Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Christian
Letting out an annoyed sigh, I stand back in my shed and inspect my haul for the day.
Parts are scattered across the workbench—frame pieces, a used carburetor I scored for cheap, some new cables still wrapped in plastic. I found a dented tank, too, that’ll need sanding and repainting. It’s not much yet, but it’s a start.
I roll a bolt between my fingers, trying to envision what this project will become. While it definitely won't be race-worthy, it should be sturdy enough to handle some stunts—built like a tank so that even a crash won't destroy it.
My phone buzzes, and I yank it out of my pocket, disappointed when I see that it's only Tay announcing his arrival.
Still nothing from Devon.
I check my messages anyway, glaring down at the last texts I sent him.
You good?
I'm running a few errands today if you wanna come. And then come with.
Nothing. No read receipt, no sarcastic reply. He slept on the couch last night, and when I got up this morning, he was gone. Didn't tell Logan or Owen where he was going, either. He also left my jacket behind—the one he refuses to give back.
Setting the phone down, I drag a hand over my face. Maybe giving Dev all that money was a mistake. Fuck, after seeing him with my family, followed by some of the best sex of my life, I let my guard down. Who knows what he's off doing right now? Who he's doing?
I fucking hate feeling like this. It's not me at all.
The shed door creaks open as Taylor steps inside. “Dude, I was knocking at the front door for like ten minutes. What are you doing out here?”
“Sorry. Lost in thought, I guess.”
My best friend sidles up beside me, surveying everything I've lined up. “Jesus. You rob a scrapyard or some shit?”
“Bought it,” I mutter. “Mostly. Gonna build a bike.”
“Hmm.” Leaning against the workbench, he picks up my carburetor to inspect it. “So, we gonna talk about what happened?”
I stiffen on instinct with my hand buried in my toolbox. “Huh?”
“With Carlos. That fight you had.”
Oh. For a moment, I thought he was talking about sex with Dev.
Fuck, I think I'd actually prefer talking about sex with Dev.
“It was nothing,” I lie, grabbing a few of the frame pieces to fit together. They're discolored and rusty, but they'll be shining once I finish with them.
“That wasn't nothing, man. We were listening at the door. How come you never told me that you had a problem with vodka?”
I set down a wrench harder than necessary and avert my gaze. “I don't have a problem. It's just… a thing.”
Taylor watches me work for a few seconds, inked arms crossed over his chest. “A thing?”
“Yeah. Dad was an angry motherfucker when he drank the stuff. When I was sixteen, I promised Carlos I’d never touch it again.”
I strategically omit the part where I punched a hole in my bedroom wall because I was drunk off my ass and upset over losing a race. I’m still too ashamed to talk about it.
“Why the fuck am I just hearing about this now?” Taylor demands, putting his hands on his hips. “You told me your mom kicked him out because he was a bum and refused to help out.”
“That wasn’t a lie.” Heaving a sigh, I look my best friend in the eye.
My platonic soulmate. Up until this last year, I truly thought we'd live together until we were old men still crashing our bikes, but I think I'm starting to see how naive I've been.
“Look, everyone had it rough growing up.
Rougher than me. You, Salem, Xed. Matty and I had the only stable homes, and it's not like shit was bad when my dad was gone. There was no point in bringing it up.”
“Dude, we don't do that. There is no ‘someone else had it worse.’ If you were going through stuff, why didn't you say something?”
“Like you told me about your dad kicking your ass?” I counter, raising my brows.
Taylor just stares at me before blowing out a breath. “Yeah, okay. That's fair. Still, though. If you'd told me, I could have helped you stay accountable like you helped me.”
Lifting a shoulder, I sift through my tools as I weigh my next words carefully. “It wasn't really an issue until this past year. After everything that happened, the usual stuff wasn't cutting it, I guess. Vodka buzz hits different.”
“Last year was probably one of the worst we've had. I never want to experience another one of us almost dying again.”
“No shit,” I huff as I check my phone again. Then toss it down in frustration when nothing appears on the screen but notifications I don't care about.
Seriously, Devon, what the fuck? I give in a little and then he ghosts me? How fucking apt, seeing as it's Halloween. Which reminds me…
“You doing anything later?” I ask. “Owen's begging everyone to go to a Halloween party at some club.”
Tay shakes his head. “Nah. We plan on passing out candy like a bunch of old fucks. Maybe order some pizza.”
“Sounds nice.” Honestly, I wouldn't mind doing the same, just not by myself. Fuck, if Dev wants to do his own thing all day, maybe I should do mine and find a lady to share it with. Since he apparently can't be bothered to even send a text back.
