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Chapter Thirty
Watson
The hammock picture might have been my favorite one with Holt. The two of us smiling like idiots in the sun, wrapped up together. I stared at it a lot when I started to miss him. Which was pretty much every minute of every day. I had made it the background on my phone. He looked—fuck, he looked good. Now that I had gotten approval from my doctor, I was torturing myself at the gym... again; and to get through this workout, I kept glancing at my phone.
I broke his heart. I wanted to do it in person because over the phone didn’t feel right. Holt needed someone who could take care of him. Not the other way around. He needed a strong, decent man. I couldn’t even remember if I’d taken a shower this morning. Hand to God. It felt like my memory was getting worse. I had to set reminders in my phone to do things, and I was starting to get worried that the doctor was right about my racing career. It might end before it really began.
Not the man Holt needed in his life.
I had no desire to be with anyone else. He was the one I wanted. He was still the one I dreamed about at night. Let Holt think I was the bad guy, the asshole, and hate me all he wanted. It would certainly make for an interesting Thanksgiving and Christmas with the family.
Someone knocked my shoulder, and when I looked up, I found Mason glaring at me. I yanked my headphones down.
“Hey.” I greeted him.
“Hey?” His brows shot up. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks, Watts. You’ve ruined your brother, and all you can say is ‘hey’? Douche, what is wrong with you?”
“Uh, TBI?” I tried.
Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Try again.”
“I’m an asshole?”
“Better. I’ll allow it.”
I flashed him a grin. “It’s good to see you.” When he didn’t return my smile, I grimaced. “So, you’re mad then.”
“Mad? Mad isn’t the word I would use.” He reached over to yank the emergency release on my treadmill, and I might have flown backward if I wasn’t paying attention. “What did you do to Holt?”
I dragged a hand through my sweaty hair. “He didn’t tell you?”
“The second anyone even mentions your name, he drops what he’s doing and walks away. I mean that literally. He was in the middle of a practice with the crew when Eli Shepard—yes, Rand’s brother is back—started asking him when you were coming back. Holt stared at him, put the tire on the ground, and walked away without saying a word. I had to explain to Eli that you two weren’t exactly on speaking terms right now.” Mason pursed his lips. “I thought Holt was going to punch a hole in the wall. What did you do?”
I reached for my water bottle. “My brain is a bit foggy.” I swallowed the rest of the liquid and recapped it.
“You can’t keep using that as an excuse, man.” Mason folded his arms over his chest.
“I’m not. It’s the truth. My injury is getting worse instead of better. This morning I put my phone in the fridge instead of on the counter to charge it. Last night I put my clothes in the garbage instead of the laundry basket. I don’t think I’m ever going to race again.”
