Chapter Two
R ebekah-with-a-K seemed to gag a little when she slid a half-eaten sloppy Joe into the trash. It didn’t help that someone, who apparently had deep-seated contempt for ground meat on a bun, had added strawberry milk and mustard to the mix and then garnished the whole structure with peas, carrots, and chewed-on bits of a plastic straw.
Gia rushed to the rookie’s side to demonstrate. “Don’t look or sniff. Push it all into the trash barrel. Get a pair of latex gloves from the box by the hand-washing sink. That helps.”
Rebekah’s auburn curls bounced from side to side as she hopped around and shook from head to toe as if flinging off the horror of it all. “These kids are disgusting. You’d think they’d be starving, but half this food is wasted. And they can’t push the plate aside. Nooooo. They have to play in it.”
Gia held back her own hint of queasiness. “Calm down. They’re only kids.”
“That straw had been chewed on and spit out in little pieces, Gia. There was slobber on that plate.”
“No one told you to look that close. Clear the table. You don’t have to analyze it.” Gia hoisted one bag out of the can and tied it off at record speed. “If this makes you crazy, you’re going to have an epic freakout when we have to go check and spray the showers.”
“We’re gonna do what now?”
“C’mon, newbie, shake it off. I know you were at orientation. None of this should come as any surprise.”
Rebekah slapped her cheeks a few times and punched the air with tiny but powerful jabs until her game face returned. “All right. I can do this.”
“Sure you can. Grab those bags and let’s head for the dumpster.”
“Yeah...let me get those gloves.”
Gia pushed open the door and waited. She hung between the food-scented air of the cooled cafeteria and the stagnant, humid air of the hottest summer on record. The combination hovered at her nostrils until she had to take a breath—and that breath nearly sent her to the nearest tree to vomit. She buried her nose in her sleeve and willed the nausea to pass.
Rebekah dragged her trash through the open door. The mushy sound of everyone’s discarded food and the sight of chocolate milk and apple juice running down the sides of heavy duty black trash bags once again nearly sent Gia to the nearest clump of bushes.
“That’s it,” Rebekah said and dropped her garbage. “I’m taking you to the nurse.”
“I’m fine. Whatever that weird summer virus was, it’s over. I’ve been well for days. It’s a tiny relapse.”
“I don’t know, Gia. It might be time for professional help. Whatever that mutant bacteria is, you’ve not been completely well since last week. If it’s some strange intestinal thing, that can be dangerous. You’re too healthy and hydrated to be looking so green, pale, and tired all the time.”
Gia snatched her own bags and hit the dusty trail to the side of the kitchen. “Let it go, rookie.”
Rebekah followed close behind, her cargo bouncing on the rocks and exposed roots across the path.
Gia smirked. “If those burst open, you’re going to be the one cleaning it up.”
Everything got quieter.
It didn’t last.
“Are you sure you haven’t been to any foreign country or eaten anything out of the ordinary over the last few weeks? Because there are a lot of parasites that could be causing your sympt—”
“Seriously?” Gia stopped short and spun around. “Do you really think I’m not sure if I’ve been out of the country or eaten anything really bizarre? And do you really think I wouldn’t have admitted it the first three dozen times you asked me?”
“Sorry, but I’m worried about you. You tossed and turned again all night. I know you’re exhausted, but you don’t seem to sleep much.”
If Rebekah only knew. Of course she didn’t sleep much. She didn’t remember the last time she didn’t either have a bad dream or lie awake worried she would. While they seemed to get better as each day took her further away from that last night with her ex, he still managed to slink in and terrify her when she least expected it.
Gia started forward again with a huff. “Stop worrying. Let’s talk about something else.”
“How ‘bout grad school? Did you decide what to do?”
“Who knows? My parents won’t pay any more tuition despite my being accepted into two of the best programs in Texas. I told them I would apply for grants and find a job, but I don’t think they’ll budge.”
“If it’s money, can’t you go to the school closest to them in Dallas and live at home?”
