Page 90 of Repairing the Wreckage

Still reeling from seeing Molly and Torch together, I take Remy up on his offer to move into his basement apartment. At least this way, I’ll get to see her whenever she comes home.

Of course, if she’s still “dating” Torch, seeing them together might make my brains melt and leak out of my ears from the exertion of not murdering him.

It takes less than four hours for Remy, Vapor, Eraser, and me to move what little I have. The next day, I’m sorting through boxes when I find the burner phone I took to the show with me.

Everything was so fucked up, I never bothered to turn it on after Jordan gave it back to me.

I plug it in and wait for it to have a decent charge before turning it on. My short text exchange with Molly has been wiped clean, except for one final text from her.

M: Don’t worry. He’s all yours.

“What the fuck?” I mutter. Who—no, what was she responding to?

That slimy fucking show. It was bad enough that they found and confiscated the only way I had to communicate with Molly. They had to stir up more trouble by sending her fuck only knows what kind of text?

He’s all yours. She wasn’t responding to me.

“Fuck!” I throw the phone back in the box. I can’t even ask her about it. Who knows when the fuck she’ll be home again. And I still can’t fucking call her.

I need to get out of the house. See if I still have a job. Although I still feel and look like shit, I need to see Molly’s car and assess the damage.

But first I need to apologize to my boss for all the trouble I’ve caused him.

I step out of my car and squint at the sky. Another beautiful fall day. It’s so good to be home.

The parking lot’s quieter than I’d expect midweek. Maybe that’s for the best. I don’t need to draw attention to myself.

I swing the front door open, the bell dinging its familiar greeting. Jerry’s behind the counter and glances up.

A welcoming smile spreads across his face. “If it isn’t the best damn fighter in the country.” He steps out from behind the counter and holds out his hand.

“I don’t know about that.” I shake his hand quickly. “How’s it going?” Do I still have a job?

“Lil’ slow,” he says, never one to sugarcoat anything. “But nothin’ I’m worried about, yet. Good to see you.” He narrows his eyes on my forehead. “You all right?”

“This?” I graze my fingertips against the side of my head. “It was worse.”

“Jesus. You look like you went to war.”

“I guess I did.” I run my hand over the top of my head. “I’m not quite a hundred percent to come back?—”

He gives me a slow once-over. “Obviously.”

“But I wanted to apologize?—”

“Get outta here.” Jerry waves a big, oil-stained hand in my face. “Apologize to me for what?”

“Uh, the inconvenience of being gone so long? Having the cops here about Molly’s car.” I hold out my hands. “Pick one.”

“Eh.” He shrugs that off too. “Gave the locals something to do.”

More like gave the cops something to gossip about. One of the local sheriffs actually fights at The Castle some weekends. Christ, I hope Brady wasn’t one of the ones who came here. He’ll be busting my balls all damn night next time I see him.

“You sort things out with her?” he asks in a stern, fatherly tone.

“Not yet.”

His face scrunches into a disapproving scowl. Jerry’s obvious displeasure needles me unlike anyone else’s. I’ve worked for him for a couple of years and have a lot of respect for him. Otherwise, I wouldn’t bother trying to explain myself.

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