Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
NATHAN
My shoulders are tight as I drive away from the hockey stadium.
Thoughts a raging storm, I move the steering wheel on autopilot.
What happened at the end of the scrimmage keeps nagging at me. Every time I think about it, I get this raw, sharp feeling in my chest.
The team’s manic concern—
Max ending the game early—
It all felt like a lot, but I can’t put my finger on why.
Now that I’m alone in my car, the window wound down to let in the evening air and the stadium far behind me, the truth snaps into place.
It bothered me that… I was being babied.
Coddled, really.
Like the runt in a pack of otherwise healthy puppies.
Whether they meant well or not, the way everyone freaked out was insulting and infantilizing. Even worse, it exposed exactly how they see me—not as a team player on equal footing but as a weakling.
Campbell’s a cripple.
I shake my head, desperate to crawl into the sofa, turn on another episode of Death Note and forget all about today.
Just then, my dashboard lights up.
‘New text from Chris’
The car’s text to speech reads out:
‘Hey, Campbell. Where’d you see that picture of Riley? What guy was she with? I can’t find it.”
Riley?
Rats.
I promised her I’d swing by her garage after training, but that was before I was humiliated on the ice. I don’t want to talk to Riley right now. I don’t want to talk to anyone.
Then you shouldn’t have made the promise.
Internally, I throw myself to the ground like a flopping toddler screaming ‘do I have to’?
Yes, you do. You gave your word.
That calm, internal voice sounds a lot like my dad.
I sigh heavily.
The road that leads to my house unfurls before me, but I flick the indicator and pull over to the side. Maybe, if I explain that I’m having a hard day, Riley will let me off the hook and we can catch up some other time.
I call her shop’s number.
The line rings.
After several loud shrills, it beeps loudly and an automated voice tells me that ‘the person I’m trying to reach isn’t answering the phone’.
“Great. At least I tried.” I turn the engine back on.
You call that a try?
My dad’s voice again.
Why’d he have to be such a good husband and father? The least he could have done was set a bad example so I could be as selfish as I want to be right now.
I call Riley again.
She doesn’t answer.
I massage my forehead, debating my next step when the phone lights up.
It’s Riley’s garage number.
“Hey, Riles. It’s me. Are you at the shop?” I realize it’s a stupid question and blunder on. “I mean, are you busy? Because I’m about to swing by, but if now’s not a good time, that’s totally okay. Better than okay.”
My rambling stems from guilt. I know good and well this isn’t ‘trying my best’. My dad is probably rolling over… in his bed in Florida where he and mom retired the moment their savings matured.
“Nathan, I can’t talk right now. I’m waiting for a customer.”
“Great. Sure. No problem. Text me when you’re free.” I bet that text will come on the heels of Ne-to-the-ver. Riley didn’t seem that enthusiastic about me hanging around today.
I’m about to end the call when a commotion explodes in my ear.
“Where is it? Where’s my flabbergasting car?”
I hear Riley’s quick intake of breath and my protective instincts roar to life.
“Riles? Is everything okay?”
“Sir, please calm down. I’d like to clear up our misunderstanding.” Riley is speaking to whoever walked in.
“I don’t have nothing to say to you.”
Click.
The call ends.
I call back.
No answer.
Heart flogging my ribs, I start my car, slam on the gas pedal and yank the steering wheel. The tires scream as I pull a U-turn and burn rubber on my way to Riley’s garage.
What’s going on over there? Is Riley okay?
The goriest episodes of Death Note flash before my eyes.
I drive faster, hoping and praying that I get to Riley in time.
Just before pulling up to the shop, another car shoots out of the garage in a dramatic, dare-devil showcase. The truck bounces in the air and lands hard on the sidewalk, creaking and groaning. The driver wastes no time speeding toward the highway, a long, black tube flapping on his front hood.
Is he trying to get himself killed?
I throw my truck into park and tear up the grassy knoll to the garage. “Riley!”
My head whips back and forth, searching for a familiar head of auburn hair. Where is she?
“Riley!”
“Nat?”
Riley is stepping away from a sink near the wall. She rinses her hands and flings them out at her sides.
I give her a frantic once-over.
Water is trickling from her nose to the collar of her jumper. Her eyes look a little red, but it’s hard to tell if that’s from the water or if she’s been crying.