Gia stopped at the dumpster and let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “Oh, silly, silly, rookie. Home is the absolute last place my parents want me to be. And believe me. I don’t want to be there either.”
The dumpster lid creaked as Gia pushed it up and let it drop open with a loud metal thud. Rebekah stood quietly, her forehead creased with worry and her hair shining like a new penny under the filtered sunlight. So young and innocent, Rebekah’s trips home probably involved mother-daughter-mani-pedis and leisurely lunches with sweet tea and chicken salad where they talked about boys. Her father most likely called her Princess or Kitten or some such nonsense and stayed in his pajamas on Saturday mornings until she got up at noon so he could still have coffee with her.
Gia tossed in her bags and peeled the latex gloves from her hands. “Don’t worry about me, Rebekah. The thing with my parents is weird, and I know that’s hard for you to understand because you don’t have a strained relationship with yours, but it’s my problem and I’ll work it out. God most certainly has a plan. I have to figure out what it is. C’mon, that trash isn’t going to dump itself. And please close the lid. Don’t want to make it easy for the camp scavengers.”
“What camp scaveng—”
The rest of the word was lost in the rookie’s high pitched, ear splitting squeal.
Rebekah pointed and hopped. “What is it?”
One of the many camp raccoons scampered from behind the dumpster and blatantly went straight for Rebekah’s trash. He sniffed and tapped at it as if he were picking out melons at the grocery store.
“Seriously, Rebekah? You don’t know what that is?”
“Well, yes, I know it’s a raccoon, but what’s it doing here?”
“This is a camp. In the forest. With small woodland creatures. They’re looking for easy food. What part don’t you understand?”
Rebekah shooed the thief away and heaved her load into the bin. “All right, all right. It caught me off guard.” The dumpster lid came down hard. “I thought they only came out at night.”
Gia paused to retrieve a fallen branch as they started back down the path. “Not these animals. They’re not afraid of people. Especially that one. I believe that was Beelze-Bubba.”
Rebekah skidded to a sudden dusty stop. “Hold on. You named a raccoon at a church camp after the prince of darkness?”
Gia kept walking. “ I didn’t. They call him that because he can be a little aggressive and we think he’s the leader of the raccoon pack—or whatever groups of raccoons are called. They tacked the Bubba on the end ‘cause this is east Texas and deep down he’s a good ol’ boy.”
Rebekah scrambled to catch up. “That’s funny, but really. Beelze-Bubba? Kinda gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Lighten up, rook.” Gia tossed the branch into the woods. “That raccoon will soften and see the light before he heads to that great heavenly forest in the sky. He’s practically guaranteed to have a mountaintop experience here at church camp.”
“That is true.” Rebekah swerved to avoid a swarm of gnats. “What’s next?”
“We swing by the custodial shed and get more gloves and cans of mold and mildew spray and disinfectant. Need to make a pass through the showers before we pick up our girls from the craft area.”
“Yuck. I was hoping you’d forgotten. Not to sound like a snob, but doesn’t the professional cleaning staff do that?”
“Yes, but did you read your handbook? This is not the Real Housewives of Summer Camp , Rebekah. We all pitch in. Look on the bright side. Next week it’ll be someone else’s turn and you can watch some other rookie have an epic freakout over a sloppy-joe-vegetable-spit tower and a raccoon.”
Rebekah snorted. “Ha! I’m a redhead with repressed anger. This doesn’t scratch the surface of an epic freakout for me.”
Gia patted her on the back. “Good to know.”
“Speaking of freaking out on someone, Rocky’s coming tomorrow. Bet he’s looking forward to his follow-up visit. Are you going to tackle him and make sure his boo-boo is healing properly?”
Gia grabbed the combination lock on the shed. The heavy metal was hot in her hands as she spun the dial. “Yes. Yes, Rebekah, that’s exactly what I was going to do.”
