Page 84 of Dangle

A watery laugh filled the space between us as I nodded again. “I don’t want to go.”

“I think we had this part of the conversation already.”

I began to nod again, only to stop myself. If I didn’t start using words, I probably risked a mild concussion. Surely it wasn’t good for the brain to nod as much as I had during just this conversation.

“Phone calls. No texting. Watch out for idiots who shouldn’t be allowed to drive. Anything else?”

“Yes. Remember, you are Trey motherfucking Malachek. You are fucking amazing and smart, and who your parents are doesn’t define you unless you let it.”

A new flood of tears rushed forward. “Thank you,” I said, the words choked and wet and so mottled I doubted he could make out what I actually said. I pressed my mouth to his, kissing him deeply, trying to commit his taste to memory. When I pulled away, I turned to my truck, got behind the wheel, started it up, and put it in gear.

“And wear your fucking seat belt. You’re carrying precious fucking cargo!” he yelled.

I hit the passenger-side window button. “Precious cargo?”

He crossed his arms on the open window. “Yeah, my boy is in that truck, and I expect him back here in one fucking piece, so put on your seat belt.”

I rolled my eyes at him while pulling the belt across my body. It latched in place with a softclick. “Happy?”

He shook his head. “Not in the least. Drive safe.”

Same. I wasn’t happy either. “Will do. I’ll call you later, but don’t wait for me to call. I know it’s difficult for you old guys to use all the newfangled tech, but your cell phone can send texts and make calls, too. Not just receive them.”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you, brat?”

I laughed and kissed the air, my lips making a kissing noise. He stepped away from the truck with a sigh, shoving his hands into the pockets of the gym shorts he wore. I waved and pulled out onto the dark, empty, early morning street—one eye on the street in front of me and the other glued to his shrinking form standing on the sidewalk watching me drive away.

The stoplight glowed red at the intersection where I needed to turn, but the will to make that turn refused to come. In the rearview, Slone’s hand left his pocket, raised into the air, and gave a small wave before pushing his earbuds into his ears and taking off for his morning run. When he disappeared behind the building that sat on the corner across from the club, I flicked on the blinker and took the turn toward the interstate.

An hour after leaving Slone, I decided my plan needed an overhaul. I’d already pulled over several times to talk myself out of turning back to him. No way could I drive for eighteen fucking hours like this. The trip would take ages, and while I’d left him an hour ago, I’d only spent about twenty actual minutes driving. A sign appeared over the interstate, and I sighed. That would work.

I signaled to take the exit toward the airport. Thirty minutes later, I handed my keys to the valet, grabbed my trolley bag andbackpack. Once inside, I pulled out my earbuds and called Slone while booking a ticket.

“You okay?” he asked as soon as the call connected.

It had barely rung. Good to know he wasn’t faring any better with this unplanned jaunt across the country.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Change of plans, though.”

“What…changed?”

The panting coming through the phone sounded pornographic and made the urge to drive straight back to EDGE even more difficult to ignore.

“I’m at the airport.”

“Which airport? You should already be in Wisconsin. Is something wrong with your truck?”

I laughed. “Damn, you’re a worrywart. And I’m only about twenty minutes outside the city. If I continue driving, there’s no way I’ll keep myself from turning around, given how much Idon’twant to go home this summer.”

“Oh, baby boy.” He sighed. “I won’t lie and say it will be okay because I have no way of knowing that. What I do know is you can do whatever you want or need to do and do it successfully. You just have to realize that for yourself.”

“You saying I got Apex energy, old man?”

His laughter crackled through the phone. “Jesus, you’re a fucking menace. So, what time’s the flight?”

“I’m headed for security now. Flight boards in thirty minutes. Looks like I’ll be home by noon Central.”

“Okay, I’m not gonna comment on how close you’re cutting it?—”