Chapter 1 #2
“Come on, we’re riding, not knitting sweaters. Live a little.”
His fucking annoying high-pitched voice squeals in echo through the mi. Diego shakes his helmet in disagreement. Massimo edges his bike next to Emilio’s, giving him a shove on the shoulder.
“Knock it off, man. You know Dom hates your stunt moves.”
Emilio shrugs, unrepentant.
“He can handle it. Right, Dommy Darkness?”
My grip on the handlebars tightens. This is precisely why I avoid these group rides sometimes. My mind’s on overdrive.
The last thing I need is a mouthy toddler in a leather jacket pushing my buttons. Diego senses my mood and moves his bike between me and Emilio.
“We heading to Silhouette now, or what?” Massimo rumbles into the mic.
“Another five miles, then a left. Maybe we can thaw out there.”
Hollister, ever the peacekeeper, points to a sign.
Diego rubs his gloved hands together, muttering, “Thank God. My fingers are going numb.”
Emilio rolls his eyes.
“You’re always cold, old man. Next time, bring your heated gloves. Or stay home, knitting those sweaters we were talking about. They might be good for your busted-up back.”
I twist my throttle and lurch forward. Enough of this. Let them jab at each other when I’m gone. I’m certainly not going to Silhouette. We ride the next stretch in relative silence.
Emilio’s not being a dickhead, and no one’s pushing it except maybe me.
The road is slick, and one wrong move could have us sliding into a ditch.
Oddly enough, the heightened risk keeps me focused, every muscle primed.
There’s no room for overthinking or second-guessing out here.
That’s the draw for me: total mental silence.
The five miles and a left after that turns into ten miles and a right, into a diner on the edge of town. It’s not what I expect, and Diego motions to me as if asking what’s up. As if I fucking ever know what’s going through Emilio’s head.
The diner is a small brick building glowing with a faulty neon sign.
I park and kill the engine, the sudden hush clanging in my ears.
The wind slices across the lot, carrying the smell of hot grease from the diner’s kitchen exhaust. My stomach growls.
Weed gives me the munchies. I’m basically always hungry.
Emilio hops off, stomps his feet on the asphalt, and removes his helmet.
“Dang, that was fun.”
“I thought we’re going to Silhouette?” Massimo shakes his head, unfastening his strap. “Not this dump.”
“Don’t be a buzzkill, Mas,” Emilio yells, rolling his eyes. “I’m starving, and this place is cool.”
Hollister marches toward the diner’s entrance, calling back, “Who needs a beer?”
I hang back a moment, breathing, letting my heart settle. Diego stands beside me, helmet dragging over his head to ruck under his arm. He’s reading my silence. He tilts his head toward the door, a subtle question.
“You good?”
I remove my helmet, the steam rising around me.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
His eyes dart from me to the diner and then back.
“Yeah, just stuff, ya know.”
No, I don’t know.
But I nod as if I do.
“Whatever, let’s go inside, Dom.”
He claps his hand on my back before I swing my leg over my bike. The cold makes my body stiff and sore. Warming up will help.
Inside, the diner is filled with bright lights and formica tables. A sour-faced hostess in a puffy jacket leads us to the booth, where Hollister sits in the middle, Massimo next to him. I end up across from Diego, with Emilio squashed on my left. Great.
Emilio elbows me.
“Order something strong. Maybe it’ll loosen you up.”
“Em, chill,” Diego tosses out while focusing on the menu.
“I’m just saying, our boy Dom’s always so serious. Like, lighten up, man. It’s a new year, right? New year, new you,” Emilio persists, voice too loud for the quiet diner.
Massimo sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “Shut up, brother.”
I close my eyes for half a second. This is where I need to remember that picking a fight with Emilio solves nothing. It only eggs him on, so I get out my vape and drag heavily from it.
The pounding in my brain is creeping back now that the ride is over. Hollister flips through the laminated menu pages, unbothered by all of us. To be that unconcerned and unaffected is his superpower.
