Page 60 of Big Stick Energy
“Of course! But I don’t drivethis.”
His eyes fall shut. “It’s already on,” he says, leaning back and closing his eyes. “Put her in drive and just watch the speedometer. She’s quick.”
Okay. No big deal. Just me here behind the wheel of a car that costs a hundred thousand dollars. I ease toward the road and pull out carefully, heading toward the Essex Bridge.
The car is smooth and quiet. It’s like gliding. “I think I just became cool.”
“You were always cool,” Eric says in a low voice.
“Are yousureyou’ll be okay? I shouldn’t be taking you to an ER? That visual thing is creepy.”
“I’m fine,” he insists. “It’s a typical migraine. My brother got them, too. The aura goes away after ten minutes or so. That’s when the pain starts. It only lasts a few hours.”
Yikes.“Does this happen often?”
“Twice a year, maybe. That’s why I don’t drink red wine during hockey season.”
“Oh no.” I feel a pang of guilt. “We had some last night.”
“Because it’s so tasty,” he insists.
We reach the bridge, and for a couple of minutes, we’re suspended over a finger of the Massachusetts Bay. Sailboats dot the water on either side of us. So many sailboats. The town of Beverly, ahead of us, is a sprawl of low-slung brick buildings and very green grass.
From there, I make my way onto 128, which is a proper highway. “Oh, wow,” I say as I test the acceleration. “It’s likeflying.”
Eric doesn’t open his eyes. “Speed limit is still fifty-five, though.”
I glance at the speedometer. It says eighty.Oops.I ease off thepedal. “God, this is fun. Thank you for letting me drive your only indulgence.”
“What do you mean?”
“This car is the only expensive thing you own.”
“Not true,” he says. “Everything in my life costs a mint. Suits. Shoes.”
“You’re literally required to wear a suit to work,” I point out.
“My penthouse apartment?”
“That’s an investment. I’m serious—you don’t seem to have a bunch of toys or a closet full of Rolexes.”
He lifts his wrist. “I like my smartwatch.”
“Yeah, on a nylon strap. Sorry, but you’re a very practical man, except for this car. Just an observation.”
He rubs his temples. “Practical sounds like a nice word for boring. That’s why the sponsors don’t want me.”
“Oh, please,” I insist while fiddling with the cruise control. “I’ll let that go because your head hurts. But later we’re going to have a little chat about the difference betweenhumbleand stupid.”
Ten minutes later, I manage to deliver the Porsche safely into the hands of the hotel valet. Then I take my suitcases from Eric, who’s attempting to handle all our luggage. “Let’s get you inside.”
He shakes his head dismissively. “It’s just pain, Darce.”
It’sjustpain. “Who says that? Oh, right, hockey players.” We roll into the beautiful lobby, which is a strangely successful blend of New England nautical and high-end sleekness.
“Ladies first,” Eric says as we approach the desk. “Your class starts soon, right? And it might take me a while to plead my case. I don’t have a reservation.”
Hmm. I step up to the counter. “Hello! Darcy Kendrick, checking in.” I pass my license to the prettily dressed young woman behind the desk.