When the first try didn’t work, she wiped the sweat from her forehead and tried again. What was it about that cocky guy that intrigued her? And why did Rebekah’s sudden comments fluster her to the point of failure with the simple lock? Yes, she’d thought about him, but it’s not as if she would be waiting at the front gate to see him again. Curious? Yes. Truly interested? Not really. She didn’t have time for romance, and real, honest romance didn’t ever seem to have time for her.
“I’m just sayin’,” Rebekah continued. “It’s your chance to see him again.”
Gia yanked off the lock and pulled open the door to the shed. “We’re working, Rebekah. I’m too busy to flirt and socialize. Here’s your spray and your gloves. Try not to slip in the bathroom and fall in a puddle of pee-pee.”
“ Eeewwwww , Gia. That is gross.”
“Buck up, rook. We’re working with kids here. A lot of it’s gross. But then there’s devotion and campfire and those squishy bonding moments that make it all worthwhile.”
Rebekah huffed a piece of hair from across her nose. “I know. As the prophet Isaiah says, the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever. So, believe me, I know. Every bit of promise and truth we put in their young hearts will be there long after they leave camp.”
“That’s awesome. See? I knew you had it in you.”
They made their way to the cinderblock structure that served as Mighty Oak 2A’s nearly primitive restroom. While other facilities had been updated to include fluorescent lighting and a climate controlled bathroom experience, progress was slow to arrive at this end of camp. Six toilets, six showers, and a sloped concrete floor in the middle. Western style wooden swinging doors with loose hook-and-eye closures were all that kept your business from your neighbor’s, and older fixtures with bright, harsh light illuminated things you’d rather not see—like the generations of spiders who’d called the high corners home since nineteen-seventy-two. Round, built-in fans at each end were meant to keep the air circulating. They were no match for the Texas humidity and served only to create a loud swish-and-clank sound that made it impossible to talk at a normal level while inside. Consequently, any scheduled shower time turned into a boisterous, chattering, shower-shoe-flapping, door slamming, water spraying, and ear ringing cacophony that lingered long after everyone had left. Gia could still hear the echo in the bare walls though they were alone.
“Take a look around,” she instructed. “Give the walls in each shower stall a good squirt and make sure there are no problems we need to report. I’ll check the potty side.”
“Got it.”
Gia paused at the row of sinks near the door. Her pale reflection in the age-streaked mirror came as a mild shock. Maybe Rebekah was right and she should see the nurse. Even now, the nagging queasiness made it hard for her to concentrate on more important things. Things like that afternoon’s cabin devotional, tomorrow morning’s staff Bible study, and her uncertain grad school future. Contrary to Rebekah’s babbling, she was not concerned with Rocky Lionakis.
She steeled herself against the stinky, steamy air and prepared to tackle the potties.
Within three seconds, there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop her body’s volcanic revolt.
ROCKY HIT THE brAKES and skidded to a stop in his best friend Max’s driveway. Dust rose and whirled around his old but reliable Ford Taurus wagon as Max’s aging Great Dane, Leonardo, loped off the porch and sauntered around the front bumper to stick his head in the car window.
Rocky patted the dog’s brindle head. “Hey, Leo, where’s your master? We’ve got work to do.”
Max staggered out of the open garage door and shielded his eyes from the bright sun. His too-yellow board shorts added to the glare. “C’mon, Rock, is there a reason we had to do this at daybreak on a Saturday?”
“It’s noon. And it’s Wednesday.”
Max dropped his flip-flops and scooted them around the hot driveway with his toes until he got his feet in them. He did all this while attempting to pull a holey t-shirt over his head and push several unruly curls out of his face. He grunted a couple times as if it were painful.
“Aw, Max, you don’t have to get all gussied up for me. You know I love you just the way you are.”
“Shut up.”
“What’s got you so grouchy this morning? You’re never more than one day out of step with the rest of the world and now you’re three. What gives?”
“One and a half jobs, my friend. I’m working at two restaurants. Open at this one, close at that one...not enough sleep.”
