SEBASTIAN
SEBASTIAN
What. The fuck. Have I done?!
Phone at my ear, I climb into my truck. Dobby's settling himself on the passenger seat, eying me with no small measure of concern. I shut us in and put the key in the ignition but hold off on starting the engine as the call rings out — and out — and then cuts off. Just as it has the past half dozen times that I've tried on the walk back to the stables. "Damnit, Craig!" I slam my fist off the steering wheel and scroll through my contacts to a new number. "Needs must."
This time, after about the sixth ring, an automated voicemail message kicks in: 'You have reached the number blah-dee-blah…' Dobby remains ever watchful as I strap myself in while I wait for the beep.
"Hey, Alex. Slight situation. I've done something stupid and then may possibly have said something worse. Craig has plenty enough good reason to be freaking out right about now — like, full-on — and I don't know where he's gone. I'm heading out to look for him. Just, uh, if you have any ideas where he might be, I'd really appreciate your help. Give me a call when you get this. Please." I'm already taking the phone away from my ear before I think to add, "This is Bas."
With a twist of the key, the truck grouchily roars to life, and I move it out of the stable's car park onto the road, where Craig had spun me off kilter not so very long ago.
This day has gone from confusing to incredible to staggering disaster, all within the space of the last hour; my head is yet to catch up. I'm entirely certain, though, that the disaster part of it is very much my fault.
I take the turn in at the hole-in-the-hedge first, thinking that maybe, if Craig actually wanted me to find him, that would be the place he'd go. But, of course, he doesn't, and Roxy is nowhere to be seen. Wasting no time dithering beyond one more failed phone call, I reverse out of the lay-by and veer the truck back onto the road heading toward town.
He could have just gone straight home. Except home seems to be the place he escapes from, not to. The Red Bull Inn is an obvious possibility, which leads me to believe he'd avoid there as well. And I'm hoping Alex would let me know in the event he shows up at his. So, of the places I can think worth looking, that pretty much leaves me with any shop selling alcohol or the pit.
There's a good chance Ashleigh could offer up a dozen more options. She knows where Alex lives, for starters. However, the answers she'd wrangle for in exchange aren't ones I'm yet willing to give.
My watchful eye glimpses no sign of Roxy along the high street. At quarter past eight on a Saturday, the pub appears to be packed—far too crowded for someone who does not want to be seen.
I've never been to the pit, but I'm aware of it. I can recall Craig perking up as we passed by it that morning when I drove him through to college. Although it had been completely dead then, I've heard the tales of how it transforms on a night. I know that Alex isn't much of a fan of the time Craig has spent there.
In truth, I realise that if he really wants to hide, he'll be nowhere I could think to find him. Seems unlikely enough I'd be counted on checking so far out for him, though, and if nothing else, I'll be able to mark it off.
As I leave the lights and streets and noise of Yoverton behind, the few miles stretch through the dark and empty moorland lends me nothing to distract my mind from Craig's voice, pounding like blood through my veins: "Don't stop."
I can feel the lingering thrill of his touch. Smell him. Taste him. See only the way he looked at me, nestled in to face me, his expression one of pure and unshielded bliss. A look as perfect as it was fragile.
"Couldn't just take a breath and savour it, could I?"
No , the keen tilt of Dobby's head implies. Because he's Craig, and you're you…
And everything between us has to be fucking complicated, my groan fully agrees.
I don't want to think about how, all too rapidly, I'd sabotaged that look. Worse is how he turned to stone before my eyes, retreating into himself, and still, I'd let him up and leave.
A blaring horn and blinding headlights slam me to my senses just in time to register the white car speeding straight for us along the tight road, and I white-knuckle the steering wheel to one side, not a moment too soon, braking hard on the grassy verge. Something crude is yelled out the passing car's window as it zips by, barely even slowing, music pounding. My heart leaps into my throat when Dobby is pitched forward with a startled yelp, but he's not thrown from the seat. Jarring to a sudden stop, I swear I've never in my life before been quite so glad my truck's a crawler.
"Son of a bitch!" That was close.
Whimpering, Dobby leaps onto my lap and curls up against me, his entire body quaking.
"Okay, boy. We're alright." I scratch his floppy ear. "Just some idiot racer getting his kicks."
However, one glance in the rearview mirror tells me that we may not be quite in the clear yet.
The white near-miss is a BMW, I note inconsequentially, and it's hurtling back toward us in reverse.
I'm spared the chance only to get Dobby moved off me, directing him down to the passenger footwell before the dickhead driver has pulled his Bimmer up the truck's backside. Reaffirming my vice grip on the wheel, I brace again for an impact that never comes.
Instead, tailend-to-tailend, the pulsing bass abruptly cuts off with its engine, and as I watch through the mirror, the passenger door is thrown wide.
Shit is my first thought, followed up by, holy-sweet-bollocksing-NOPE!