“Anyway,” Tay continues, running a hand through his hair. “Reason I came over is because I have some cool shit to share. Salem sent a few of Huck’s drawings to her partners and now Symbiotic wants to commission some merch designs.”
“For real?” I perk up despite myself and lean back against the workbench. “Like… actually commission? With money and contracts and shit?”
“Yep! Legit. Hoodies, T-shirts, maybe an album cover if we're lucky.”
“That’s huge, man. I bet he's stoked.”
“Ecstatic. Even teared up a little.”
Snorting, I clap my best friend on the shoulder. “Tell him I said congrats. We still need to send his designs over to Royce to print our beanies.”
“About that…” Tay winces before pulling out his phone to show me the screen. “Have you checked your socials lately? They're like… dead.”
“You know I don't have time for that shit, man. I've been working and riding. Not all of us are dating an NFL player.”
“Yeah, and that's why TOT is losing sponsorships,” he sighs, biting his lip. “We had a huge following last year, especially after the tour. Without Salem posting content for us, we're losing the momentum we had. People are commenting on our old posts, asking what happened to us.”
My chest tightens, and I wipe my hands clean on a rag. “Okay, so, how do we fix it? She used to film thirst traps and shit, I'm not doing that on my own.”
“We don't need thirst traps. People liked us because of our stunts, not because we're hot. Which we are, by the way.”
“Alright, so we go back to filming our practices? Snap a couple of selfies on our bikes every once in a while, wearing our sponsored gear? That's basically what we were doing before.”
He reaches out to tap on the bike frame. “Yeah, and maybe some of this? Your daily life? You know, like, engage with people and make yourself seem human?”
“I am human.”
“Debatable.”
I toss a dirty rag at his face, but he bats it away with a grin.
“Doesn't have to be anything complicated, man.
Huck posts a few clips here and there of his drawing process.
We can do shit like that. You post updates on this bike you're building, and I'll, uh…
take pictures of my rabbit? The hardwood floor we're refinishing? Shit, maybe I should do a thirst trap or two.”
Grabbing my phone again, I raise my shirt and stick the hem in my mouth before doing the same to Taylor. “Here. Hashtag ‘the boys are fucking back, baby.’”
“Huck’s gonna lose his shit over that,” he chuckles when I snap a picture of our abs. “But yeah, that'll work. Send it to me. It'll probably cause more questions about Devon, though.”
Just the sound of his name kicks my heartbeat up a notch, but I force my face to remain neutral. “What do you mean?”
“Everyone saw you guys kiss in Ohio, remember? He was kind of part of our show for a minute. There've been a few comments from fans asking where he went, whether you two are dating or if you broke up. I dunno, man, but nobody's answering them.”
“People online need fucking hobbies,” I mutter as I check my texts again. Still nothing from the man himself, and it's been well over six hours now. In my head, I picture him crawling back to Arnie’s for a hit. Once again shacking up in that motel room and falling back into old habits.
Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with me? If Devon wants to snort away his money, why should I give a shit? We fucked once. Not like it meant anything. He said it himself.
“Let's not be Devon and Christian tonight. We're just two guys looking to scratch an itch.”
That's all it was: Sex and stress relief. Nothing more, nothing less.
So why does his absence make me feel this way?
“Wanna come over?” Tay asks, watching me fiddle with my scraps. “Beats sitting at home alone. You can help us paint the upstairs rooms.”
“I don't know. Maybe.”
Maybe I could sit around all night checking my phone like a fucking loser.
Maybe I could pace around my apartment, wondering where the fuck my roommate is.
Or…
Or maybe I should remember that I’m twenty-five years old, single, and not responsible for a grown man’s decisions.
Why the hell am I acting as if I owe him something? He's got his own life and I've got mine.
“Actually,” I say slowly, “I think I'll hit up Owen’s party.”
Taylor tilts his head. “Yeah? You sure?”
“Why not? It's Halloween, right? We're still young. I'm off tonight. Might as well have fun and find some sexy women in costume to dance with.”
“There he is,” my best friend grins, punching me on the arm. “Typical night for you, man. Don't forget to wrap it up.”
With a scoff, I grab my jacket and keys, forcing myself not to check my phone again as we exit the shed. Not now, not ever.
If Dev wants to disappear for a night—or a fucking week—that’s his choice. I’m not waiting around like a love-sick puppy.
He's made it clear that he wants his space, so I'll fucking give it to him.