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“Indebted to me, how?”
Reaching up, she pinches the bridge of her nose like we’ve gone over this before, and she’s annoyed with having to explain it to me. But I have no idea what she’s going on about.
“I already owe you for taking care of the Camaro,” she starts.
“That was my fault,” I argue.
“True, it was. But you could have just let your insurance cover it,” she says.
“Yeah, and have to listen to my dad go on and on about it? No thanks. It was easier to just pay for it myself,” I admit.
“And for that reason, I feel like I owe you.”
“You don’t. Trust me.”
“Bodhi, it’s a generous offer, but it’s too much,” she sighs.
“No, it’s not. I’m paying for the damages I caused. I won’t accept your money.” I swipe my hand through the air with finality.
“I’ll just deposit it into your account,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.
“Then I’ll put it all back in yours, and while I’m at it, I’ll make a little trip to take care of Mateo’s as well,” I say, and she practically gasps.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Don’t fucking test me, princess.”
“Stop fucking getting involved,” she yells, and her face starts to turn a bright shade of red.
“Stop being so damn stubborn,” I yell back.
“You’re un-fucking-believable, you know? Everything would have been fine. We could have walked away and raced another night, but no,” she draws the word out, her body swaying with attitude. “Bodhi Kane can’t be bested. Not by fucking Mateo Chavez. He’s only a fucking gang lord employed by the God damned Cartel. Let’s just piss in his Cheerios.”
“I did not—”
“And to make matters worse, you put my safety on the line.” She jams her finger into her chest, and finally we are getting down to the root of things.
“Listen, I know I fucked up,” I say, but she isn’t finished.
“You beyond fucked up,” she spits the words out. “I could have won, you know?”
Tears start to form at the corners of her eyes again, and I know she needs to get this out.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. Sure, you know what I’m capable of, but you weren’t there. You didn’t watch him in the rearview mirror through the whole race, sweating bullets, just for him to come around me in the final stretch and point his hand at me out the window like a gun. You didn’t have to relive that moment of fear, questioning what he was going to do — to either one of us — if I finished that race first,” she cries.
My heart hammers in my chest and I circle the counter, pulling her into me. Mad or not, I can’t imagine that fear. That fucking asshole.
“You didn’t have to wonder what would happen to the people you care most about if you went against him,” she cries into my chest.
I soothe her, running my hand over her hair and pressing kisses to the top of her head.
“Baby, I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I know you’re mad at me, and I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I just can’t accept your help in that way. It’s too much,” she says and pulls back to look up at me. “I already feel guilty about the Camaro. I can’t replace your car and pay you back if you try to take care of that debt.”
Confusion paints my expression as I stare down at her, shaking my head from side to side.
