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“You really think Bodhi is going to be okay with you being out there?” He asks.
Sander came over today to keep me company while Bodhi tended to some business. We talked it through and decided that he would race in my stead. When I mentioned that I wanted to join them at the race this weekend, Sander all but forbade it.
I glare at him, but the challenge in my eyes doesn’t affect him one bit. Officer Harding and Sander are clearly two separate people. I’m finally starting to realize that. So, that means I need to stop challenging him and instead channel my best friend.
“San, come on,” I pout shamelessly.
“Keaton, I know that you want to be there to support him, but it’s not safe,” he says, the sharp edge of his voice slowly softening.
He didn’t get it. Not really.
This was my race. My ticket to easier times. And the whole thing was taken from me.
I know that I can’t race. I wouldn’t even try it with this cast. But to not even be there, cheering Bodhi on and watching from the sidelines… it isn’t fair.
“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?
