Page 96 of Detour

Marc’s gaze rises, touching on mine before making its way to his boy. “He had it comin’.”

“How do you know?” I throw out. He wasn’t even there. He couldn’t possibly know who Steve was or what he was saying.

Marc drops his banged-up hand, helmet gripped between scuffed fingers and looks me in the eye. “He was fucking with you, right?”

I nod once.

He shrugs lightly. “Then that’s good enough for me.”

I had the entire ride to Creekwood to think about what went down tonight. What’s been going on since I moved here. I’ve spent so much time trying to avoid drama, I failed to notice it’d been clinging to me like my mother’s nasty perfume. Their bruised faces and bloody knuckles, their schedules constantly being rearranged to accommodate mine, their parties now interrupted, their friends getting banned—that’s because of me. I shouldn’t have been out there, acting the part of something I’m not. I shouldn’t be here at all. They deserve better. He deserves better.

I pull out of Coty’s embrace.

“Who was that guy anyway?”

Beckett explains what happened before I can speak. While he fills them in, I notice drops of blood on my jeans and wince. I was already planning to pull out my trusty cleaning toothbrush and bleach for my shoes, I might as well soak my pants while I’m at it. Sleep won’t come easy tonight. Sleep won’t come easy for a while.

“I didn’t know who he was before Angie came up, I swear. He didn’t say anything about knowing her until she walked over. I never would’ve let him near her if he did.”

Marc shoves him, teasing, “Nice job, asshole.”

Beckett pushes him back playfully. How can they be joking right now?

We head for the stairs, our group battered but not broken. Yet.

At the top, the boys file in their door but I turn for mine, steeling my spine for what’s to come. They make a great team, their unity undeniable, but I fly solo. And at the end of the day, I’ll be taking on my problems the same way I always have—alone. Tomorrow I’ll have to face Joe and Steve. The next day Rianne. The day after that something else, someone else. No matter when, or how, my problems appear next, it won’t be at the boys’ doorstep again. I’ll make sure of it.

They left their door open—so arrogant, so foolish—so I stand here, watching them as they move about, laughing, drinking, taking stock of their wounds.

One loose and light, holding the world at arm’s length for the day he decides to hug it close like the mother he desperately misses.

One severe and deep, locking others out until he declares them worthy—ironically mimicking the impossible expectations his own father sets for him.

One balancing everything in his fingertips, waiting for the perfect moment to make his deepest desires a reality despite the shortcomings from his parents’ shallow pretense. Coty thinks a woman can make that happen. He may even think I’ll make that happen. He’s wrong. I can only offer a short detour along the journey. I am not the destination, nor will I be just because he appreciates the temporary view.

The three of them work in perfect unison when they could fight and grate at every turn. Since I arrived, obstacle after obstacle has been thrown in their way making for an uneasy ride. I have my own path to navigate much less worry about how I can make theirs smoother. Having a neighbor to pass the time with is one thing, having to unload and store her oversized baggage is another. At some point something’s got to give and fortunately for them, I know what it is.

A weight presses in on my chest as I step over my threshold. So close, and yet so far. Always.

“You’re not coming in? Neighbor girl?”

Guilt gnaws in my heavy chest, making it difficult to speak as I stare at the floor.

I hear their door close softly and Coty’s voice floats across the hall. “Keep your door unlocked. I’ll be over later.”

One. Just one lie and it’ll be done. I don’t have to hurt anyone—other than myself—to save them from future pain.

“I’m tired.” It clogs my throat sooner than I expected and the words come out garbled.

“I’ll be there.”

The promise lingers long after I close the door with me on the opposite side.

I twist the lock with finality and strip. Climbing into bed, I stare at the ceiling, wondering how the hell I’m going to pull this Band-Aid off as cleanly as possible. They will all have a say but my voice is the only one that needs to matter. I’ll just have to make it stronger than theirs, even when it doesn’t feel like I can.

Hours of tossing and turning later, Coty’s knock finally comes but I don’t answer it. I don’t answer the text or call that follows either. When the pounding turns frantic, I know.

He knows.