Spinning Out

by Lexi Ryan

  I say a prayer every night that he’ll wake up and be himself again so they can start dialysis before it’s too late.

  The first time Sebastian comes in from the pool, I wave him into the kitchen. He doesn’t quite fit in with this group yet. He’s more like me than like them. But they’re trying to include him. He’ll be an important part of the team next year, and for BHU to have another chance at a bowl game, they’ll need him.

  He steps into the kitchen. “What’s up?”

  “So, I’ve been looking at that list.” We’re alone in the kitchen, but I still check to make sure no one’s around to hear our conversation. “And Bailey talked Denny’s Garage into giving us a list, too. I compiled the names and have been going through them.”

  “Okay. Any luck?”

  I shake my head. “I keep thinking about that night and what I saw. Did you ever take a criminology class?”

  He nods. “A couple.”

  “You know how they teach you that memory’s not static? It’s dynamic? So someone can suggest an idea, and you might layer that idea into your memory without realizing it.”

  “Right,” he says cautiously.

  “I don’t know if that’s what’s happening, but ever since I saw Coach’s name on that list, I’ve been thinking about what I saw that night. Now when I close my eyes and recall the car driving away, I see a white bumper sticker on the tailgate of the car.”

  He folds his arms. “Okay.”

  “I keep thinking maybe it had a streak of red through it. Like a Blackhawk Football bumper sticker. Like the one Coach has on the tailgate of his car.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m telling you, Mia. I worked on that job. I remember it. He hit a deer.”

  “I know it’s ridiculous. I know it, okay? But I have this idea in my head, and sometimes when I get an idea in my head, I just can’t make it go away.”

  “You’re talking about my coach,” he says.

  “I know.”

  He sighs heavily and turns to look out the back window, where Keegan tosses a long-legged blonde into the pool. “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “I actually know how I can put your mind at ease.”

  “You do?”

  “If I can prove to you that Coach wasn’t involved, will you drop it?”

  “How are you going to prove that?”

  “You’ll see.” He grins. “What do you say? I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon. I’ll show you what you need to see, and then you go on a date with me as payment.”

  I open my mouth to say no and then remember Trish standing in the study with Arrow.

  Sebastian is adorable. Well, okay, Bailey would say he’s hot, and he’s definitely got the sexy body thing happening, but he’s adorable in that floppy-eared puppy kind of way. His hair’s always falling in his face, and he keeps flashing that lopsided smile, like he can’t be bothered to bring the other side of his mouth up to meet the first. He’s adorable and he likes me and he doesn’t confuse the shit out of me.

  “It’s a deal.”

  “You didn’t need to come today,” Mrs. Barrett says behind me. “I cringe to think of what you’ve been spending on gas.”

  “It’s worth it,” I tell her. The truth is, I’m afraid he’s going to die before I’ve said all I have to say, but every time I stand by his side, the words dry up on my tongue. “How is he?”

  She steps forward and squeezes my wrist. Sebastian’s picking me up from the Woodisons’ in two hours, but I wanted to squeeze in a trip to the Barretts’ first. Instead of answering my question, she says, “Have you thought any more about singing at the funeral?”

  Then again, maybe that’s her answer.

  I don’t know if I’m ready. I’ve squandered so much time with him. Wasted our last good night together and have been holding my breath waiting for a second chance. Maybe half of grief is just accepting that we don’t get one.

  I draw in a breath. “I haven’t decided.”

  She gives my wrist a final squeeze. “I’ll leave you alone, then.”

  I watch her leave, grateful that she pulls the door shut behind her to give me some privacy. Suddenly, I know what I need to say.

  I take his hand in mine and squeeze. When I close my eyes, he’s bloody in my arms again, apologizing with his final words. “I forgive you. For Trish. For refusing to take me home. For all of it.” I swallow hard. I’ve been so busy taking the blame onto myself that I’ve never taken the time to tell him he’s forgiven. Maybe that’s what we all need to hear—to believe—if we’re going to find some peace. “None of us are perfect, and I never wanted you to be, either. Thank you for loving me.”

