Page 154 of Crash Course
Randolph dropped the charges? Cilla had to have had more to do with it than just narking on him to the detectives.
Either way, Cruz was a happy guy.
"Okay," Cruz said, letting out a hard breath. "We’re good then?"
"We’re good."
"Thanks, Tom. Cilla was right. You’re a great attorney. Send me a bill."
"Oh, don’t worry. I will."
They both laughed.
"If there’s anything else," Tom said, "I’ll let you know. Take care, Cruz."
"Yeah. You too."
Cruz clicked off and sat for a second while a truck roared by, followed by the whoosh of three speeding cars.
Since the second the jail cell door slid closed, he’d had a brutal tightness in his solar plexus. His entire body, actually. Between the idea of being convicted, prison time, disappointing his family, and having a criminal record, he envisioned his life flying over the side of a cliff.
Every good thing he’d worked for, blown to bits over one stupid mistake. Over losing his head. The one thing his parents had always warned him against.
And now, he knew why. They simply didn’t want him winding up like his father.
Something he now fully understood in a way he couldn’t have prior to knowing his father’s history.
All of it. The screaming matches between he and Dad, his father constantly raging at him, nitpicking his every move.
He got it.
Finally.
"Jeez, Dad," he muttered, his body loosening. "You or Mom could have helped me out and explained it to me. Maybe it wouldn’t have taken thirty-two years to understand."
Something flashed in the rearview mirror and he snapped his gaze up, expecting to see another car.
Nothing. No vehicles even close.
He swung his head around, peeking in the backseat. Nothing.
And yet, here he was, in his father’s car, talking to the man and . . . had to be a sign. Since his father’s death he’d always imagined him watching over them. In life, his father had had a huge presence. In the beginning, he couldn't imagine living without him. Without hearing his voice or his laugh or, yes, his hollering.
It was all too much. And then, when he was gone, the quiet became maddening. Like a giant hole had swallowed part of their lives.
Which, Cruz supposed, is exactly what had happened when they put their father into the ground.
Over the years, when bored, he’d done research on the spirit world and how the dead liked to play with electricity. Lights flashing, music suddenly playing, televisions switching channels.
All of it fascinating and a little woo-woo for Cruz, but maybe . . .
He shook his head and laughed. "Okay, old man. I got your car built and back on the road and you’re fucking with me?"
When no response or additional flashes occurred, Cruz shot a message off to his mother and brothers in their group text letting them know the charges had been dropped.
Then he shifted the Stutz back into gear and merged into traffic. In another hour he’d be in Charlotte and would give Cilla the news himself.
A good day. That’s what he had going right here.
