Chapter 20
MASSIMO
The sidecar rocks like we just jumped a curb, even though we didn’t.
Em’s voice booms over everything, louder than the engine, louder than my thoughts.
The diner sign glows ahead, that same busted neon coffee cup flickering like it’s dying but too stubborn to quit.
Same cracked lot. Same oil stains. Same crooked handicapped sign some asshole backed into.
Feels like stepping back into another lifetime. Before the accident. Before Sofia. Before my brother almost died on the side of the road. Before I got stupid enough to fall in love.
I ease the Aprilia into the lot. Sidecar clatters over a pothole. Em throws his hands up like we hit a jump at the X Games.
“WOOOOO! TOUCHDOWN! WE MADE IT, BABY!”
My jaw flexes. Idiot. Perfect fucking idiot. I love him so much it hurts. Dominic’s already rolling into his spot, with the precision of a surgeon. The back tire lined up with the pavement crack. His black bike is a shadow except for the red accents that light up at night.
As if trying to match the Tron bikes without the flare. Diego pulls into the space next to him, easing off the bike while Dom gets his vape out. Holli sweeps in on the Ducati like he’s pulling up to a red-carpet event instead of a greasy spoon diner.
For half a second, watching them, my chest loosens. This right here. This is home more than anything. Well, almost anything else. I thought I had found home again until she insisted I take her back to her real home.
“MAS, PARK NEXT TO THE HAPPY MEAL TOYS!” Em cackles, pointing wildly even though I’m already aiming for the empty slot beside Holli.
I kill the engine. Silence drops heavy. Just the tick-tick of cooling metal. A bus idles on the main road. Em’s practically vibrating. Like, at a million when I need him to be at a hundred, maybe two hundred tops. He doesn’t seem as affected as I am. That bothers me.
I swing off the bike, boots hitting asphalt. Yank my helmet off, drag a hand through my hair, and turn toward the sidecar. Em’s helmet is ridiculous up close. Flame red mohawk, bright yellow shell, black visor with a stupid smirk decal across it. I bought it. I have no one to blame but myself.
“STAND BACK, PEASANTS,” he shouts, struggling with the buckle and nearly punching himself in the face. “YOUR KING EMERGES.”
His hands fumble. Cast catches on the strap. He curses. The bravado slips for half a second. Just long enough for me to see the flash of frustration he tries to drown in noise.
I step in. Flick the buckle loose while he takes off the helmet. His hair’s a mess, and he’s blinking at the sudden brightness. Taking care of him takes my mind off her, temporarily.
“You good?” I mutter, checking his grip on the edge of the sidecar.
He grins too big, too wide, when he should be feeling sad like me.
“Never better, baby. Hey, how do you say, ‘sexy clown’ in Russian?”
“You don’t, idiot.” I wedge his crutches into place. Insulting him is a dig. Unnecessary, but why isn’t he upset like I am? Am I the only one who wants Sofia? Who’s bothered by this whole space thing? “That phrase doesn’t exist.”
“It should. For me. For my legacy.”
He tries to stand. Immediately almost eats shit. I catch him by the elbow before he does something to make his ass land back in the ICU.
“Hurry up, fuckers. I’ve got places to be.”
Dominic’s voice cuts across the lot, mean as always.
I’d have thought his woman would have made him nicer.
Not a chance. He’s the same miserable guy as ever.
Even the vape he’s tucking in his pocket isn’t working.
He’s the first off his bike and stomping inside, throwing open the diner’s door and disappearing. Holli follows, less angry.
Diego’s the only one who waits on us. By the time I get Em out, crutches underneath him, and catch up with Diego, he’s smiling.
“Glad you didn’t fall out back there. Thought for a minute you might. Would’ve pissed me off to have to go to the hospital today.”
“Not gonna happen,” Em says, voice too bright. “I’m back to torment all you bitches.”
“We doing this or what?” I ask, sounding bitchy like Dom. Neither cares.
Diego holds the door open, Em shuffles through, then he and I bring up the rear. The guys are sitting in our usual back corner booth. The vinyl is cracked in the corner where Em once tried to do a table dance. Dom stormed out that night. Holli chased him. Diego and I paid the damages.
Feels like ten lifetimes ago.
“MOVE, I WANT THE WALL SIDE,” Em complains, hobbling toward the booth like we’re racing.
“You’re not getting the wall.” I steer him toward the end. “You’re getting outside.”
“Discrimination against the injured,” he huffs, trying to glare and failing because he’s grinning too hard and no one cares. “I should sue.”
“Please do,” Dom mutters, not looking up from the menu that he’s memorized by now. “Then I can countersue for emotional distress and slap a restraining order on your ass.”
