Staying Grounded [BXB]

Near Miss

CRAIG:

"What the ever-loving FUCK, moron!" I screech, launching myself from the car and slamming the door behind me. The sound of Roxy's horn is still ringing in my ears, and I'm shaking with adrenaline, breathing hard. In perfect sync with my tempestuous mood, the thickly sheeting downpour has me soaked through in seconds.

The dumbass with a death wish is stood frozen on the pavement, blinking the headlights from his eyes and shivering. He'd darted out in front of the car, and I missed him by a hairsbreadth. But as angry as I am already, when I register who I'm looking at, I wish I'd hit the little scrote into his next life! More so, when the burn of the seatbelt's pull across my heaving chest reminds me that, had he tried that stunt just a few minutes earlier, the night could have taken a turn to ruin the both of us.

"You never taught to look before you cross, Choirboy?"

I'd swear his face whitens even further as he finally appears to take me in. One skated foot slides out from under him, and he scrambles to regain his balance. "I... I'm sorry. I —"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I sneer, my voice mockingly high. "You're not even wearing a damn helmet!"

He opens his mouth again, but the sound of the passenger door swinging open cuts him off before his first word. His attention immediately snaps away from me.

And in the next instant, Tate's clambering out the car. He's still not looking himself, and he doesn't seem able to quite grasp the situation. It takes a while for him to shift his gaze from me to catch on Mikey. I see the exact moment understanding dawns on him. Then he lurches forward.

Mikey doesn't take nearly as long to process Tate's appearance on the scene. I get a rush of grim satisfaction from the look of abject horror on his face as his shock-widened eyes jump between us.

The sudden move from Tate abruptly yanks him from his daze. He stumbles on his skates again, but without sparing a single further second, he's skidding an ungainly one-eighty and fleeing like he has a host of the undead on his heel.

"Mikey?" Tate finds his voice too late. "Fuck, Mikey!"

It's not until Mikey's turned the corner at the top of the street that Tate gets his feet to cooperate in giving chase. "That's not the way to mine," he growls, aiming for the point Mikey disappeared from sight. "Where's he going?"

"Tate." I make a grab for his sleeve as he passes, but he's alert enough to dodge me, so instead, I overtake him to reach the corner several paces ahead. Because what I'm most concerned about now is ensuring Tate's not at risk of stressing himself into another fit. That is not something I'm up for taking any more of tonight. I turn to face him and shake my head, blocking his path. "Just... come on, get back in the car, please. I'll take you home."

He doesn't even pause. Shoving by me hard enough that I'm sent staggering into a garden fence, he picks up his pace and leaves me behind.

I take two steps after him before a shot of good sense kicks in, locking my feet to the pavement. It falls far short, though, of getting me turned around.

Standing stock-still as the rain plasters my clothes to my skin, staring into the now-empty darkness, I find myself waiting — and dreading, in equal measure — for that blank slot of time between the fight and the woods to be filled.

Or for Tate to reappear.

Or for the universe to deliver the punchline of whatever cruel joke my life's become.

It must be about ten minutes before I admit defeat and return to Roxy.

And another ten minutes after that, I should have probably been arriving home because driving has lost its numbing relief, and there's no place else for me to go.

Instead, however...

Instead, I've parked up on Yoverton high street and entered the off-license, my bank card warm in my hand.

The heavy bag I depart with clinks comfortingly as I hurry through the persisting rain, back to my car. Shutting myself in and the weather out, I recline my seat and turn on the stereo.

One hour and umpteen units later, my classic rock playlist is kicking into its second cycle, playing just loud enough to be distracting, and what's in my rearview finally starts feeling too distant for concern.

So, of course, this is when the day decides its fun at my expense is not yet over.

It's a careless glance out the passenger side window that undoes me. The bottle in my hand doesn't quite make it to my mouth.

Sodden head bowed, Mikey's resolutely focused on the gliding motion of his skates as he crosses back onto my radar, making his way along the street opposite toward the entrance of the Red Bull Inn.

And I've bolted from the car before the action even registers, door slamming behind me. Hateful scavenger, I take little solace from him looking wretched.

The prick took Lyndsay from me, then my social circle, like he just picked up my life from right where I left it. Now he has Tate, too, the only guy who has ever made me feel understood and less alone. I let him escape his first intrusion on my night unscathed, but this second is an almighty push too far.

I'm barely a single step into my advance on him, however, when a deep and commanding, and wholly disturbing shout slams into me from behind. "Ashleigh, stop!"

In the next instant, I'm wrong-footed against the side of my car with a thud. "We meet again, handsome."

It takes me several beats longer to focus on Ashleigh's impishly grinning face than it does for me to repel her. With a shove that sploshes rum over my hand and whips pink hair into my face, I distance her body from mine.

She laughs. "Happy to see you, too!"

My gaze flits away to Sebastian, reluctantly approaching along the pavement, and the miffed brunette girl following behind, swerving back around on my target to discover that, in my distraction, Mikey's acquired a companion. Lyndsay's cousin has joined him in the pub's lamp-lit doorway, slapping a hand down on his shoulder as though greeting a good friend, and my fire for confrontation abruptly turns to cinder in my gut. No way do I want to call notice now.

"Bastard!"

"Who?" Sebastian's voice jolts through me yet again. Always unexpected. "Derek?"

"No." Ashleigh's gaze has tracked mine. "The other one. The cute blond," she replies in my stead. "His ex's new beau."

Dismissively inaccurate, I bristle with objection. But then Sebastian is pulling up beside me, glaring at the pair as hard as I am, his body coiled tight; Mikey bends to remove his skates, Derek shoves open the pub door, and the moment becomes yet another to pass me by unspent.