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“But I’ll stand with you the whole time. It’ll be fine,” I plead.
“K,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “if I’m watching over you the entire time, then I can’t be looking out for Bodhi, and he’s going to need it.”
We talked about it, and all agree that Mateo will most definitely show up to the race. It’s too big not to, and he’s got a point he’s still trying to make. Not really sure what that is, but if it’s saying that he’s still I giant pain in my ass, then mission accomplished.
“I seriously doubt Mateo will try anything in a group of people that large,” I say.
“You don’t know what he’ll do, especially if he feels backed into a corner,” Sander says, quirking a brow at me. “And I hate to even put it into the universe, but I wouldn’t put it past him to try to drive Bodhi off the road. It sure as hell isn’t beneath those guys.”
Images of that day flash through my mind. The car racing up behind me, slamming into me until I felt I was going to lose control.
The fall over the edge.
I draw in a shaky breath and close my eyes.
“Are you even sure you could handle being out there after everything that happened to you?” he asks.
My eyes fly open, questioning him with the furrow of my brow.
“Keaton, you went through something seriously traumatic. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have PTSD from it. You want to be out there, but just the thought of what happened has you about to tailspin,” he says.
“I was not,” I challenge.
He cocks his head to the side, and I sigh. Sometimes I forget how well he knows me.
“It’s okay if you do. It’s a normal reaction to have after something like that. But what if you show up and have a panic attack in the middle of the race? I’d have to tend to you and risk not having Bodhi’s back when everything goes down.”
He has a point, and I hate it.
“It’s just safer all the way around for you to stay here,” he says, and I know he’s right.
“Fine,” I sigh, deflating the slightest bit.
“I’ll keep you filled in on everything happening, I promise.”
He raises up his first two fingers in a scout’s honor fashion, and I smile softly.
“You really think it’ll get bad out there?” I ask, picking at a loose thread on the linen tablecloth.
“Honestly,” he draws in a deep breath and lets it go in a whoosh. “It’s already bad out there.”
I know that day on the beach he told me that things were getting crazy with all the gang activity, but could it be getting worse?
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“We got a tip off a few days ago about large quantities of drugs possibly being trafficked into Sancte Alto from Las Moreto. We don’t know how or by who, but I can only imagine what that’s going to look like in the coming weeks,” he says, dropping his head into his hands, clearly exhausted by all of this.
“Drugs make people act crazy,” I say, mostly to myself, but Sander responds, nonetheless.
“Yeah, they do. And not just the people on them. The Cast is about to be the least of our worries.”
I watch him for a moment, and then it finally hits me. He’s going to be out there in the middle of this. On the front lines, doing his best to protect this town. To protect his family and friends.
“San,” I whisper, and it must be the change in tone, because he lifts his head quickly, concern all over his face.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Be careful out there. Okay? I… I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you,” I admit, my voice cracking slightly.
