Justine
I hear it before I see it. The horrible scraping of metal against metal as a car sheers along the guardrail on the opposite side of the road before coming to an abrupt stop.
A gray Camaro.
Oh my God.
Jumping to my feet from the bus station bench, I yank my bag over my shoulder and run toward the car. In my gut, I know it’s Ryker.
The horn blares as I rip open the driver’s side door. His face is pressed against the steering wheel, but thank God there’s no blood.
“Ryker! Ryker! Are you okay?”
His head falls back against the seat and he blinks up at me. His face is red where it was pressed against the steering wheel, but there aren’t any other visible injuries.
“Fuck. Shouldn’t have driven.”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I scan him for any signs of blood or wounds, relieved to find there are none, but the smell of whiskey on his breath is strong. “What the hell did you do?”
“That was my question for you.”
His words are slurred. He’s drunk.
And if the cops come, he’s fucked.
I don’t know what possesses me, but I smack him across the chest with the back of my hand and then unbuckle his seat belt. “You’re a fucking idiot. Now, get in the passenger seat. We have to get out of here.”
He blinks at me but follows my instructions and climbs over the center console into the passenger seat.
I can’t believe he did this. What the hell was he thinking?
I slide into the driver’s seat and adjust it so I can reach the pedals. And then I get us the hell out of there.
We’re closer to his condo than we are to campus, so I turn right at the next light, thanking everything that’s holy that the car is still intact enough to drive and there are no cops on the road. The passenger side is going to be totally messed up, but he’s got money to fix it. Money won’t fix a DUI and a night in the drunk tank.
Mountains of guilt crush down on me as I drive.
This is my fault. He found out about the deal with his dad, got hammered, and climbed into the driver’s seat wasted. But that doesn’t mean I’m not pissed as all hell.
“You’re an idiot, Ryker. What the hell were you thinking? Driving drunk? Do you not remember what happened to Chad? This could screw up your whole fucking future!”
“Didn’t think I was that drunk.” He groans, leaning his head against the window.
“You shouldn’t have driven after drinking anything! You know better.” I’m hurt, disappointed, and really freaking pissed. “And over this? Why didn’t you just let me explain? Talk to me. Yell at me. Anything but this. I didn’t think you were this guy. Was I wrong?”
Another groan.
I’m getting nothing in the way of satisfaction from him right now, so why even try?
I pull up to the gate of his condo parking garage. I have no idea how to get in, so I hit the call button and a voice answers. “How can I help you?”
“I have Ryker Grant here and he’s forgotten his—”
“No worries, I’ll let you in.”
The gate rises in front of the car. Maybe they have a camera and recognize it? Either that or security’s not so top-notch in this building. I couldn’t care less at the moment.
Pulling into the spot where Ryker always parks, I turn off the car and get out to assess the damage. The whole passenger side of the car is scraped and paint is missing, but it’s not as bad as I was expecting it would be. He’s stupid lucky.
“Whoa, what the fuck happened?”
I whip around at the sound of the voice. Ryker doesn’t need any witnesses, but I didn’t have any other ideas about where to bring him. The voice materializes into the same blond guy who gave me a ride. Ian.
He jogs across the parking garage. His eyes widen at the sight of the car.
“Holy fuck! Where’s Ry?” He jerks his gaze from the car to me. “What happened?”
I nod toward the passenger seat. “He’s still inside. I don’t know if I can get him out myself.”
“Is he okay?” Ian jams both hands into his blond hair. “Shit, why didn’t you take him to the ER?”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare this guy down. “He’s wasted, not hurt, from what I can tell. And he’s a dumbass because he got hammered and drove. Do you really think I should take him to the ER?”
“Shit.” The curse comes out under Ian’s breath. “What the fuck was he thinking? Let’s get him out of here and upstairs.”
He jerks his gaze between me and the car again before he reaches for the handle of the passenger door and yanks it open in a harsh creak of metal. Ryker tumbles out the side.
“Shit.” Ian dives to grab his arms and drag him up. “Jesus, man. What a fucking shit show.”
Ryker mumbles something that I can’t make out, and Ian helps pull him to his feet. Should I stay? Leave?
Do I even want to stay? I’m pissed at him. How the hell could he do something so freaking stupid? Putting his entire future at risk like that?
I’m not worth it, a small voice says, and I know she’s right. I’m not worth ruining his future over.
“Hey, can you hit the button for the elevator? We need to get him upstairs so I can call a med school friend. He might have a concussion.” Ian has Ryker’s arm wrapped around his shoulder and they’re shuffling toward the elevator bay together.
I make my decision. I’ll help get him up to his condo, and then I’m letting Ian take care of him. Realistically, I know Ryker’s not going to want to see me. He couldn’t even bother to answer my text and give me a chance to explain. Nope, according to Merica he went straight to the bar and got hammered.
When he’s ready to hear my side of the story, he knows where to find me.
The three of us stumble our way to his apartment, and I’m glad I remembered the keys. After I unlock it, Ian dumps Ryker on the couch. He groans and rolls over.
“He’s going to have a hell of a hangover. Fucking idiot.” Ian raises his gaze from his friend to me. “Are you sticking around? I’m calling my friend. He needs to get checked out, and I’m not taking him to the ER.”
“I don’t think he’s going to want to see me when he wakes up.” My chest squeezes tight with the words. It hurts more to say them out loud.
But what did I think was going to happen when he found out? I didn’t expect him to put his entire future at risk. Guilt stabs into me.
Ian’s eyebrows lift in interest. “So you do know what the hell happened.”
“Not exactly.”
I cross to the kitchen counter and dig a pad of Post-its out of the bowl of crap. The one where he saved a Pez dispenser for me. When I unearth a marker, I jot down a short, succinct note.
If you want to talk, you know where to find me.
P.S. You’re a fucking idiot for getting behind the wheel.
I have to get out of this condo. I hate myself right now. Everything I did led us to this point. I’m not taking responsibility for Ryker’s shit choice to get wasted and then climb in his car, but I’m also not without some culpability. Causation. We learned all about it in Torts. My actions were part of the chain of events here, and nothing I can do will change that fact.
I return to the couch and stick the note on the edge of the coffee table where Ryker can’t miss it when he finally regains consciousness.
Ian glances over the words and looks up at me.
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say he’s going to be looking for you sooner rather than later.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
And then I’m gone.