Page 135 of Crash Course

Alarm bells sound in my head. He’s cool and remote in a way he hasn’t been with me, not for months.

“That’s not true,” I say, needing him to hear it. “You’re a good brother. A good friend. You’re good for me.”

“Am I?” Jameson’s laughing, but his face says he doesn’t think it’s funny.

“You know you are. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

His expression twists and a flicker of the person I’ve come to know is visible through the cracks. “This place is wrong, Townie. I never saw how wrong because I didn’t want to.”

He returns to his work. Once more, I’m on the outside, looking in at him.

“You can win this,” I insist. “And you can make ARI anything you want.”

Jameson’s eyes flick toward me. “That assumes there’s a company that deserves to exist.”

A few days ago, we were talking about our future. Now it sounds like he’s saying we’ll never have one.

I wish he would yell. I know what to do with his fire. I can’t handle his defeat.

“What happened? This isn’t you. This isn’t us.”

“We’re not the same. You have nothing here,” he says. “No future. No security. No family to fall back on.”

Every word lands hard in my chest. The feelings churning inside are overwhelming, an inescapable tide of wrongness.

“I told you once that if you stayed,” he continues, “you’d wind up with Ashford tire tracks up your back.”

My chin lifts, defiant. “And I stayed anyway.”

Jameson knows how to score a point off an enemy, but I don’t know how we ended up on opposite sides.

“You need to leave.” He says it like if he pushes hard enough, I’ll actually go.

“Leave what?”

“ARI. The academy. All of it.”

Hurt and betrayal twist together, a dark pit in my stomach.

I never expected these words from him. Not now, not after everything we’ve been through. But I’m staring at the person who helped me believe I could belong here, and I don’t recognize him.

“You don’t get to decide what I need.”

“Someone has to.”

The deliberate cruelty doesn’t hurt as much as the casual dismissal. I forgave him for lying before because it was about fear. This feels different. This is about control.

“You sound like your father.” I whisper the words.

Jameson starts, his eyes clearing as if he’s seeing me for the first time tonight. “I’m not him.”

“No? Because right now, I can’t tell the difference.”

I spin on my heel. The first time I left this garage, I’d sabotaged his car and was running on adrenaline and fear.

This time, it’s heartbreak that fuels me.

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