Page 21 of Busted Dreams

Astrid: At the shop with Beck. Do you want to drive, or do you want me to?

Good question.

Me: You drive.

Okay, I was a coward. I’d be able to study her, but she wouldn’t be able to dissect my body language when she interrogated me.

Astrid: Cool. See you in a minute.

Putting my crap car in reverse, I headed back toward Silver Ranch, the bane of my existence. Funny how easy it was to forget who you were when you left the city limits of your childhood home. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that was why so many kids ran away from home. They were running away from more than their parents. They were running away from their reputation, their setbacks.

Their past.

Astrid had a unique opportunity when she moved here. She could have been anything she wanted to be, and no one would have been the wiser. But she was too real for that.

She was who she was, and had no desire to recreate herself into something she wasn’t. Not like I had tried so hard to do.

I used the time on the drive over to Tippy’s to mentally plan out my week and all of the extracurricular activities coming up over the next month. Right before break was always busy. Club Christmas parties, gift exchanges, strategizing fundraisers for the spring semester.

It was an effective way to clear my mind and hone in on my focus.

By the time I pulled in, the bay doors were open and Beck was hanging halfway over an engine, blaring love songs like the sick sap he was as Astrid sat on a stack of tires, playing on her phone. She wore loose jeans with her old combat boots, a Grizzlies jersey, and a cream wool scarf draped artfully around her neck. Her sense of style was so uniquely her.

Even in this setting, I couldn’t mistake her for a regular teenager engaging in her addiction to social media. Astrid didn’t even have any social media accounts to my knowledge. And I’d looked.

Although to be fair, I only had school accounts that I managed for student council and some other committees.

The pensive look on her face was so intense, I could have walked right up to her and I doubted she’d know I was there. If I had to guess, I’d say she was on one of her apps working some image over that she’d taken recently.

Beck turned his head toward me when I shut my door. He grinned, then went back to what he was doing, a simple acknowledgement that speared through me with a feeling that was still so unfamiliar but quickly becoming valued.

Warmth. Friendship. Brotherhood.

Over the last couple weeks, Beck had been teaching me that there were dreams just as important as the ones where you go to college or what job you got.

I now dreamed of having a family.

“You think everything is okay with Thatcher?” I stared at my phone, very aware of two sets of eyes, one brown, one hazel, on me.

Beck stepped forward and placed two strong hands on my shoulders. “You’re worrying for nothing. His message doesn’t give me the feeling that something’s wrong. It sounds like something just came up.”

“It sounds like something is wrong to me,” I deadpanned. Out of the corner of my eye, Jonah swallowed uncomfortably and studied the tires I’d abandoned as if they held the secrets of God.

Odd.

“I’m sure something came up that didn’t make him happy, but I really doubt he’s hurt or in trouble. If it makes you feel better, why don’t you call him.” The steady reassurance and unconditional affection radiating from Beck was so out of character for my wild rock star, but it helped.

“You’re right. I’ll call him before we leave.”

Pulling up Thatcher’s number, I called it on speakerphone.

One ring. Two, three. Then his voicemail came up.

Beck frowned, tilting his head as he now studied my phone.

“Still think nothing’s wrong?” I quirked a brow. Maybe nothing big was wrong. But Thatcher had been expending a good amount of effort in our friendship. He wouldn’t miss this game unless he absolutely had to.

Before Beck answered, I got a text message from the man of the hour.

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