Props to the guy.
I don’t know how he does it.
“They’ve got chili. Sounds good and warm.”
Diego nods, eyes flicking to me. “Thinking the same.”
Emilio looks bored already, raising his hand and snapping his fingers to get the server’s attention.
“Chili, burgers, whatever. Let’s move it along.”
Massimo leans over to scan Hollister’s menu. “Don’t be a jerk, Em.”
I grit my teeth and try to center myself. If I had my own booth, maybe I could manage it, but here I am, jammed next to Emilio’s mouth.
Diego sets his menu aside. “You want me to order for you, Dom? Chili okay?”
“Fine.”
I blink a few times, trying to harness the pounding in my head.
I want to escape.
I need to escape.
I’m fighting my instinct because of a promise I made to Diego. To be different this year. New year. New you. Emilio’s scream did hold true for that one thing. That’s the one resolution I made. To stick around and not bail so damn often.
The server returns and takes our orders. Chili and coffee for me. The rest rattle off theirs. Once she’s gone, silence lingers. For a second, it almost feels peaceful until Emilio opens his fucking mouth again.
“So, Darko Dom, how’s that resolution about being less of a moody bitch?”
My jaw flexes. I grit my teeth, choosing not to fire back. My heart’s pounding in my ears.
Diego drags a hand down his face, exasperated. “Em, do you ever listen to yourself?”
Massimo steps in. “Yo, can we chill for a minute and not gang up on each other? We rode all this way to hang out, right?”
Emilio shrugs and crosses his arms. “I’m good. It’s just this guy that’s killing the vibe.”
He shoves his body into my shoulder. It takes every bit of self-control not to drag him from the booth and beat his ass. Diego notices and taps the table.
“Want to step outside? Grab some air before the food comes?”
I weigh the options. A blast of sub-zero wind or stay here with a mouthy brat talking shit.
“Sure.”
I slide out of the booth. My gaze cuts across Emilio, who’s moved onto watching videos on his phone.
Diego mumbles, “Be back.”
Outside, the cold air blasts my face and steals my breath. I lean against the building’s brick wall and squint against the sun peering out from a bank of clouds.
Diego’s hands are jammed in his pockets, and he stands beside me.
There are no words, just solidarity. In the distance, I hear Emilio’s laugh through the glass window of the diner.
Being out here is better than being in there.
The calm stillness is broken when Diego nudges me.
He doesn’t say a thing, just looks at me with concern that doesn’t need translating.
“I’m fine.”
He gives me a curt nod, not pressing. That’s Diego. He doesn’t demand emotional confessions. He just stands by, letting me gather myself. After a minute or two, I roll my shoulders.
“I’m going to go. I know I said I wouldn’t—”
“Nah, man, I get it. Even that idiot is getting on my fucking nerves.”
His confession soothes my guilt for bailing again. But this week’s been brutal—finalizing tests, writing, revising. And my brain still won’t shut up. Diego understands that, or at least understands that about me.
“I’ll grab your helmet. Tell the guys.”
He’s gone before I can say another word. Relief washes over me from the end of my prison sentence. Being free to leave loosens my chest. My lungs expand to inhale the searing cold air. The tension across my shoulders dissipates.
I walk to my bike. Once I’m astride, starting the engine and it’s roaring to life beneath me, I’m feeling better. Ready to blast away from the loudness of this group ride and into the quiet sanctity of the lab, where I can get back to work. Alone. In complete silence.
Diego jogs out to my bike with my helmet, shuddering against the cold now that he’s ditched his jacket inside.
“Text me later, Dom.”
I nod, take my helmet from him, and snap the volume off on the comms. Right now, I need to smoke a blunt to get into a better headspace before heading to the lab.
He backs away, a worried look on his face. I ignore it to blast off, trying to escape my life and everyone in it. Let the cold bury my thoughts, and possibly me, in a snowdrift on the side of the road.
Wouldn’t that be just great?