Page 57 of Diesel's Perseverance
“Yeah.” He stood from the chair and slipped the address into his jeans pocket. “Thanks, dude.”
“When you’re down there, let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay.” He rapped the desk with the knuckles of his right fist, then walked out of the room.
Diesel left the clubhouse by the back door and walked over to the riverbank. He stared at the water rushing over the rocks for a long while. A mélange of emotions swirled inside him: anger, confusion, frustration, sadness. He had to make everything right for Freddy, and he had to make sure Cano was out of the picture for good. Then there was Myla, but he pushed those emotions far away.
He let out a lengthy sigh, took out his phone, and plugged in his parents’ phone number.
Chapter Eleven
Diesel woke upwith his head pounding and his mouth feeling like a desert. He groaned as he struggled to sit up, then reached over and grabbed the water bottle on the small nightstand.
“You really tied one on last night,” Rags said as he ran a comb through his hair.
“No kidding. I feel like hell.”
Diesel brought the bottle to his lips and drained it.
“You going to work?”
“I have to. We’re leaving for San Diego in a couple of days, and there’s too much to do at the car wash before I can take off. Damn.” He rubbed the back of his pounding skull.
“Myla was so pissed at you.” Rags laughed.
“Yeah… well… whatever.” He grasped the corner of the nightstand, hoisted himself up, then placed a hand on the wall to keep from toppling back onto the bed.
“I’ll catch you later. I have a big landscaping project I want finished before we head to the rally.”
Diesel grunted, then weaved toward the bathroom. Cranking the cold-water faucet, he cupped his hands under the stream and splashed his face several times in a futile attempt to find some relief. He turned on the shower, stepped gingerly into the stall, and braced both hands on the tiled wall, allowing the warm water to pelt his aching head. The events of the prior night slowly slipped back into consciousness: The phone call to his parents, his anger at their unconcern, the meeting about the surveillance operation in San Diego, Myla’s body pressed against his, her head on his shoulder as he comforted her, his decision to bunk with Rags, and bottles of beer and shots of whiskey.
“Myla was pissed at me because I was drinking, right?” he asked out loud as his train of thought hit a bump.
All at once, like a flash, he remembered. After many bottles of beer and shots, Nina had come over, wrapped her arms around Diesel, and kissed him.
“Myla saw that. Fuck!” He pounded the tile, and the pain shot straight to his throbbing head. The last thing he wanted was to hurt or cause her more distress than she already had.
Did I talk to her about going to SD?He searched his dulled memory bank and couldn’t remember bringing up the subject to her.I’m sure I’d remember that.He racked his brain again, but nothing came up. Chances were high that Diesel never got around to it. He’d have to find her and try to make everything right again.
He turned off the water, stepped out of the stall, and washed up. After dressing, Diesel downed three aspirins, locked the door behind him, and searched for her.
Sitting cross-legged on the couch’s tropical cushions in a tank top and cutoffs, Myla held a mug of coffee and scrolled through her phone with the other hand. A pair of sandals sat under the coffee table.
Diesel pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the back porch. A frown settled on her face when she saw him.
“Hey,” he said as he walked over and sat on the other end of the couch.
Ignoring him, she took a sip of coffee, then went back to scrolling on her phone.
“I know I got wasted last night, and I fucked up.”
Myla didn’t say anything or even glance at him.
“I called my people and told them about Freddy.”
That got her attention, and she looked up. “And?” she said curtly.
“They didn’t give a shit. I knew they wouldn’t, but still… it pissed me off big time.”