  When I open my eyes, they see a body on the bed that once belonged to Brogan, but he’s not there anymore. Maybe he hasn’t been for months. I brace myself for another blow to the chest—the kind of grief that steals my breath—but instead I find myself exhaling and then refilling my lungs.

  This is what it feels like to let go.

  I brush his hair from his face, close my eyes, and say a prayer.

  When I get back to the Woodisons’, I feel lighter than I have in months. It’s not the happy lightness of submitting your last final exam or the giddy lightness of having a crush. It’s the weight of a burden lifted from your shoulders.

  I’m running late, so I rush to my room to figure out what to wear. My black-and-pink polka-dot sundress used to be my favorite, and I pull it on, step into a pair of flip-flops, and head downstairs to wait for Sebastian.

  Arrow’s in the living room, and he stands up when he sees me. “You look nice,” he says, dragging that slow, hungry gaze down my bare legs. “Where are you going?”

  The doorbell rings, and I turn to open it without answering Arrow’s question. Sebastian stands there in a pair of low-slung jeans and a fitted black T-shirt. He grins at me and offers me the trio of bright yellow daisies in his right hand.

  “For the pretty girl,” he says.

  I can practically feel the moment Arrow realizes who’s at the door. He comes to stand behind me, and it’s as if the temperature in the house drops ten degrees.

  “Hi, Arrow,” Sebastian says, inclining his chin.

  I feel a little guilty. This is the guy who’s replacing him, but at the same time, this is the guy who will smile at me. Who will give me the time of day without looking at me like he resents my need to hear his voice. I don’t know that I want to be with Sebastian, but I need a friend.

  “Sebastian,” Arrow finally responds. “How are you?”

  “Good.” He holds up the flowers a little awkwardly. “You?”

  “Hunky-dory,” Arrow says dryly. “Living the dream.”

  Sebastian laughs. “Let me know if I can get you anything, okay, man?”

  Arrow releases a long, slow exhale and shakes his head. “Don’t be that guy.”

  “What?”

  “Just don’t be a nice guy. If you want to do me a favor, pretend to be the asshole I need you to be.” He turns around and goes to the stairs, leaving us.

  “Well, that was awkward,” Sebastian says, making a goofy face.

  I want to laugh over how ridiculous that exchange was, but I’m too confused by the guy walking away. “Yeah,” I agree. I don’t want to think about Arrow right now and wouldn’t know what to think if I wanted to. I grab the flowers and take them to the kitchen, popping them in a small vase with some water before heading back to the front door where Sebastian’s waiting. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

  “We’re going to Dad’s shop,” he says. “Come on.”

  I follow him to his car and he opens the door for me. I turn around as I start to climb in and see Arrow watching me from his bedroom window, his arms crossed, a frown on his face.

  Sebastian follows my gaze. “Should I assume he’s going to punch me in the face the minute he’s no longer on probation?”

  “Don’t worry about Arrow,” I say, climbing into the car. “He doesn’t want me.” Our history is too compl
icated, I think, but I don’t explain that to Sebastian. I don’t have the energy to answer the questions that explanation would invite.

  Sebastian grunts. “It’s cute that you believe that.”

  I toy with the radio as he drives, and when he pulls into the lot in front of his dad’s body shop, I cross my arms and look at him. “You have me curious,” I admit. “What are we doing here?”

  “You’ll see.” He unbuckles and grabs a backpack from the back seat. “Come on. In the back.”

  I climb out of the car and follow him around to the gate at the back of the shop. He unlocks it, pulls it open, and nods me on through.

  A chrome bumper lies in the grass.

  “That’s Coach’s,” he says, nodding to it. “I pulled it out of the scrap pile for you this morning.”

