the heart for it, for this, was gone. Renewed by his callousness of everything he’d done. Everything he’d done to me.
“And if he came back now?” I couldn’t help but ask.
He shook his head and opened his mouth once or twice but he had trouble formulating an answer. “That’s a part of the past that has to stay there.”
“In my experience, that’s not the way it works.”
“Then here’s hoping I can drive even faster than before.” He smiled as he ducked under the hood with me. “And that I’ve found a better second this time around. Come with me?”
His smile was so genuine as he turned his words up into a question that the pure joy of smashing it to smithereens made mine echo his.
“I’d love to.”
“Don’t you dare grow a beard.” I laughed as I rubbed Dantè’s cheeks where he leaned over me in the sand.
“What? Why? Chicks dig beards.” He scrunched up his face and looked at me like I was crazy.
“I dig you.” She emphasized the words. “And I’d miss so much of that face if it was hidden behind the hair.”
“If we grow old together, I’m going to change.” He looked down at me. “You are too.” His hand travelled down my body and hovered over my stomach.
I’d never thought about having a baby, or being a mom after my horrible childhood, but in that moment, I wanted Dantè’s child. I wanted a real family. We’d have to go slow. I’d have to feel the reality of us—of the good—and trust it. I’d have to find myself and trust her. I would not make the mistakes of my parents.
But I would make Dantè a father.
“Will you still love me when I’m fat?” I asked, my voice a little choked.
“Would you still love me if I grew a beard?” His beaming smile spoke his answer underneath his words.
I remembered the color of his eyes that afternoon on the beach. If earnestness had a shade it would have been that exact one. I missed that. And I searched for that colored mix of honeyed brown behind the lens of my camera every time I picked it up. Today was no different, except…I’d seen the closet incarnation of it in years. Just minutes ago.
Row’s eyes.
I slung my camera around my shoulder and sprinted as fast as my bare feet could carry me back to the garage, stones digging at my flesh as I barreled into the driveway focused on the garage. Without pretense, I shoved open the side door only to find both Rousse and Row gone. Dust simply swirled, lazy in the sunbeams that filtered in.
I looked to the hood, to where he’d just been, and tried to recall his features. They were fuzzy, like I’d been looking at him through an unfocused lens the entire time. I would have described him as built and beautiful. A little wild, like his emotions were churning just underneath, ready to erupt. I wouldn’t have described him as Dantè—not the one that I expected anyway—but now…It could be him. All grown up. Severe, unyielding, and stunning.
“No,” I gasped.
Row couldn’t be him. I would have known immediately. My heart would have told me if nothing else. And yet…
I could picture the man bent over the hood of the car, bent over me. I could feel his rough hewn hands on my skin. And those eyes—those eyes that pulled me in and bewitched me—searched the very depths of me.
“It can’t be…” I mused, still searching for the ghost in the garage. The only question was whose ghost was it.
Two Weeks Later…
I adjusted Dantè’s coffee cup on his desk for probably the thirteenth time. Then added another one in case it was, in fact, thirteen and not fourteen because odd numbers…I sighed.
Things hadn’t been the same since I said his name on the beach two weeks ago. I mean, I didn’t blame him for staying away that day. Or being surly with me since, but…It had to end.
“Good morning, Jordan,” Dantè said as he stepped into his office. A moment later, I heard the click of the lock.
“How long are we going to play this game, Dantè?” I asked knowing it was safe.
“What game?” he asked as he settled into his chair on the other side of his desk.
“The one where you pretend you’re not mad at me.” I looked down at my hands and found them picking at my cuticles without my knowledge.
“You almost blew it.” He lifted his hands to rub his temples.
“I know,” I whined. “I know, and I feel terrible. But you never let me apologize. And I wanted to so bad. I mean—”
“Max,” he cut me off. “I didn’t let you apologize because you didn’t need to.” He sighed. “I mean, I wasn’t happy about it but shit happens, and in the grand scheme of things, that was not that bad.”
“Really?” There was a flutter in my chest.
“Really.” He smiled beneath that full beard that he’d let go a little more unkempt. “I wasn’t avoiding you, Max. I was busy.”
“With what?” I crossed my legs and arched my eyebrows at him.
He started with a story about rumbling engines and the smell of gasoline burning in the night air before he told me about racing with Rousse. They’d been at the track almost every night, adjusting the mechanics of different cars and practicing the slam of the clutch into gear as they took off. I could almost smell the burn of rubber the way he told it.
When they raced, he’d come in a respectable fourth without even trying. Dantè was playing dumb while Row was mustering his all. And winning a tiny bit of money in the process.
“I would have loved to see his face when you placed.” I smiled.
Dantè shrugged.
“Oh come on.” I rolled my eyes as he finally reached for his coffee and sipped on the lukewarm drink.
“Honestly, I don’t care what his look
was when I got fourth. Or what it will be when I beat him. I just want to see the look on my face when he realizes it’s me.”
I sucked in a deep breath just before the door clicked behind me, and I had to school my features from the wicked smile I wore to something slightly more professional.
“Danger, what can I do for you?” Dantè leaned back and templed his hands in front of him.
“I’m at the end of my rope, man. And I’ve done the autoerotic asphyxiation thing.” He was worked up, jittery even, and he didn’t look like the man I’d found a few months ago. There were bags under his bloodshot eyes that were only deepening. He smiled to help land his jokes but it was tired rather than devious.
“That was too much information,” Dantè said with a chuckle. “I may need a hair bit more as to how it pertains to work.”
“I have a backdoor,” he said with a humph as he collapsed into the seat next to me.
“Don’t we all?” I asked with a laugh.
“In my update for the relaunch,” he snarled, suddenly the epitome of his name.
“Danger…” Dantè warned.
“Do either of you know how serious that is?”
Dantè shook his head, and I could tell by the slight shift of his beard, he was smirking.
“That’s how apps get hacked. It’s how user information gets mined and stolen. We can’t knowingly put it out there without putting ourselves at risk for federal prosecution. And that’s the best case scenario.”
“What’s worst?” I asked.
“If that information falls into the wrong hands…I mean we’re talking terrorist shit.” He pounded his fists on the arms of his chair as an exclamation mark.
Dantè pondered his words as he rose from his chair and circled his desk to take up a casual pose on the edge, his legs outstretched between Danger and me.
“Are you perhaps overreacting?” He started stroking his beard.
“This sort of shit—illegal information sharing—is exactly what Mark Zuckerberg went in front of Congress for.” Danger’s voice elevated to a shout.