He takes the inner corner, which is weird since he usually sits on the end to escape whenever he wants.
Holli’s all elbows and legs next to Dom.
Diego sits next to him, leaving the middle open for me to slide in next to Holli.
Em lowers himself onto the end. He spreads his legs obnoxiously, cast sticking out, ready to trip the waitress who appears out of nowhere with melted ice water and a fat attitude.
The waitress appears like she teleports. Same one. Rude as hell. Always with a cigarette hanging from her mouth.
“What do you boys want?”
We take turns going around the table to place our order. We’ve been here enough to know what is good and what gives us the shits. Hollister leans back. Arms go up along the top of the booth, eyes surveying us with a happy smile.
“Man, it’s good to be here. I’ve missed this.”
He states what I assume all of us feel. His hand roughs up Dom’s hair, which earns him a scowl and a shove away, sending him into me.
For a split second, I forgot about Sofia lying in my bed, curls spilling everywhere, and her dog, snoring next to her face.
Forget about how my heart is racing in a panic at losing that.
Trying not to freak out while I’m with my boys and drive that clown bike to her house and demand she talk this out.
Space.
I’ve never hated a simple word so damn much.
My brain tracks them all automatically. The familiar rhythms. Diego’s knuckles tap the table in a syncopated beat.
Holli’s leg bounces under the table. Dom’s thumb flicks across the screen.
Em’s constant fidgeting, fingers playing with the salt shaker, the sugar packets, anything he can.
I sit here. Hands flat on the table. Glass of water sweating under my palm. Thinking of her. Replaying every word she said, which wasn’t that much.
“So,” Holli says, eyes flicking from me to Em and back. “How’s recovery? How’s therapy?
“More like how’s it going being a crash dummy,” Dom mutters, staring at his phone. I remind myself that he cares, just has a hard time showing it.
“I’m my physical therapist’s favorite patient.” Em puffs his chest in pride, not offended at all when he probably should be. “Just ask Ryan, he fucking loves me.”
“Because you shut up and do your exercises?” Diego asks, one brow up. “Or . . .”
“Because I’m a beast. I knock that shit out. Like it’s fucking easy.” Em looks at me for confirmation, and I shake my head, ready to rat him out.
“They play video games all day. Watch the Red Sox sometimes and—”
“Hey, I do work out. He makes me because he wants to see my muscles flex and shit. I think he’s got a hard on for me.”
I shake my head again. “He’s not gay. He has a girlfriend.”
Em huffs and shoves the pepper shaker away, which slides across the table into Dom’s phone. His eyes lift to glare at his brother. I expect him to pick it up and launch it at his head, but Diego intervenes and calmly moves it back to the center of the table.
“He’s on the down low. I know it! Says my glutes are impressive,” Em adds, shimmying his shoulders. “You can bounce a quarter off this ass.”
Dom groans. “Shut the fuck up. No one, and I mean no one, wants to hear about your ass.”
“This ass prevented me from more damage, tell them, brother.”
They all look at me, and I roll my eyes. Laughter erupts. It washes over me, warm and familiar. And very much needed. Almost enough to drown out the ache.
Dom’s gaze flicks up. Lands on me. Stays there a little too long.
“You look like shit, Mas,” he says as blunt as usual. “What’s up with you?”
Em cackles. “He’s in love, but she left yesterday.”
“Shut up, Em,” I tell him automatically, but my heart’s banging harder now. Dom’s not the type to ask unless he really wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about small talk.
Diego’s head tilts. Holli stops fussing with the sugar packets. Em actually goes quiet.
Four sets of eyes on me.
I grimace. “What?”
“With that nurse?” Holli mutters, nudging my shoulder with his. Just a small bump. A grounding one.
“What happened?” Diego asks, voice softer than usual. If anyone knows pain and disappointment, it’s him. Back all busted. Career over. Starting new with chemistry and his woman.
The words are right there. She asked for space. I dropped her off. I checked her apartment.
I left her there alone, and it felt wrong in my bones. I got mad at Em last night. Didn’t sleep a fucking wink. Worried and wanted her. Couldn’t jerk off to the memories of her in my bed, even though her scent was still on the sheets.
“Nothing happened,” I lie. “She just went home.”
Silence stretches. Dom’s fingers tap a staccato rhythm against his mug. Holli’s nostrils flare like he’s smelling bullshit. Diego exhales slowly.
“She asked for space. After we nailed her good, she upped and left him. Left us. Took my dog with her,” Em fills in what I can’t. Pokes around in my business and tests the perimeter of how much of his bullshit I’ll tolerate.