Page 25 of Repairing the Wreckage

I mash my lips together, but harsh chuckles spill out anyway.

“No judgment here. If you’re gay just say so, Pirate,” Thunder says in his low, serious rumble. “All those playground insults are starting to sound like projection.”

Finally. I’m getting tired of being the only one to put these assholes in their place when they say stupid shit. I swear half these guys already have advanced brain damage, even though no one in the house is over thirty.

“Focus,” Coach says. “Let’s move on to Venom and Thunder’s last match.”

Venom’s jaw tightens and he turns toward the screen. Guess he doesn’t love being judged either.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Griff

I almost lost out on a phone call this week. The producers pretended to bend to my demands when I confronted them. But now that I know the show is airing and Remy’s been watching it, they won’t let me talk to him. Molly won’t answer calls from anyone. Knowing my girl, she probably blocked anything with a Long Island area code.

Finally, I get the producers to allow me to talk to Vapor and Juliet after they’ve been cleared. Thank fuck Vapor’s been boycotting the show.

“Thanks for doing this, brother,” I say, once I’m handed the phone and Jordan clears the tiny “confessional” booth. “Sorry if they asked a bunch of invasive shit.”

“Not a problem. You all right?” Vapor’s low voice is full of concern. He’s always been almost too sensitive for all the shit the world’s put him through.

“Questioning a lot of my life decisions lately, brother,” I answer honestly.

“I bet you are.” It’s not said in a mean way. Just stating a fact.

“Workouts are gettin’ harder.” I hold my breath, waiting for someone to cut off our call. They killed one of my calls with Molly for saying a lot less. “Kinda reminded me of when Eraser and I took you to the gym at The Castle to teach you how to fight.”

He chuckles, even though it’s probably not a great memory. “Yeah? Who are you torturing in this story?”

“Honestly? I’m you in this tale. Been getting my ass kicked.”

He laughs harder. Honest laughter that brings on a wave of longing for home—nights at Zips, racing cars, grilling good food, and bullshitting with each other.

“Christ,” he laughs. “I never knew so many types of planks existed until you two sadistic bastards got your hands on me.”

“You never backed down, though.”

“Good thing, too.” His voice lowers, turns harder. “Probably the only reason I survived that place.”

That’s a conversation killer.

“How’s little man?” I ask, refusing to use Vapor’s son’s name when someone’s probably listening in.

“Good. Butterfly’s got him all signed up for nursery school.” Obviously, he’s decided to use his nickname for Juliet, so he doesn’t expose her to any of the insanity Molly’s had to deal with.

“Shit. Already?” Is Atlas even old enough for school? “You’re making me feel old.”

“It’s only three days a week. Let him hang with other kids his age.” In the background, there’s a rustle and a whisper. “Hang on. Someone wants to talk to you.”

I’m expecting Atlas to babble a happy greeting at me, but it’s Juliet’s soft voice that comes through the line.

“Hey, Champ. How you holding up?” she asks.

“Can’t believe you’re willing to talk to me.”

She scoffs gently. “I know you, Griff.”

At least someone does. I’m trying hard not to judge Remy. I wasn’t there to see how everything went down, but it’s still pissing me off that he was so quick to assume I did whatever the show says I did.

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