Chapter 7 Lewis
“Lewis!”
I look up. Donovan’s barreling across the park.
“Hey,” I say flatly.
“Still feeling pretty pissed, huh? That makes two of us.”
He shoulder-bumps me, and we fall into step as we pick our way over to the parking lot.
“I’ve got a ride booked. The guy better not bring up the game, I swear…”
Don shakes his head sadly. “I’m gonna go find Carrie. I deserve to be trash-talked by my vicious girlfriend.”
I cringe. “You must really hate yourself.”
“Hey, I know you don’t believe it, but when times are tough, nothing beats having a girlfriend.”
“Give me a whiny passenger any day of the week.”
“You taking Firebird with you?”
“No.”
I haven’t gotten around to telling the Campus Drivers that Amy has been blacklisted—I’m still not sure how exactly I can drop that without throwing her under the bus, but I’ll figure it out.
I’ve got other stuff to deal with right now, and as long as the guys think I’m still onboarding my ex-trainee, they’ll leave me alone. Which can only be a good thing.
I drift over to my car, my eyes riveted on my phone. I always park in the same corner—I hardly even need to look where I’m going anymore. Driving will chill me out. As long as my passenger just leaves me alone and lets me work through my shit.
Don gestures farther down. “I’m parked that way—catch you at practice?”
“Yup. You go get that trophy back, champ!”
“You betcha!”
The parking lot is crammed. I weave my way through the cars, squeezing between two motorbikes and looking up to see…
not my car. I start. It’s a silver Nissan Rogue, and for a moment I’m confused.
Okay… I guess what with the travel to Kentucky and the way we got our asses whooped, I was maybe a little distracted.
I must have parked in the wrong spot. I spin around, scanning the parking lot for clues, playing back the moment when I pulled up in my car this morning.
“You okay?”
Don is walking back over to me, and for a minute I stay quiet. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. The churning in my stomach is all I can focus on. I definitely came this way—I know I did. Past that bush, near that utility box. Then I…
Where the hell is my car?
“Are you okay, man?”
I close my eyes, steadying my breath.
Please don’t tell me…
Suddenly, I’m shoving my bag into Don’s hands and turning on my heel, retracing my steps as my heart pounds in my throat, scouring every square inch of the damn parking lot before clambering on top of a car for a better view.
“Goddamn it, Lewis. If this is what I think it is…”
I hop back down and crouch on the ground, stuffing a fist into my mouth. No matter which way I look at it, there’s no escaping the facts—somebody stole my car.
“You sure you parked here?” Don frowns, scrambling on top of another car to scan the horizon.
“Surer than I’ve ever been. Fuck.” I drop my head to my hands. “Somebody fucking stole my Dodge.”
I force the words out, like that’s the only way for them to really sink in. I’m seeing red. Through it, I hear Don calling Lane, then Adam, and I am going to destroy whoever did this.
“The guys are on their way,” he says when he hangs up. “Wait here, I’ll just go check with security.”
I do another two laps of the parking lot, and by the time I meet back up with Don, I’m in pieces.
“You’ve gotta file a complaint if you want to check their CCTV,” Don explains. “Let’s go talk to the cops. Maybe they towed it. Was your insurance all good?”
“Some motherfucking asshole stole my Dodge!”
Don puts a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Breathe, buddy. Maybe there’s been a mix-up.”
I flop against a car, trying my best to catch my breath as I cancel my next ride.
By the time Adam and Lane get to us, I haven’t budged an inch. Don, meanwhile, has turned the parking lot inside out and upside down. Again. And yeah—the Dodge has definitely vanished. Like I’d ever forget where I parked it…
“Let’s go speak to the cops,” Lane tries, holding out a hand to help me up. “Find out whether it’s been towed, and if it hasn’t… we’ll just have to search the streets.”
“I’m gonna burn this town down.”
I can hear myself panting hard as Lane drives us to the station, and the rest is pretty much a blur. The two cops I speak to clearly don’t give a shit, and thank God for Adam’s hand on my shoulder the entire time, because I’m this close to losing it.
The older officer runs a quick search to see whether a Dodge Challenger has been registered at the impound lot, and as I watch him shake his head, all my hopes scatter. What’d I do to deserve this?
I describe the car and give a statement, and when we spill back out onto the street again, I’m a mess.
“Let’s go grab our cars and comb the city,” Lane suggests.
“Yeah, like the total asshat who stole my car is just chilling near campus, right?” I spit, kicking a trash can for emphasis.
“So, your solution is to just sit on your ass and do nothing?” Private Investigator Super Lane rolls his eyes at me. “I’m gonna call Lois and Carter. The more of us, the better.”
