Page 32 of Repairing the Wreckage

“No joke.” Woolly holds his hand up high.

I roll my eyes but slap his hand.

“Nice!” one of the camera guys shouts.

“What are we doing here?” I shout.

“Outing.” Jordan waves us toward the building. “Order whatever you want. Tables are out back.”

“Hope he brought producer daddy’s credit card.” Venom rubs his hands together. “I’m gonna make him regret that ‘order whatever you want.’”

“Amen. Let’s eat.”

At the window, I hesitate. We’re in the middle of training. We all have matches coming up on Sunday. Is this the test? Seeing how disciplined we are? How committed are we are to winning?

I bump Venom’s arm with my elbow. “You think this is the test?”

“Seeing how much garbage we’ll put in our bodies?” He sighs. “Then when we don’t perform well on Sunday, they’ll blame it on our inability to control ourselves?”

Not exactly how I would’ve put it. “Yeah.”

“Probably.” He squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds. “I’m so tired of the head games.”

“I’m still getting a cheeseburger.” I step up to the window and place my order. Two cheeseburgers and a strawberry milkshake. I’ll work it off later. Venom and Woolly order similar meals.

Thunder must’ve come to the conclusion that we were being tested too. He places a modest order. The rest of the guys order every single deep-fried item on the menu. While I’m waiting at the pickup window, my gaze lands on Jordan, watching Deadass and Naptime with a slight smirk stretched across his lips as they double-fist ice cream cones.

Definitely a test.

“Order up!” The girl behind the counter shoves a bright orange tray at me.

“Thanks.” I grab it and head around the side of the building.

I’m alone for a few minutes and take a second to absorb the humid, summer day. The air’s heavy with the scent of fried food and road fumes, reminding me of summer afternoons and evenings spent at Zips. I’d give anything to be there right now. Helping Pax at the grill, racing Molly’s car—well, we won’t be able to do that until I fix it. No one told me how much damage she did. A baseball bat in Molly’s hands…probably a lot of cosmetic stuff. The glass will be a pain to replace but I’ll get it done. Small price to pay for everything I’ve put Molly through this summer.

Fuck, I want to go home.

“Why the long face, Stonewall?” Thunder slaps my back and drops his heavy frame onto the bench next to me. He tears into a burger, making loud, obnoxious chewing noises that increase my annoyance.

Venom and Woolly sit on the bench across from us. Venom scowls at Thunder, then swings his gaze my way. “You’re lookin’ kinda murdery over there, Stonewall. Burgers no good?”

I huff a laugh. This fucker. If he gets kicked off the show any time soon, I’m doomed. “They’re not bad.”

I bite into one and stare past the building at the road. How far does it go? Since I was busy adjusting to the unfamiliar bike and following the truck, I didn’t get a good look at our surroundings.

I’m finishing my milkshake when two angry male voices ripple through the air. I turn, seeking the source of the disagreement. Naptime and Bull trading insults. They’re getting louder by the second, putting on a good show.

The camera guys move in closer, circling the two meatheads.

“What’re they bitching about now?” Venom says to me.

“Probably arguing over who has the skinnier dick,” Thunder mumbles.

“Or who greases up their hair better,” Woolly adds. “Have you sparred with Naptime, yet? He’s greased up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

“Figures,” I mutter. Here I was worried about his obnoxious personality in the ring. “Can you even understand what either of them are saying?”

“Nah, bro.” Woolly shakes his head. “Bull’s been skull-punched one too many times. He’s just speakin’ gibberish.” He belts out a few curses in a pitch-perfect impression of Bull’s distinctive squeak.

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