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“You won't,” I say fiercely, no hesitation. There's no way my best friend could ever be like his piece of shit abusive father. I still wish I could resurrect that asshole and beat the fuck out of him myself.
“How do you know?”
All I can do is study the pained look on his face, unsure of how to answer. How do you platonically tell someone that you’ve memorized their soul down to the last atom and molecule? How do I tell him that even though he's flawed, he's the embodiment of every single good thing about my life thus far? I can't. So instead, I settle on, “Because I know you, dumbass.”
He huffs a shaky laugh as he shoves me away. “Fuck off.”
“You’re not your dad,” I tell him firmly. “You’re not even in the same fucking species. You hear me?”
“God, okay. I hear you.”
“Good.”
His shoulders shake as he breathes out, finally releasing some of the tension he’s been holding. “I’m gonna do it,” he whispers. “I’m gonna ask him. Soon.”
A small twinge of jealousy pinches my chest and threatens the happiness I feel for him. I'm glad he found his person, despite it all. I'm honestly glad all of my friends did. Maybe Arya wasn't my… forever, or whatever, but I could have seen myself living life with her for a good long while.
And that's probably where our relationship failed. Instead of building us to last, I treated it like something temporary—treated her like something temporary. I don't blame her for leaving in the end.
Still fucked up of Dev to sleep with her, though. Motherfucker.
The thought of him makes my stomach hurt, so I just clap Taylor on the shoulder roughly. “We gonna get back to practice now so I don't fuck this up for us?”
My best friend straightens with a grin, the same one he's always worn since we were kids. “Yeah. Let's get it. You ready?”
“Always,” I answer, cracking my neck before picking up my helmet.
“That's not what you were saying earlier. You were all ‘boo hoo, I suck, I'm a giant fucking baby.’”
“I will punch you in the dick.”
Laughing, he swings off my two-stroke so I can take his place. “Okay, okay. But go easy on your bike. She's reliable and she holds a lot of memories.”
Yeah, and not all of them are good.
I pause with one leg over the seat, helmet already snug on my head.
Reliable. Fast, smooth, every part tuned to my weight. My style. I swear the engine coughs sometimes like my abuela when I start her up, but still, she rides.
A kernel of possibility blooms in my chest. Thumbing the throttle, I shift into gear and head back toward the ramp as an idea takes root. Yeah, Symbiotic isn't paying us a whole hell of a lot for this gig, but…
Maybe starting a new project is exactly what I need to occupy my mind. Something like building a new bike, from the frame up, piece by piece.
Something that can replace the bad memories with better ones. New ones.
Something reliable.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Devon
Just a few twenties. They won't know.
Swallowing hard, I stare down at the open cash register in front of me. The Prospector closed an hour ago, and I’ve already mopped the floors and finished the dishes. All that's left is to count the cash in the till, which is my job tonight because Christian's busy taking inventory in the back.
Taylor and the other servers left early since they finished their shit, which only leaves us, Juanita, and the cook, Gale. Everyone's occupied.
Nobody will know.