“I thought you were still working for your dad while you figured out what to do with your fancy college degree.”
“I was. But business is slow. Not many houses going up in this economy and I’m not going to take a job from one of his regular crew who has kids and a mortgage.”
“Makes sense. We working in the usual spot?”
Max snatched sunglasses off the roof of his mom’s car and pointed. “Yep. Concrete pad by the shed. But we haven’t had rain in so long you’ll be able to roll around on the ground anywhere. Try to park as close to the shade as possible.”
Rocky drove to the nearest oak and was out of the car in under thirty seconds. Max and Leonardo moseyed toward him with apparently no sense of the mission’s importance whatsoever.
“Get the lead out, Max. I need to get back to work sometime today.”
“Aw, hold your horses. We’ve got this oil changing bit down to a science. You remember the filter?”
“No, Max. I came all the way over here to change the oil without the new filter and the oil.”
Max paused at the shed entrance. “You know, I could go back and finish my nap.”
“Get the tools.”
Max put two jack stands and a drain pan on the creeper and slid it toward the car while Rocky took the handle of the hydraulic jack and tugged it out of its place in the corner. Two shop brooms and a rake came loose with it, and the ensuing tumble of handles knocked a coffee can full of screws off the neighboring shelf and right into his lap.
Max hurried toward him with a wrench and a couple of sockets. “Take it easy over here, will ya? Don’t need you ripping your leg open.”
Rocky picked assorted hardware from around him and tossed it back into the can with a clunk. “I’m not going to rip anything open, Mom .”
“Said the man who pulled a pizza out of the oven and didn’t realize he’d given himself second degree burns because he couldn’t feel the sliding sauce and melted cheese land on his thighs.”
Well, that was true. “Can we get this done?”
“Sure. Whose turn is it to get under the car?”
“I got it,” Rocky said as he gathered his supplies and prepared to transfer to the creeper.
“That’s cool.” Max grabbed the jack and started to lift the car. “But I’d make sure you line up the drain pan in the right place this time. My dad said it took a twenty-five-pound bag of cat litter to soak up that mess you made.”
“You ever gonna let that go, man? It wasn’t that bad.”
“Just sayin’. Dad made a special trip to Wal-Mart for that cat litter. And we don’t have a cat.”
“Yeah, keep talkin’. And when you’re done, we’ll revisit that time you didn’t tighten the lug nuts on the front tractor wheel. Pretty awesome the way it rolled right off into the pasture when you took off down the drive.”
That shut him up.
Rocky positioned himself near the passenger door. He found it worked well if he slid headfirst under the car on one side and, when finished, slid on out the other. Provided Max got the car high enough, he could easily pull everything he needed along with him.
The clunk of a heavy stand followed the hiss and rumble of the jack as Max moved around the car. “All set,” he said. “Go for it.”
Rocky started forward and then stopped. “Toss me that rag, will ya? Everything’s still hot.”
Max did as he asked and sat on the ground nearby. “You ready for tomorrow?”
Rocky loosened the drain bolt. “As I’ll ever be I guess. I’m still nervous. I don’t remember what I said last week. I’ve been practicing my talk and trying to relax and—”
“Yeah, OK, that’s nice, but I mean the other part. The Gia part. That’s her name, right? And you’re going to ask her out tomorrow?”
Rocky double checked the position of the drain pan and released a steady stream of hot, dirty oil. “You hear that, Max? It’s the oil hitting the pan and not the ground.”
“Don’t change the subject. And if you’re gonna be rehearsing lines, they should be about asking for dates. You’re way out of practice.”
“I’ve had dates.”
“Yes, who could forget you and your mom and grandma at the Golden Corral? It was a night to remember.”
Rocky held in a snort of laughter. He wouldn’t give Max the satisfaction.
Max made dating sound easy. His best friend yes, but more like an annoying younger brother who got all the girls. He was the drummer in their church worship band and the leader of the new youth service. Like catnip to kittens, the package was irresistible to all women who sought a decent, church-going guy. They flocked first to his goofy charming side and then fell in love when they discovered his deeper, educated, and truly Christlike life. Some guys had it all.