I can strike off finding Craig at the pit right here and right now. The figure emerging from the car behind doesn't need to be seen clearly to be instantly recognisable as one I'd hoped to never encounter again.
For the briefest moment, I debate starting up the truck and gunning it back onto the road. But Gary Tinwell is already advancing on me along its side. Knuckles rap on my window in the next moment, his mocking face ducked to grin in at me. "Farm Boy," he mouths. And screw it, this is happening.
Dobby growls, staying very firmly put. I can see the wiry hair along his back bristling. "You've got that right, bud," I mumble while fishing him out a chew treat from my coat pocket. "I'll be back before you finish that, okay?"
Unbuckling my seatbelt, Gary takes a broad step clear of the door as I shove it open, get out, and slam it shut behind me. "What the hell?" I blast.
"I'd know this old girl anywhere," he replies, propping his elbow against the truck's hood. "Fancy running into you all the way out here."
"You ran me off the road!"
"Not me. Blame Scotty for that."
My gaze flicks past him along the eerie road. But whoever this Scotty is, he's apparently chosen to remain in his gleaming prick-mobile. "And what? He just had to then reverse up my arse so that you could apologise on his behalf?"
"Sure." His grin stretches. "He's truly very sorry."
"Tell him he can go to hell."
"He's also very glad to see Lawton's six-ton-spend worked out so well for you."
"Wha…?" Understanding trips my tongue too late.
It's caught with a smug chuckle. "Could sharp be a mighty senseless waste of all that money and effort, though, if you don't start watching where you're going."
Gary preempts my move for the door handle, slapping his hand across it. I clamp my reaction down hard, forcing my shoulders to relax as I hold his dissecting stare.
"How is the Great Boy Wonder, anyway? I don't hear much from him these days. It's almost like there's something big he's hiding."
"If there is, I can't imagine why he'd not want you to know it."
"No reason for you not to tell me, then, right?"
"Craig's business is neither mine nor yours."
His pointed guffaw needles beneath my skin. "Oh, I don't think that's at all true," he makes my insides squirm. "What with all the time the two of you spend together. Good thing his parents haven't yet discovered where he rushes off to every afternoon."
But there's not a chance this is about to become a repeat of game night. As much as every word from his mouth stabs that little bit deeper, he won't get a rise out of me. I have the measure of exactly who I'm dealing with now. "You're a real special kind of twisted, aren't you?"
"Funny that, coming from the one of us so readily up for bending any which way."
"Such a big man with such a small mind, raising yourself up by tearing everyone else down."
"Ouch, Farm Boy!" He sounds even more amused. "How is it that saying goes? Something like ‘those who live in nuthouses shouldn't throw shade…’?"
"Your threats need some work."
"I'm only looking out for Lawton's best interests here."
"He'd prefer you didn't."
"His undoing is entirely on him. Him and the company he's choosing to keep. You reckon your Tranny Nanny's prepared to take him in when he's left with nothing? I can tell you now, he'll make for a very expensive addition to your little Rocky Horror cult."
It's through an extreme force of will that I resist giving him the satisfaction of clenching my fists. Can't compel tolerance with violence ; my aunt's warm voice holds me steady. As if this foul sack of shit is even worth the wasted energy to try. Core-deep, there's not a shred of decency to be eeked from him.
I feel my phone buzz in my pocket with a message, my heart flutters, but I don't dare glance away for even a second to check it. "Think I don't realise what you're doing, Tinwell? How much you'd love for me to snap? Hit you, with your friend over there as a witness? That would really get you off, right?" And any joy I'd take from it would undoubtedly be warped to wound Craig. I'm done playing along. "You're not the first bully I've dealt with, and seriously, you rank pretty damn low on the scale. So let me tell you now, save you any further humiliation—"
He scoffs until I step into him, and I feel sick to my stomach at what I'm about to say. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dobby's attention prick with my movement.
My mouth contorts to hopefully amplify my undertone. I'm careful not to lay so much as a finger on him. Only the heat of my breath touches his skin. "You'll move out of my way, or else this little face-off we're having in clear view of your witness will become a whole other level of lip service."
His retreat isn't immediate. He challenges my stare. I inch in ever disturbingly closer, tilting my head, before his arm shifts from the truck. I don't hesitate to yank the door open, almost catching his elbow with it. Dobby's immediately up on the passenger seat and barking, jolting him that extra welcome foot clear.
"This isn't over," he spits, classic villain style.
"No," I agree, sliding in behind the wheel. "Because I have a good feeling that this secret you're sure Craig is keeping, it's going to be your undoing."
Quick to shut myself off from his reply, I retrieve my phone as his palm smacks against the window. A shushing hand silences Dobby’s agitated yap. I start the engine and take a minute to breathe before I open the waiting message, watching Gary's back withdrawing to the car behind.
The text is not what I expected.
Lawton is at mine. He's asleep.
It's from Derek.