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Some nights were still scarred by nightmares that came from the memories of wrecks I’d witnessed. Very early in my career, I watched a man go down and hit the track with a force that destroyed several bones and nearly caused him to bleed out. He was mere moments from death and was only saved by transfusions. When I met Colby and found out his sister was a phlebotomist, it inspired me to start collecting blood so it would be available if there was ever an emergency like that. Having a stash of my own blood ready meant if there was ever a time when I needed a transfusion because of an accident, the hospital wouldn’t have to try to find a match, and I wouldn’t deplete the stores of blood for others who might need it.
There was a certain degree of the macabre in the plan, but it made me feel more confident, so I did it as frequently as I could. I did it so often it usually didn’t bother me at all but asking for the extra blood and explaining the situation to her was upsetting all over again. She was understanding and supportive, even saying her lab could process the test for me. That made me feel better, knowing at least somebody I was familiar with was handling this critically important moment of my life. But after everything was done and submitted, all the adrenaline left me, and I was completely exhausted.
Feeling drained and empty, I didn’t leave my couch for all of Saturday afternoon or night and stayed there through Sunday morning. I fully intended on staying longer, but I wasn’t given the choice. My front door burst open and Quentin, Nick, and Colby stormed in like they were sent on a mission. Each one carried a bag under one arm, and I immediately wondered which one of them my mother talked to first.
“You look like a hot mess,” Colby said.
Quentin made a snorting noise.
“You’re a lot nicer than me. I was going to say you look like something chewed you up, spit you out, then turned you into cud,” he said.
“Gee thanks,” I muttered, dragging myself up so I was at least sitting up on the couch rather than lying on it to look up at them.
“What the hell did you do to yourself?” Nick asked.
“Liquor,” I answered.
As soon as I put the materials into the lab, I drove straight to the liquor store and stocked up. It felt like the kind of weekend where I was going to need it to get through. It was going to be a couple days before the results came through, and I wanted to be lucid and thinking about it as little as humanly possible. The ragged appearance all came from the night before, though. I hadn’t yet started drinking for the morning. But at least it seemed there was no judgment coming from my friend and brothers as Colby reached into the bag he held and handed me a bottle of green juice.
“This will take the edge off the hangover,” he said. “Do you have any good greasy food in your kitchen?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll have to order something.”
“That might be a good idea. But get started on this,” Nick said, handing me a sandwich. “Start absorbing some of that alcohol.”
Quentin set his bag down without taking anything out of it and walked around in front of the couch. Moving an empty whiskey bottle aside, he sat down on the coffee table and folded his fingers in his lap, staring at me intently.
“Tell us,” he said.
I nodded and took a deep breath before spilling everything that happened a few days before.
“You guys know how I’ve felt about Kelly and what a big deal it was when she showed back up,” I started.
All three of them nodded.
“We were there the night you first met her, then again when you ran into her again. We’ve seen the puppy dog looks,” Quentin told me.
“It’s more than just puppy dog,” Colby pointed out, defending me from a further ribbing by my big brother. I knew Quentin didn’t mean any harm and was just trying to be an older brother making things less miserable for me, but it also felt good to have my best friend step in to block him for me. “You should hear how he’s been talking about her. There’s something real there.”
“It’s true,” I confirmed. “At least, I thought there was something real. After meeting her on my birthday three years ago, I never really stopped thinking about her. I mean, I’ve been with other girls and dated around, so it’s not like I’ve just been sitting up in a tower and pining for her while I wrote melodramatic poetry or anything.”
“What about that piece of paper you keep in your pocket when you race?” Nick asked.