“I’ll message Carrie and the Cardinals.” Don nods. “And I’ll go give the security guys a copy of the police report. That way they can check their cameras.”
I sweep a hand over my face. That Dodge is my world. I can’t imagine life without it. If I ever get my hands on the complete douche who did this to me, he’s gonna wish he was never born.
“Let’s split up. If we haven’t found it by the time it gets dark, we meet at RJ’s,” Lane suggests. “He’ll figure something out—he’s got people all over this state.”
Once we make it back to SHU, Lane heads off again, and as Don races away, I hop in beside Adam, my feet pounding the floorboard with rage as we streak through Sycamore in complete silence, our eyes peeled for every passing car.
Adam knows better than to talk to me right now.
We just bailed on practice, but I don’t give a fuck—the state I’m in, I’m a danger to my teammates.
Night is settling in around us when both our phones buzz.
LANE: Nada. FFS.
DON: Same. I got one of the security guys on board, he sent over some camera stuff. A dude jacks open your door and runs off, but you can’t see his face.
I curse under my breath and whip off a reply.
LEWIS: Show me the video?
DON: This is gonna hurt, dude.
LEWIS: Show me!!
The footage runs for twenty-eight seconds. Twenty-eight fucking seconds is all it took for them to steal my car.
“Look at that little bitch,” I hiss as the footage runs and runs, over and over.
LANE: Meet at RJ’s.
“Don’t sweat it, we’ll work this out,” Adam says as we head for the garage.
I snort. “You think? It’s probably in a whole other state by now.”
THE HANGAR DOORS HAVE BEEN flung wide open, and we park outside the shop, waiting for Lane and Don to catch up before heading inside in silence.
The last time I was here, I was furious at Amy Hitman for hiding her midnight stunts from me. Compared to this, that was nothing.
When I call out for RJ, my voice catches in my throat, and I track the clanking and whirring until I spot his head popping out from under a raised hood.
I glance up. Amy is flying down the stairs, stopping in her tracks when she spots the four of us standing there in a line.
We must look like we mean business, because slowly, she tugs the headphones off her ears and stares at us, frowning.
Scratch that—she stares at everyone but me, her gaze skimming right past me.
She’s wearing the same red grease suit from the first time I bumped into her here, her cheek streaked with black, and as Adam and Lane introduce themselves, she gives the smallest of nods.
“Hey, kids.” RJ wipes his hands down on his pants, a worried expression flitting over his features. “Everything okay?”
I ball my fists. “Someone stole my car.”
“No fucking way. Where?”
“The college parking lot.”
“Today?”
“Yup.” Don holds up his phone. “At 10:41 a.m.”
“We literally tore the town apart, but nothing,” Adam explains. “We were hoping you could ask around. See what the word on the street is.”
RJ nods. “For sure. You were right to come see me. I’ll put some guys on it. Wanna share the footage?”
He glances at Amy, shooting her a knowing look.
“Mind grabbing my phone for me, Amy?”
Before she slips off to the office, she finally meets my eyes, and it’s like some of my anger dims despite myself. The way she’s looking at me right now is weirdly soothing—and I’m not sure I like that. I shake my head.
“Take a seat, guys. Let’s grab a beer and think this through.”
RJ hands us four stools and falls back into his threadbare armchair. I crack open a bottle, pressing the cool glass to my forehead as I listen to him checking out the footage, swearing under his breath.
Amy’s back in the room. She tosses RJ’s phone into his lap and leans against a workbench, and though she hasn’t said a word, her face is scrunched in thought.
She loves cars just as much as I do, and I know that despite our argument, she understands exactly how this feels.
RJ hands her Don’s phone, and she spends a solid minute watching the footage on loop.
“Okay,” RJ starts slowly. “So, there are two options here. Either some little bitch stole your car, in which case it should turn up soon enough. Or, this was a bigger bitch, in which case the problem is next-level.”
I stiffen in my seat. “Next-level how?”
“It could be classic-car trafficking. Does the guy look familiar to you?” he asks Amy, as if she’s an expert.
She probably is a fucking expert, I remind myself. Just another one of her super sketchy hobbies. I mean, I’m having a hard time imagining her actually stealing cars—but nothing would surprise me at this point.
“No, his cap is pulled too low. Could be anyone. But he’s done this before,” she adds. “He’s fast. Confident.”
“What’re we gonna do?” Lane asks, rubbing the nape of his neck.
“You guys? Nothing. This isn’t on-brand for the Campus Drivers,” Amy says, her sideswipe catching Lane off guard.