Page 68 of Repairing the Wreckage

“You mean, everyone who thinks I’m a cheating asshole? No thanks.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “No one thinks that.”

“Anymore,” I correct and then offer my next excuse. “My face still looks like a damn Voodoo doll’s.”

“Well, it’s the costume night I told you about. Wear a fucking mask.”

Now he has my attention. I throw off the blanket and ease myself into a sitting position.

“Ohhh, does something about that interest you?” His wide, mocking eyes only make his face more punchable.

I glare at him.

“Molly will be there,” he confirms.

I tentatively touch my face. At least it hurts less.

“Except for your eye, most of the bruising has faded.” Remy sighs. “It’ll be dark enough. She might not notice.”

“Get out of my way.” I tug on the blanket he’s sitting on, trapping me in the bed.

“Why?” he asks with mocking slowness. “Where are you going?”

“To take a shower. I smell like despair and self-pity.”

“Got that right.” He wrinkles his nose and stands, backing away.

As soon as I put weight on my knee, it buckles. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. “She might not notice my face, but this limp is obvious as fuck.”

“Nah, it gives you a cool gangster walk.”

I stop and glare at him. “You ever say that again, I’m gonna stab you.”

“Oooo.” He holds up his hands and shakes them like he’s warding off a ghost. “Scary gangster threats. I’m shaking in my boots.”

“You should be shaking. I’m gonna kick your ass one day soon.”

“Bro, a stiff breeze could knock you down right now.”

“Not for long,” I swear.

* * *

As eager as I am to get to Zips, I take my time going down the steps from my apartment a few hours later. Remy left to check in at the bar but swore he’d be at Zips before I get there.

Outside, the crisp air bites my skin and I button my flannel jacket. I slide into the front seat of my car and slam the door. The steering wheel’s icy cold. I pull a pair of black gloves from my pockets and slip them on.

It seems to take forever to warm the engine. I pat the dash, trying to encourage Black Beauty. “I dunno, girl. If you keep this up, I might have to think about buying something newer with ass-warming seats this winter.”

I swore I wouldn’t blow my winnings on stupid shit. But it’s not like I’m considering a Lamborghini.

Driving the familiar back roads is comforting after being away for so long. Once I finally have a chance to talk to Molly and explain things, I’ll have her sitting next to me on the way home.

Remy wasn’t kidding about tonight being a big event. The worn, bumpy parking lot is full of cars, trucks, and motorcycles. Behind the bleachers, a large section is marked with short, orange traffic cones. I guide my car to a spot next to Eraser’s truck.

The revving of engines and stink of burning rubber fill the air. I close my eyes and inhale. Smells like home.

Damn, it’s good to be back.

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