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I rush Cole the minute sidewalk traffic eases, grabbing his shoulders while I try to push him off balance. He wasn’t kidding about that black belt thing, but he’s also never fought a lunatic like me, which I use to my advantage, catching him off-balance with the help of a fire hydrant.
I’m celebrating his fall with a good belly laugh when he springs to his feet in a blink and throws a fist at my face so fast I see not just stars but literally the entire Milky Way. I spit on my feet and stumble toward the nearby wall, leaning into it for balance while I hold my sleeve to my nose and lip to test the bleeding. Dark red seeps into the material in seconds. I’m stunned, but also a little high from the rush.
“Tell Brooklyn I’ll see her over Thanksgiving,” Cole says. I lift my head in time to see him straighten his own jacket. He limps as he walks away, but I’m clearly worse off.
I cough a few times, my lungs burning, and a rib maybe cracked. A younger man with a leather satchel tucked under one arm rushes to my side. He’s clutching his phone.
“Hey, are you all right? I saw that, and I will be your witness. I took video,” he says, pushing my arm around him so he can help me stand. I use him for balance for a few seconds before quietly laughing over the last few minutes of my life.
“I’m all right. I probably deserved that. But hey, can I have that video?” I say, reaching for his phone.
“Yeah, sure. But . . . you maybe want me to call the police? File a report.”
“No, no. I’m fine. Really,” I say as I punch in my number and send the video to my phone. I feel it buzz in my pocket, glad that my phone is still there and not lying cracked on the sidewalk.
“Thank you,” I say, untangling from the good Samaritan. I hold out a hand for him to shake, but recoil when I see the blood on my knuckles. I nod at him instead and force myself to move along.
This is not how I wanted to apologize to Brooky.Hey, sorry about my cave man behavior earlier. I made up for it with, well, more of the same.
I could probably catch the train if I hurried, but the nearest station is right by city hall anyhow. Assuming she has to park at the bottom level, I take the garage stairwell down as low as it goes. Her Mercedes is one of maybe five vehicles left in the sub-basement level. I take a seat on one of the concrete stops near her vehicle, stretching my legs out slowly when I realize there’s a rip in my right pant leg and the material has glued itself to my scraped-up knee.
I pull out my phone and find the text I sent to her number during our drive in this morning. She replied after dropping me off with a thumbs up. That was all before the next nine hours unfolded. Hopefully I haven’t been blocked.
ME:I’m gonna need a ride home. Missed the van again.
I read my words and decide that even the small lie is one more step in the wrong direction with her and delete
ME:Can I hitch a ride home? Sorry.
I pause on that last word and decide to delete that, too.
ME:Can I bum a ride.
A quiet laugh shakes my chest as I drop my phone in my lap after sending. If my hands, sleeves, and legs are any indication of what my face looks like, Brooklyn is going to walk up and find a horror show when she gets to her SUV.
My phone buzzes so I tap the screen in my lap.
BROOKY:Admit I never kissed you. Then we’ll talk.
Ha. I stare at her stubborn words for a few seconds and shake my head, reaching into my jacket pocket on a prayer that there’s a napkin or tissue in there. I feel the envelope for the gala, but nothing else. I pick my phone up to type.
ME:Pretty sure I already did that, but one more time with feeling. No, Brook. We never kissed. When we do, you’ll know.
I hit send before overthinking this time, which is probably dumb, but I haven’t exactly had a great day. I’m hoping she’ll cut me some slack. My phone buzzes again, and I tap the screen to reveal a gif of some famous actress rolling her eyes.
ME:Does this mean I can get a ride?
BROOKY:Fine. But you have to ride in the back. I’m mad at you.
“Ha!” My laughter echoes around the empty garage floor.
ME:Get in line, sweetheart. You may actually want to put down a towel . . . or plastic. And bring a few tissues with you. Or a roll of paper towels? I’ll wait by your car.
I pop on the camera app on my phone and reverse the view to take a look at what I’m dealing with. The good news is the blood I thought was gushing out of my right nostril seems to have stopped, but it’s still a crusty, crimson mess. And my lip is puffy as hell, plus there’s a lot of bruising on my chin and cheek.
My phone buzzes in my hand and I swap out my image for Brooklyn’s text.
BROOKY:You just freaked me out. I’m on my way. With a roll of towels for . . .?