  I step forward, my insides trembling as I near the mangled chrome. “That’s it?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “And Mia, he hit a deer. I know that without doing anything else, but I know you need some kind of closure on this. I took a chemistry class at BHU last semester. It was called the Chemistry of CSI, and they taught us about the chemicals and tests used in some basic crime scene investigations.” He slides his backpack off his shoulder and to the ground and pulls a couple of tubes from it. “You’re lucky Professor Drew liked me. He gave us the chemicals we need to run the test.”

  One of the tubes has a long cotton swab in it, and he pulls it out and hands it to me. He crouches next to the bumper and points to the edge. “It’s still smeared with blood. No reason to scrub it off when you have to replace the whole part anyway. We’ll use this stuff called anti-human serum. You take the sample and put it in this solution. It’ll tell us whether it’s animal blood or human blood.”

  “That’s a real thing?”

  He laughs. “Pretty cool, huh? Go ahead and swab it.”

  My stomach curdles. I’m not sure I want to know anymore. What happens if it turns out that it’s human blood on the bumper? Do we go to the police from here? And what about Sebastian? Could he live with turning in his coach?

  “Calm down, Mia,” he says. “I promise it’s deer blood.”

  With a shaking hand, I swipe the wet swab across the dried blood and then hand it to him.

  He takes it and dips it into the other vial. “What will happen is that if it’s human blood, the solution will react, and if it’s not, it won’t.”

  “That simple?”

  “The best chemistry is, isn’t it?” We stare at the liquid in silence, and it doesn’t react. “See? Told you. Do you feel better now?”

  I stare at the vial, half expecting it to change. It doesn’t. “Thanks, Sebastian.” Why was I so sure it was human? “I promise I don’t have a personal vendetta against the coach. I just saw his name and couldn’t get the idea out of my head that it was his car—that I saw that bumper sticker.”

  “He hit a deer, Mia.”

  I nod. Did Sebastian test it himself before he brought me here? Does it matter if he did? The results are what they are. “Okay. Got it. Thanks again for doing this.”

  “And now you owe me dinner,” he says.

  “Deer blood to dinner.” I laugh at his grimace. “It’s okay. That was our deal, and I’m actually pretty hungry.”

  A few minutes later, we pull up to a casual hole-in-the wall that serves the best Lebanese food.

  “This okay?” he asks when he stops the car.

  “This is perfect,” I say.

  We get a seat and both order iced tea and sampler platters, and they bring our food out quickly. I can’t get my stomach to settle down from the nervous tremors that started back at the shop, and even though this is probably my favorite place to eat, I just poke at my food.

  “Did Bailey lie to me?” he asks.

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  He nods to my untouched food. “I asked her what kind of food you liked, and she suggested this place. You don’t seem very interested in your meal.”

  “You asked Bailey where to take me for lunch?” Sebastian hasn’t been hiding his interest in me, but I thought it was more casual than that. I was convenient. But maybe Bailey was right, and he’s been interested for a while now.

  He grins. “I wanted to impress you with more than my chemistry skills today.” His smile falls away then. “But seriously, are you doing okay?”

  “I’m just thinking.” I shift and take a deep breath. He’s going to think I’m crazy. I should be able to drop this, but I can’t. “I have this big list of people who got body work done, but except for my crazy gut reaction about Coach, nothing’s jumping out at me. And I know you’re right and I should probably let it go, but I have this list and I feel like I should do something. What if one of those people is responsible for what happened?”

  He puts down his fork and swallows his bite. “Why is it so important that you find out? You don’t strike me as an eye-for-an-eye type. Is it just about revenge? Justice?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yeah. The truth.”

