Noah watches her go, and once she pushes through the front doors of the cidery, he looks over at me. “So, we’re doing the arcade, right?”
“It’s probably a horrible idea because it means more work, more money, and more shit to take care of before your wedding, but can you imagine the stress relief after a long day of poring over ledgers? We should have thought of this sooner.”
Noah chuckles. “We’re starting a separate book for wagers on high scores, right?”
“You bet your ass we are.” I point at him. “But you can forget the date for the wedding. That’s not happening.”
“Dude, come on.”
“No, no way. I’m already caving on this arcade thing—”
“Because you want it too.”
“—but I’m not budging on that. No date.”
He rolls his eyes but lets me have it. He knows how I feel about love and relationships and shit. He was just like me before Odette came along, and just because he went and fell in love with his younger sister’s best friend nearly two years ago doesn’t mean it’s “my turn now” or whatever. I mean it when I say no relationships. I’m doing just fine on my own.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know without checking that it’s an alarm to get on the road before I’m late for yet another physical therapy appointment.
This one will be different,they said.It’ll work. We swear it.
I want to roll my eyes just thinking about it, but there’s a small part of me that hopes they’re right. I gave up the PT for a few years, but lately my hip has been bothering me more, so I decided to start it back up again just to see what happens.
“Listen,” I say to Noah, “I’ve got to run, but don’t tell Odette it’s a yes to the arcade right away. Let her stew.”
“Oh, I planned on it. She’s hot when she’s mad.” He grins in a way that makes me want to roll my eyes again.
I grab the nearest thing I can find—a wet rag—and toss it at him. “You’re disgusting.”
He just laughs as he peels the cloth from his face.
I let tonight’s shift leader know I’m heading out, grab my laptop from the back office so I don’t have to stop by here after my therapy, then climb into my blue Porsche 911 GT3 RS.
I’m fully aware that folding my six-foot-three frame into a tiny sports car isn’t the best idea, nor is the manual transmission, especially given my mobility issues thanks to my bad hip, but I refuse to give up my fun just because of my injury. I’ve already lost so much due to it.
Which is precisely why I gun it the moment I’m out of the Stick Taps parking lot.
Driving fast is about the only vice I have, so I take full advantage of it every chance I get.
I pause briefly at the stop sign at the end of the long dirt road that leads to the cidery, then steer the little sports car onto the blacktop, loving the squeal of my tires against the pavement.
My lips twitch as I watch the speedometer climb much higher than the posted limit, and instead of my heart racing, it calms. This is the first time all day that I’ve felt truly relaxed. I used to get the same high from playing hockey, but since that’s not happening anymore, I find my peace doing this—going as fast as I possibly can, living life on the edge, even just for a few minutes.
I realize how messed up that is, but I can’t be bothered to care, not when I push the gas pedal harder and the engine cranks up louder, the car eating up the miles as I zoom toward town.
In the back of my mind, I know I should slow down, especially since I’ve already gotten two tickets in the last three months, but Ican’t seem to make myself do it. All the thoughts that were racing around before this are gone. I’m not worrying about everything I’ll need to do to make the arcade happen, how much feed I need to order for the animals this month, or the stack of applications I have sitting on my desk that I still need to look over so we can get a little more help.
Nope, I’m not thinking about any of that. I’m letting it go, and I’m focusing solely on the long stretch of road before me.
I fly past theWelcome to Port Harborsign. Unlike Noah, I’m not from Washington. I followed him here when we decided to open Stick Taps. It didn’t matter to me where we lived or built our business. I just wanted to do it and stop thinking about the game I was forced to give up.
I was surprised to discover that I liked small-town life far more than I thought I would. There are only roughly twelve thousand residents here, but man, they show up in droves when it counts. And it usually always counts. They have activities nearly every weekend, ranging from fundraising events to harbor races. While I think most of it is cheesy as hell and you won’t catch me attending unless I’m absolutely forced, it still feels nice to know that if I truly needed anyone, people would be there.
It’s a big change from what I had growing up, that’s for sure.
I get about a quarter mile before I see them.
Red and blue lights fill my rearview mirror, and I groan, braking and downshifting as I navigate my car to the side of the road.
