One For The Road

47: Unknown

Something was very, very off.

I left Annie alone so she could focus on herself for the first time in at least six years, but with Drake in a panic, it really only meant that I should have been too.

I called her, but there was no answer.

I texted her to let me know what she was up to.

What else could I do?

Just as Griffin came into the living room from the kitchen, I spat out the only words on my mind. "You want to go to New York with me?"

He hesitated. "Now?"

I nodded.

"At this very moment even though we just got back from Talladega?" he asked.

"Well, maybe not, but as soon as we can. I'm kind of freaking out about Annie. Drake knows something I don't."

"Is she okay?"

I shrugged. "I hope so, but he didn't tell me a goddamn thing about why he was so worked up. And—and she's one of the only people who actually gives a shit about me, and I really care about her."

He didn't respond right away.

"We'll take the Corvette. You can drive," I said.

"It's not that I don't want to. It's that I'm physically exhaus—" He paused for a moment. "You really think it can handle another long drive like that?"

"Probably, and besides, getting stranded together wouldn't be so bad, would it?" I forced a smile.

"There are definitely worse people to be with."

High praise.

My racing heart still hadn't dialed down, but there wasn't a damn thing I could do about Annie. And as unsettling as that was, for the first time in too long, she got to live the way I always tried to: the way she wanted.

And anyway, Drake sounded like he was on the move on the other end of the phone call. Everything would be fine.

"Why don't you look into the next flight to New York? It'll be faster," Griffin said. "I hate flying, but she seems like a sweetheart. I don't want anything to happen to her."

She was a sweetheart. Even though we came from two different ways of life, she was a lot of things I could never be, and dammit, I respected the hell out of that.

"Griffin, you fly all the time. How many times has your plane crashed?" I asked.

He shook his head. "That doesn't matter. I would feel better if I was the one flying the plane."

"Then you should have been a pilot. Or you could get a private helicopter. That's what rich and famous people do."

"Yeah, and then I end up dead in the infield of Talladega like Davey Allison. No thanks," he said.

I smiled. It was a brutal life we lived, but at least there was a trophy waiting on the other side of the finish line.

"Why don't you give yourself a break, calm down after this stressful week we've both had, and we'll regroup for tomorrow. You want something to eat?" I asked.

"I don't want your cooking. No offense, but you're good at other things." He laughed. My mac and cheese was stellar. Fuck him. "So are we flying, or can I drive the Corvette?"

I laughed. "The Corvette, obviously. I've only had it for a few days. And when I die, I want it buried with me."

***