“I’m thinking on it, Max. I’m not sure she’s interested.”
“Only one way to find out. Ask her out. From what you said about her last week, it sounds like there’s interest.”
“Last week was embarrassing, remember? I fell out of my chair and had to slide down a hill. Pretty sure she saw every second of that disaster. And I’m still trying to get the hang of being a motivational speak—”
“Will you stop it already? You sound like my teenaged sister when you whine like that. Yap, yap, yap.”
“Yeah, well, you sound like a pushy girlfriend I once had.”
“How many years ago was that?”
Rocky would have continued to trade barbs with his friend except that he had to stop and think about how long ago he actually did have a girlfriend. He’d dated around after his injury when he’d returned to college. After that, numerous friends and relatives had made it their business to keep him busy with blind dates. Nothing stuck. On one occasion he signed up for a disabled dating service. While the women were sweet and often beautiful, many remained too angry to get past their own misfortune to begin to deal with his. At the other extreme, many had blown past acceptance and straight into a world where they moved at the speed of light to prove they could still do the same things everyone else could do. He was in awe of them, but had not yet been ready for wheelchair basketball or the Paralympics. At that point he hadn’t been introduced to hand cycling.
Then there were the church ladies. The ever present and determined bless-your-heart-and-please-have-a-biscuit task force that had taken him under their ample wings when he first found Jesus and Cornerstone Fellowship. There’d been a steady stream of nieces, granddaughters, and other assorted single females that each well meaning matchmaker thought sweet and longsuffering enough to meet his special needs and understand his unconventional circumstances. As if any of them really understood what those things were in his world. If not for their hearts of gold and good intentions, he was sure there was something in there he should find enormously offensive.
Then everything changed last week when he met Gia. She’d effervesced and exploded into his world with gauze and sarcasm and left him tied in knots of longing and curiosity. For the first time—in a long time—he wondered if there was actually a chance for companionship in his future. But had she given him a second thought? His stomach churned at the idea of reaching out and being rejected. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. What was he thinking? Beautiful Gia on a date with him ? She probably already had someone anyway.
“So you’re asking her out tomorrow, right?”
Rocky grasped the oil filter and glanced out in time to see Max bend and cock his head to rest it on his bony knee as he stared him down and waited for an answer.
“Still thinking on it.”
Max screwed his face into a determined grimace. “Epic battles call for epic warriors, Rock. And you, my friend are an epic warrior.”
“Are you kidding me? What does that even mean or have to do with anything?”
“All I’m sayin’ is, you’ve been through a lot and survived, so I don’t want to hear any more about you not being able to share your testimony at camp, or not being able to get the girl, because I know God is working in your life and you can accomplish both.”
“And all I’m sayin’ is... wow... and it sounds like some body’s been watching preachers on cable TV again and practicing their own sermons in front of a mirror. Seriously, bro, you need to make it official and get on to seminary so you’ll have someone to preach to besides me and your bedroom furniture.”
There was a scrape and spray of gravel dust as Max scrambled to his feet. “I know what we need to do while you’re here. You OK there for a minute? I have to get something out of the shed.”
“I’m good. But, hey, can you bring my chair around to this other side? I’m almost done.”
“Sure.”
Rocky finished his work and prepared to glide out from under the car while Max rooted around in the shed like a hungry bear. Whatever he was looking for was apparently buried pretty deep.
He pushed the drain pan ahead of him and out of the way and set his tools on the shop rag across his chest. “You know, Max,” he shouted. “This will be much easier when your dad puts in a lift out here.”
A loud thud came after Max’s muddled response. That was followed by what sounded like him dragging a bag of stones across the concrete pad.
“What are you doing in there?” Rocky took a quick glance around to make sure his path was clear before propelling himself toward daylight. The next thing he heard was the thwack! of the jack stand against the top of his head. And because he’d pushed himself with such force, he didn’t stop until the wicked corner sliced through his flesh somewhere on the right side of his forehead. The searing flash of pain took his breath.
