Page 3 of Whiskey Throttle
Except for the time he spends in the Hamptons, even Diego flies home, as much as he doesn’t want to. Not that he complains about it. He turns solemn and more inward as we get closer to the end of school. Maybe it will be different now that he’s got a woman.
“You sound like a whiney little bitch, Holli Balls,” Em screams through the comms, about to do some trick with the road clear ahead. “All sad and gloomy like Dommy Darko.”
“Fuck you.”
The only reaction out of Dom.
Massimo is riding beside Em, rooting him on as he rides his bike side-saddle, dangling his feet to the side. His way of calling me a baby. Like I give a shit. The twins are fun, comic relief. Always down to ride and not tripping over feelings. It’s cool.
I just want to make sure everyone is chill with each other. I’m the one making a big deal out of nothing. If Dom needs Diego for work stuff, he still needs me as a friend. His best friend.
That won’t change.
I tell myself that over and over like a mantra. Like if I say it enough, it’ll be true. That whatever he’s working on with Diego doesn’t replace the years we’ve clocked together, the quiet loyalty we’ve always had, even if it was mostly unspoken.
The truth?
I don’t even think Dom notices how much it bothers me. Or maybe he does. Maybe that’s why he stays quiet. He doesn’t know what to say, and silence is easier. I can’t blame him for that. Not really. He’s not wired like me. He doesn’t need the validation, check-ins, or dumb traditions to feel like we’re good. But I do.
“Can you stop running your mouth, Em?” I counter, revving my engine to run astride to him, kicking at his feet to throw him off balance.
“You gonna cry, Holli?” Massimo taunts, one hand off his bike as he makes a mock wiping motion across his visor. “Need a tissue for your tears?”
I flip him off, but I’m laughing. Sort of. Not the gut-punch kind, but enough to keep the moment from tilting too far.
“Don’t tempt me. I’ve got backup tissues embroidered with my initials and scented with my ex’s perfume,” I shout over the roar of the engines. “You want one?”
“You’ve never had an ex,” Dom huffs, surprising me that he’s joining in.
“That’s the gayest thing you’ve ever said,” Em cackles, then shifts his weight, lying flat on his stomach across the seat like a damn lunatic.
The engine growls beneath his chest, one gloved hand tucked under his chin, boots kicked up behind him, and swinging back and forth like a bored kid on a bed.
He’s fucking crazy.
“True, Dom. Did you not see the assless chaps you wore on Halloween, Em?”
“Hey, those were leather.” He definitely sounds like a kid now. “It was a statement piece.”
“Yeah, a statement with your hairy ass hanging out. No one wanted to see that shit, Em,” Diego joins in, and someone groans in disgust.
It’s easier to gang up on Emilio when he’s talking shit about everyone else.
“That’s not fair. My waxer was out of town. Tell them, brother.”
We all erupt in laughter, even getting a chuckle from Dom. For a second, it feels like old times. Like two years ago, when we were all closer.
“You’re only digging yourself deeper, Em,” his brother sides with us. Emilio, getting his panties in a bunch, crawls up his bike, straddles it, and then takes off.
“Fuck off, fuckers.”
Exactly like old times. Easy. Stupid. Fun and loud. Still, I can’t help the sting in my chest.
I’m going to miss this. Miss them.
Summer always feels like the end of something, no matter how many beginnings it promises. I slow a little, letting Diego pull ahead again. Letting the twins continue their circus act up front, I fall back, just far enough to ride beside Dom. Even if he doesn’t want to be close, I still need it.
I don’t say anything, just ride. That’s what he and I do until an incoming text.
