I shake my head. “I’m not going to ask you to lie to your girl.”

Jake shrugs. “I’ll tell her training went overtime. Besides, I think she’s with Luce and you know Luce.” He taps the phone one last time before switching it off and shoving it back in his pocket. “Shall we?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

I grip my seat belt when he slams the brakes and the accelerator at the same time, causing the wheels to spin and screech against the concrete of the parking lot. Then he releases the brakes, allowing the truck to jerk forward and speed out of the lot, his shout of “Bessssssyyyyy!” causing a fit of laughter I haven’t had since the time Dave was caught jerking off to a picture of the cast of The Desperate Housewives.

Maybe the doc and Dave were right.

Maybe I should make the most of it. Maybe I should make it count.

Get money: Not yet.

Fuck bitches: Tick.

And now I just feel like shit again.

Jake drives. I sit. He talks. I listen. This goes on for hours—something we’d done plenty of times before. He tells me about baseball, about his family and Micky and what his plans are after college. He talks about the other guys and what they’re up to. He keeps me entertained, especially with Cameron and Lucy’s marriage shenanigans. He leaves out the parts about Heidi, though I catch him a couple times cutting himself off.

We drive around, stopping at a few abandoned parking lots to do donuts or burnouts or anything else his truck (and Micky) won’t allow him to do. He loves it. Always has. And me? I just enjoy his company.

He doesn’t ask about my injury. He doesn’t ask about my time away. He doesn’t ask anything of me and that’s why we work, because he knows me better than anyone. Even Heidi.

“How long have we been gone?” he asks.

“Three hours and fifteen minutes.”

He’s silent for a while as he drives the familiar streets back to the field. Finally, he says, “So what’s her name?”

“Anything but Bessie.”

He slows down as he pulls into the stadium parking lot and looks over at me. He’s wearing a shit-eating grin and I know why. I just don’t know how he knows. “What?” I ask.

“You’ve been looking at the clock every few minutes. I ask you how long we’ve been gone for and you don’t skip a beat. You want to be somewhere else—”

“That’s not true.” It’s a little true.

“So what’s her name?”

I drop my gaze to the phone in my hand wishing I’d gotten her number. “Riley.”

“Riley?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

I shrug, a smile pulling at the corner of my lips. “And I don’t know what to say. She’s got me checking the time, I guess.”

“She in your unit or something?”

“Nah. I’ve only really started talking to her… or not even really talking… for, like, a week.”

“How did you meet?”

“She’s my neighbor.”

He parks next to his truck and puts mine in gear but he’s looking out the window, his mind elsewhere.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“What’s her last name?”

“Hudson. Why?”

“Riley Hudson,” he murmurs, her name rolling of his tongue. He repeats it again. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“She went to our school. She’s a few years younger so I don’t know if that’s how you’d know her.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, then faces me and smirks again. “Either way, dude. She’s got you checking the time.”

*     *     *

It’s dark by the time I get home and my house is the same as it was the first night I got here. The TV’s on too loud, the lights from the screen flicker out the window and onto the front lawn. I have the same nerves too, same anticipation, but for a completely different reason. Because I’m not standing outside my front door. I’m standing outside hers.

I start to smile when the door swings open after my first knock, then stop when a woman appears. She doesn’t look like Riley at all, besides her eyes. Her hair’s bleached blonde, her lashes fake, and her make-up flawless. Rewind twenty something years and she’s Heidi. “Good evening, Ma’am. I was hoping to see Riley.”

Her eyes narrow, first at me, and then over her shoulder. She takes a step forward, closing the door quietly behind her. “You’re the youngest Banks, right?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m Dylan.” I throw my hand out for her.

She looks down, ignores it, then lifts her gaze again. “And you know Riley how?”

“We’re neighbors,” I tell her. Obviously. I check her eyes, because maybe she’s as drunk as her daughter gets. Or maybe she’s the one on The Drug.

After a sigh, she tells me, “Riley’s sick. She’s not up for guests.”

“Is she okay?” I ask, looking at the closed door. “Is there anything I can get her or…”

“No.” Another sigh. “She just needs to rest and sleep it off.”

“Okay. Well, can you tell her I dropped by?”

She doesn’t respond, just turns her back on me and goes back in the house. For a few minutes I just stand there, waiting for any sign of Riley’s existence. When enough time passes and the only sound I hear is Dad’s television, I leave and make my way back to the garage… my room… where I know I’ll spend the entire night with thoughts too loud to silence and questions too complicated to answer.