His ensuing shriek was not manly.
“Dude! What happened? I heard that crash all the way in the shed.”
Rocky grabbed his head as tools hit the ground all around him and he maneuvered to get free. “Man, that hurts!”
Max kicked a wrench out of the way and rushed closer with the wheelchair. “C’mon. Let’s get you upright and see what you’ve done.”
“I know what I’ve done,” Rocky snapped. “I hit my head on the jack stand.”
“Sorry, buddy. I thought it was in the exact same place we always put it.”
“It was. I was going too fast.”
Max offered his arm. “You must’ve veered off course somehow.”
“Really, Captain Obvious? Ya think I veered off course? ‘Cause I’d hate to think I was aiming to bash my own head in.”
Max darted into the shed and returned with a roll of paper towels. He pushed a wad against Rocky’s wound. “Quit yer girl- whining and hold this. We’ll go in and take a look when we’re done here.”
Rocky started to pick up what he could reach of the mess he’d made. “I’ll clean it up when I get home. Drop the car and pour in that jug of oil.”
“Sure, but I need to do one more thing to your car.”
Max trotted into the shed again. This time returned with the dusty passenger seat from Rocky’s car.
Rocky did a double take. He hadn’t seen that thing in a couple years, even though he knew it was past time it was back in his car. “I wondered where that was.”
Max’s smile was ear to ear. “I told you it was here. I spotted it at your parents’ house and brought it here for one day when we had a chance to reinstall it. Since you’re going to be dating more, we better get it back in the car. I still think it’s funny how your parents took it out.”
“They meant well. They read somewhere it would be easier to get in and out of the car if I could pull my chair inside and store it right there beside me.”
Max dragged the seat toward the passenger door. “Sounds logical to me.”
“Logical, yes, but my therapist at rehab had a fit. Said I didn’t need to be lazy. Said I needed to drive with a passenger like everyone else.”
“You do. And that passenger needs to be a woman.”
Once again, easier said than done.
Max parked the seat in the shade while he quickly added oil and lowered the car. He chunked the stands onto the grass nearby. “Guess I’ll have to hose your blood, hair, and skin off those.”
“Funny.” Rocky squirmed in his chair and blotted his still-bleeding head. Putting that seat back meant no excuses. “Uh... Hey, don’t worry about that seat today, Max. I have work, you have a nap. I’ve been without it this long, one more week won’t matter.”
Max shoved the awkward seat in the door and struggled to get it into position. “Nope. This is happening.” He paused to drop two sockets on the ground and carefully choose the right size. “But you know what the real problem is with you and women don’t you? It’s this car. Women see this and think you’re somebody’s grandpa. Buy the truck, man. Way cooler.”
Ah, yes, the truck. The deep blue Ram 1500 crew cab he told Max he’d almost bought. He’d considered the major purchase for a while—especially when he was still a member of the Southeast Texas Hand Cycling Club. A truck made more sense for hauling equipment. Not to mention it was new and sharp and, as Max said, way cooler than the older car his mom and dad had purchased from an auction when they weren’t sure what was best for him. It had been years, but it seemed like yesterday that his parents, in their overprotective zeal, stood wringing their hands and talking about him as if he wasn’t there. Should we take him back to college? Should we let him drive? Should we hire a full-time companion to help him?
Rocky dropped the paper towel wad into his lap so he could grab the jack handle and push the heavy contraption back to its corner. Fresh blood streamed down the side of his face and dotted his shirt. “Aw, man...”
“What’s that?” Max scooted out of the car and jiggled the seat.
“Nothing.”
“I’ll get all that stuff, Rock. You try to stop bleeding. We’re out of kitty litter.” Max yanked up his shorts and went in from the other side. “Anyway, back to the truck. Let’s go drive around the lot Sunday after church and take a look.”
