Touching Down(9)

“Yes, I did. I wouldn’t leave a stranger alone and abandoned on these streets at this hour. I sure as shit wouldn’t leave someone I used to love in the same condition.” As he said it, his tone changed. It took on that sharp, removed pitch I’d heard for the first time earlier tonight.

The words “used to” hit me. Hard. Not because I hadn’t accepted years ago that Grant used to love me, but because it was the first time I’d heard him say it. The first time he’d confirmed it.

It stung like a son of a bitch.

“I’ll let the tow company know to drop it at an auto shop close by you.” Grant pulled a phone out of his pants pocket and started punching in a text.

“Do you know how much it will be?” I tried to remember how much I had sitting in my checking account, guessing I’d need to transfer some from savings for the check to clear. When Grant’s head turned toward me, his brow lifted, I added, “Just so I can have the check ready when the truck gets here?”

“It’s already taken care of.”

“No, I can’t . . . you couldn’t . . .”

Grant pocketed his phone and turned back to face me. “You can. And I did. So either say thank you or fuck you or whatever you like, but it’s done.”

My head shook. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Why? Because you broke my heart when we were kids?” He tipped his head at me. “It’s okay. I survived. Now, let’s get out of here before my tires are next.” He started down the sidewalk but stopped after a few steps to wait for me.

“I was just going to call a cab.”

Grant huffed. “Yeah. Good luck getting a cab to show up at this address at this time of night.”

I chewed on my lip, realizing he was right. Cabs didn’t come here at night unless the driver was looking to score. It had been so long, I’d forgotten the rhythm of the land, the unwritten rules.

“I could ask Cruz.” My thumb went over my shoulder as I wondered what the hell I was doing trying to get out of this. I needed to talk to Grant, and the ride home would be the perfect time to do just that.

“Ryan, damn, can we not do this? I’m here. I’m not leaving you alone here, so would you just let me drive you home without having to go ten rounds? I’m beat and would like to crawl into bed sometime tonight.”

Taking another minute, I came up beside him. “Okay.”

“Thank god,” he muttered, giving me a light nudge as we started down the sidewalk.

It was the closest we’d been all night, and being close felt surprisingly easier than keeping our distance. That was probably because that was all we knew. The closer we’d kept to each other, the safer we stayed. The closer we stayed, the lesser the likelihood of us getting ripped apart.

“Thank you, Grant. For all of this. I know I’m the last person you have reason to be charitable to.”

As we passed a burnt-out streetlight, Grant slid closer. Just close enough to have me within arm’s reach, though not as close as he used to.

“Not the last.” His head shook once as he looked at me from the corner of his eyes. “Maybe the second to last though.”

When I noticed him fight a smile, I gave him a shove. It was like trying to move a concrete barricade. That hadn’t changed. “When did you develop a sense of humor?”

His shoulders lifted as he checked over his shoulder. He was the size of a tractor—no one was going to mess with him. People had stopped messing with him when he packed on twenty pounds of muscle the summer he turned fifteen. “When I realized life was too damn tragic not to laugh at it from time to time.”

A wave of sadness hit me, but I was used to them. I’d gotten lots of practice pushing them aside.

There was only one car on the street in front of us. It was a familiar one, though only faintly. It had been a shell the last time I saw it, but that wasn’t the case anymore. “You finished it.”

“Someone had to.” Grant pulled a key out of his pocket and punched a button that turned off the security system.

“It’s beautiful, Grant. Wow.” My pace picked up as we approached the old truck. “I never would have guessed that hunk of junk could become this.”

“Yeah, me either.” He unlocked the doors and swung the passenger one open. “It’s amazing what hard work and stubborn-ass determination can do.”

“It saved this piecer from getting scraped.” I admired the outside of the truck, running my hand against the gleaming black paint.

“Barely.”

“Barely?” I glanced back at Grant, who was staring at the truck like he was seeing something else.