On the bright side, her head looks un-bludgeoned and her neck un-slashed.
The Death Note scenes I imagined did not play out in reality.
“What happened? Why’d you hang up the phone?” The way my voice echoes back to me makes me pause. The bay is creepily empty. I twist my head around. “Where are all the other mechanics?”
“We had a situation and I wanted to talk to the customer alone.”
“Alone? Intentionally?” Does she not see how dangerous that is?
“It was fine.”
“Then why was he yelling? What’s wrong with him?” I push up the sleeves of my T-shirt. “You need me to deal with him for you?”
“No.”
“What’s his name.”
“Nat.”
“Give me his number. Better yet, let me have his address.”
“Nat, enough. I-it was my fault,” Riley blurts.
I blink once. Then twice.
The fight leaves my body in a rush. “Riles…”
Her eyes cast to the ground and she seems a lot smaller now than she did eight hours ago. This morning, Riley’s shoulders were straight back and square. But now… it’s like she’s as fragile as paper and someone folded her in half.
I draw near to her side.
Riley keeps her eyes on the ground.
“Bad day?” I ask gently.
She doesn’t answer, which is enough to convince me that I will not be going home until I get a smile out of her.
I drape an arm around her shoulder and steer her around.
Riley’s eyes widen.
“Get your stuff and come with me,” I say.
“Why?”
“We’re going somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Must you know everything? Just listen to me for once.” I shake my head.
Riley squints up at my face. “What do you mean ‘for once’?”
“You were always like this. So argumentative.”
She balks, color returning to her cheeks. “I was a very agreeable tween, Nat. I’m that rare teenager who skipped the moody phase.”
“Right. Right.”
“I did!”
“Remember that time you got those weird bangs that covered half your face?” I rake my fingers down from my forehead to my chin.
Her jaw drops. “I-it was to hide my acne.”
“Whatever you say.” I pat her shoulder placatingly. “We don’t have to talk about your goth phase if you don’t want to.”
Riley swats at me and then points to the large, rolled up shutters over the garage doors.
“Since you have so much energy to waste, pull those down.” She points her finger at the ceiling and turns it in a circle.
“And turn off the fans. Make sure all of them are off. I don’t want anything left on all night and wasting electricity. ”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else?” I ask, a teasing lilt to my voice.
Riley stops and glances around the garage.
I laugh disbelievingly. “Are you seriously looking for work to give me?”
“Well, I’m practically being kidnapped. Might as well make the best of it.”
“This is what I get for being a knight-in-shining-armor. No flowers. No gratitude.”
“A knight? Where?” She places a hand on her forehead and pretends to search. “I don’t see him.”
“Fine. No ice cream for you.” I fold my arms across my chest, catching the moment Riley’s eyes land on my muscles.
And I will admit that I flex a bit just because she’s looking.
Purely as a pseudo-sibling showing off, of course.
No other intent behind it.
She tilts her head and averts her eyes. The pink stain I saw in her cheeks when we both grabbed the broom this morning makes a reappearance. “Ice cream?”
“Vanilla ice cream.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
Riley scrunches her nose.
“What’s with the face? You used to love vanilla ice cream.”
“Yeah, when I was twelve. My tastebuds have evolved.”
“To what?”
“Oreo ice cream.”
“That’s just vanilla with Oreos in it!”
“It’s an elevated flavor profile,” Riley responds, tilting her nose in the air. “You wouldn’t understand. Your favorite ice cream is cookie dough. That’s basically salmonella in a cup.”
I gasp dramatically. “How dare you.”
There’s a long pause.
And then Riley snorts.
I start laughing too.
That makes Riley laugh harder. “I don’t know why I’m laughing. It’s not that funny.”
At her words, I force my lips shut.
But it only lasts a moment before I start laughing again.
It’s so ridiculous and nonsensical, but it takes a long time for us to calm down.
“Let’s go before I burst a spleen,” I tell Riley, ushering her into my car.
She barely holds herself together and I’m glad she does because I cannot, physically, stand to laugh anymore. My body isn’t used to it.
“After you.” I hold the door open for her and then jog around to the driver’s side, smiling like an idiot.
How interesting. I tried to make Riley smile tonight, but she made me smile harder instead.