“Can’t. Lunch at my parents’ house.”
“Dude. This can’t wait. You need to be in a new ride now.”
“Well, dude , I’m not buying a truck this Sunday.”
Max stretched to reach more bolts. “Whenever.” Leonardo came around to stick his head in the door as if to monitor the situation. Max absently gave the dog a scratch. “How does that work with the hand controls? You have to order it and wait several weeks?”
“No, I have a buddy from my old cycling club who does his own work and he said it’s no big deal. Said he’d be glad to supervise if I wanted to do it myself. You might as well plan to help ‘cause we’ll be over here using your dad’s tools and consuming whatever’s in his garage refrigerator, of course.”
“Of course.” Max slid out of the car and took off toward the house. “Speaking of that, I need water.” He disappeared into the garage and returned with an armful of plastic bottles. He tossed two icy containers to Rocky. “You’ve mentioned that cycling club before. Was that something you did before your injury?”
Rocky drained the first bottle in nearly one gulp. He shouldn’t have referred to the cycling club. He should have said he had a friend of a friend or something since he didn’t much like to talk about hand cycling anymore—let alone participate in the sport.
“It’s not that kind of cycling. It’s hand cycling. With a special kind of bike.”
“Yeah, yeah, I think I know what you mean. I’ve seen those on TV. Looks like a mini dragster without an engine. Low to the ground, long front end, you strap yourself in and pedal with your hands, right?” He tossed an empty bottle aside. “When did you do that?”
“It’s been a while. It was no big deal.”
Max looked like the proverbial light bulb had brightened over his head. “Dude. Seriously. We need to start training and sign up for the Houston to Austin MS 150 next spring.”
Rocky couldn’t even pretend that wasn’t the worst idea he’d heard all week. “No, thanks. I don’t ride anymore, and I haven’t seen you on your bike in a year. We’d be curled up on the roadside—you with leg cramps and me with chest pains. And we’d be puking our guts out.”
“Really, Rock? I didn’t think I could have a more appealing image in my head than that of you in tight-fitting spandex bicycle shorts. I was wrong.”
Rocky sailed his two empty water bottles toward the steel garbage drum at the entrance to the shed. The light plastic drifted off the mark, much like his conversation with Max. All he wanted to do was change his oil. Somehow they were on trucks and cycles and epic battles. The gash on his head throbbed and continued to bleed, and all he could think about was how it would look to Gia if he saw her tomorrow.
He headed toward his car with Leo at his side. “I have to get back home and get to work. Thanks for your help.”
“Whoa, wait a minute.” Max scrambled for something on the ground. “Here. At least take some fresh towels. Are you sure you don’t want to go up to the house and take a look? Or I have some duct tape here. And bungee cords. I could strap those towels to your head to leave your hands free for driving.”
“Knock it off.”
“OK. Whatever. Let me know about the race.”
“C’mon, Max, have you been comparing notes with my mother? Do this, do that, find a wife.” He transferred into the driver’s seat and contemplated the best place for his chair now that the seat was back. “Here’s an idea. If you want to ride a bike so bad, ask my mom. The two of you can train for the MS 150 together and spend the time talking about how to reorganize my life.”
Max rested his hands on his hips. Then he laughed. “Dude. Chill. It was just a thought. And I love your mom, but you’ve got to stop putting images in my head. Seriously.”
Rocky cracked up a little himself at the unexpected visual, even though it hurt his head to smile. “OK, I know. Sorry, but all I’m trying to do is get through my presentation tomorrow.” He started the car and adjusted the vents so the air would blow right in his face as soon as it cooled.
“Like I said, buddy, use your natural epic-ness to your advantage.”
“I’m outta here. And you really have to stop talking like that. It’s weird.” He put the car in gear. “I’ll see you Sunday morning.”
He circled the tree and headed out.
Epic battles. Epic warriors.
He paused at the end of the drive and turned onto the main road. He had only one concern of epic anything when it came to Gia.
Epic fail.