  “I can’t stand everyone thinking my brother was responsible. He screwed up. He was a teenager and thought it’d be easier to take care of me and Dad if he was dealing. And I’m not saying it was right, and I’m not saying there aren’t other ways to get by, but he wasn’t the horrible, hardcore gangbanger the people in this town paint him as. After my mom left, he saw an easy way to make money, and he took it.” I take a drink of my tea, hoping to wash down the memory of the disappointment I felt when the police found the meth in Nic’s trunk. I was in high school and had always idolized him, and he let me down. But I do believe he learned his lesson, and when he was released from prison, he didn’t touch drugs. No using. No dealing. “As long as no one is arrested for this crime, people will go on thinking Nic was dealing again. They’ll think this horrible tragedy happened because he couldn’t stay out of the game.”

  “I guess I understand that,” he says. “The accident reports weren’t any help?”

  “Accident reports?” I ask.

  He grins. “Yeah. You can get them online—assuming a report was filed.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll do it for you. I should have some free time in the next few days or so. You have a lot going on with the Woodisons and Brogan and everything.”

  “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

  “I do want to help you,” he says. “I like you, Mia.”

  I stare at him a long time. “I like you too, Sebastian. But . . .”

  He groans. “I knew that but was coming.”

  This should be easy, but it’s not. After months of feeling so little, I’m overwhelmed with emotions that seem to contradict each other. One moment, I’m frustrated with Arrow and confused about where I stand with him, and the next I’m so swamped by grief I can hardly breathe. Brogan is dying, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Even if I should give Sebastian a real chance, I don’t have the emotional energy. “No, it’s just that I like you too, but I’m not ready.”

  He picks up his fork and nods. “Okay, but for now . . . friends?”

  I smile, relieved. “Yeah. Friends would be great. Thank you.”

  I lie in my room in the darkness and listen to the fall of Arrow’s footsteps down the hall.

  When I came home from my date with Sebastian, Arrow was out at the pool with Mason, Chris, and a few others I don’t know very well. I heard everyone leave half an hour ago, and I’ve been lying here trying to convince myself not to go to Arrow. I don’t care what Gwen thinks. My reluctance to go to him isn’t about her. But every time I think about Brogan dying—about putting him in the ground in the same cemetery where my brother is buried—I feel numb all over. I’m scared. I’m the tightrope walker standing on her platform and knowing her net is gone, knowing the only way forward is to take a step.

  Arrow keeps telling me I didn’t die that night, and I want that to be true, but I’m not sure it is. I’m not sure I’m brave enough to
keep going.

  With a deep breath and shaking hands, I go to his room and open the door without knocking. He stands by the window, illuminated by the bedside lamp. He’s in a pair of gym shorts, his chest bare.

  “Did I wake you?” he asks.

  Closing the door behind me, I shake my head. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

  “How are you holding up?”

  I walk to him. I don’t want to talk. And I know I shouldn’t, but I take his hand and slide it up my shirt, pressing it between my breasts and against my beating heart.

  He draws in a ragged breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “Mia.”

  I guide his hand down again, lead his fingertips to sweep across my belly and under the waistband of my shorts. Through every inch I guide his hand, his eyes lock on mine, dark, intense, as if he’s searching for truth.

  “Touch me again,” I whisper. I’m reaching out, trying to take that first step. Every inch of me trembles.

  He grips my hip tightly and his eyes scan my face, study my lips, then he releases me and steps back. “I can’t, Mia.” He turns back to the window and buries his hands in his hair. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  This is my fault. I touched her. I lied to myself and touched her when I had no right.

  I want to touch her so badly, I can practically feel the slick heat between her legs, but I can’t. Not tonight.

  Last semester, I tried everything to erase the memory of her from my mind. Pot, meth, alcohol binges, lines of coke—nothing worked, and I was lucky because even though the judge made me go to rehab, I wasn’t an addict. Even when I was chasing my next high, there was nothing I wanted as much as I wanted Mia Mendez.

  “You . . .” she whispers. “I thought . . .”

  It’s still true. I can’t think of a single thing I want more than her. Especially at this moment when these secrets are too much and my guilt is too heavy. I could lose myself in her. Touching her would chase away the ugliest parts of this world, let me hide from the ugliest parts of myself.