Page 42 of The Player Penalty
Miles passes as we head south down the interstate. Neither of us speaks much, and I’m okay with that. Mostly.
There’s still no mention of last night because I’m a coward, and she’s anxious. There’s no point asking why I offered becausethere’s no doubt why. She trusted me, and I wanted to be there first.
She’s ten years younger. If I ever forget that, we would go further, and instinct says our friendship wouldn’t survive it. Lily deserves better than me.
Lily pulls her attention from staring out the window to glance at me, and a shiver goes through me. It’s not possible she guessed my thoughts. I’m not that transparent, am I?
“What are you thinking about?” I ask her. Was it only last night?
“One of my earliest memories. It was late, probably close to the same time as now, and I fell asleep in the back seat. We were coming home from a race since he dragged me to those all the time when I was little. Anyway, Dad picked me up, carried me to bed, and tucked me in. I don’t remember anything else, but I remember how safe and protected he made me feel.”
“I bet.”
Pete Webb fiercely loves his daughter and fiercely dislikes me. For all his judgment, my racing performance doesn’t deserve his criticism. I’ve made the playoffs every year since joiningRMS,and work my ass off to be a team player. Pete values loyalty, which makes me immediately suspect. I betrayed my family, which landed me theRMSride. Doing the opposite would have made me complicit and also subject to his judgment.
“It’s one of those childhood memories. It’s like staying home sick. You’re miserable, but there’s daytime television, which makes it all better,” she says.
I chuckle at that part. “My mother was the one who took care of us when we were sick. My father wasn’t that kind of parent. He wasn’t a cuddler, to put it mildly.”
Lily pulls the last of her attention from the other cars and squeezes our still-joined hands. Her voice lowers, as if the intimate question demands a more secretive voice. Perhaps it does. “What kind was he?”
My jaw tightens, like it often does when I think about him. “Julian Murphy Senior was demanding. Your child psychology books would probably say he has an authoritative parenting style. Rigid. Controlling. Pick your adjective. One is as good as another.”
“Do you have any positive memories of him?”
He never carried me to bed after a late-night road trip. “He taught me racing and made sure I was damn good at it.” Some would say ruining his business and reputation is an excellent form of revenge. Saving my career cost me a family, and I’d do it all over again. “Please don’t share that with anyone. It’s not something I want to get out.”
“My Dad will never know,” she says, correctly guessing who I referred to. “Besides, what is it you say? It’s no one’s business what happens between us. Our friendship is for us, not them.”
Including last night.
“Two freaks in a pod,” I say, and she gives me a combination of snort and laugh. “It’s true.”
“We are not.”
“We’ve spent an hour engaged in the great smoothie versus milkshake debate. That’s a textbook definition.”
“It is in one of my textbooks, now that you mention it.”
“Right next to the part about it’s our business and no one else. I enjoy pleasing you, Lily.”
Her only response is to pull her hand from mine and redo her braids.
A short time later finds us pulling into her driveway. There’s no traffic, and every home, including hers, is hidden in the darkness. The lone street lamp offers barely any light. The faint sound of tree frogs is our only form of company.
“What time is your class tomorrow?” I ask.
“What?”
“Your class time.”
“Oh, class. I forgot. Nine.”
Nine is both later in the morning and early enough that she can’t be convinced to go somewhere else, even if only for a quick meal at some greasy spoon diner.
I grab her overnight bag from the back, and we head inside together.
Lily switches on the lights, and I whistle.
