Chapter Six
Jake
I’m relieved, actually, that I’m not expected to be at Trailhead for trivia night. I was knocked out for most of the afternoon, and by the time I forced myself awake again, my body made it known that even the backyard would be off limits, too far for me to travel. When I saw Theo at the hospital earlier, he’d reassured me I’d escaped the kind of major damage that could’ve ruined me—if it hadn’t killed me outright—but now that I’ve been sitting up for a minute or two, I’m vaguely interested in a second opinion.
I ache from head to toe, and I haven’t dared to face a mirror for the worst of it all. Unfortunately, I need food before I even get that far, my second pain pill on hold until I’ve had something to eat and wasted some time. I don’t think I can stand long enough to make dinner yet, but my phone is next to me, and I need to call a towing company about bringing my Harley home.
Once I've made those arrangements, I owe someone an apology and my appreciation.
Sorry I dragged you out of bed to deal with my bike last night but thank you.
Beau responds frighteningly fast, and I wonder whether Darren is watching him. I don’t worry about whether Adrian is.
Hey you’re awake. I was under strict orders to leave you alone. And you know you can drag me anywhere
Sorry I’m not there tonight. Say hello to Darren and Riley for me.
Stop apologizing. We’re not there either. Darren told us you’d be resting. How are you feeling
My thumb hovers over the screen for a minute because if they’re not at the bar, then Darren went out of his way to tell Beau to let me sleep, and I don’t know what to do with that. My head isn’t all that clear anyway, but it’s heavy now, and I ache in an entirely different way. It’s a friendly thing to do, sure, and giving me time to recover has nothing to do with any future plans we’ve made, but it feels quintessentially Darren in a way I barely know and somehow know very well.
Tired and sore but it’s nothing that won’t heal. I’ll eat and then sleep it off.
Glad to hear it. And tell me when you want me to pick up the Harley from trailhead. I can drop it off at your place any night after work
My hand hovers over my phone again, curious about how much Darren said—whether Beau knows where I live, and that I didn't spend the night alone—but I keep my response brief.
You've done plenty. A tow truck can handle the rest.
You're hot but you're stubborn. Fine. Just don’t crash and burn on us next month
Next month?
Now it takes some time for Beau to answer, so I struggle to my feet and make my way to the kitchen to pull leftover pasta from the fridge. I’m tempted to eat it cold, which is enough to remind me of Lucy, and I wonder whether I should call her to let her know about the accident. I decide against it only because I’m fine, and she doesn’t need to worry about me. My dinner gets reheated, I take several deep breaths, and by the time I’m settled at my table to eat—with water instead of wine—my phone chirps with a new text.
I want it to be a trivia question, I think. I don’t hate that it’s Beau again.
Sorry Adrian was telling me to stop bothering you
You haven’t bothered me yet.
Next month is his grand opening. We thought it might be sooner but Mason has a bunch of new paintings he wants to debut the same week Adrian’s gallery opens so we’re waiting
Mason Burnett is an artist with a gallery in West Hollywood, his work loudly erotic and something I’d probably buy for a couple of my walls if I weren’t busy reminding myself that I really want to own several of Adrian’s photographs first. Mason’s been to Trailhead a few times, and we met briefly once. He'd noted Adrian’s talent there in the spring, and from what I understand, he’s the reason Adrian is making this huge career leap. Beau’scomment leaves me a little confused, though.
Why is Mason calling the shots for Adrian’s big night?
Careful. You almost sound concerned
I snort and assume Beau can imagine it just fine.Hardly.
It’s not a problem. Mason’s ego helps Adrian more than it hurts
Okay. Do you need anything from me?
Just put yourself back together so weho can lust after your face and Adrian’s pics side by side.
I roll my eyes and pretend I’m not smiling as I type some kind of promise for Beau. I eat my dinner in silence, mostly because I haven’t bothered with music all day and don’t have the energy to do anything about it now, and I catch up on a handful of texts from colleagues checking in on me. This morning, I’d rearranged a couple of things in my schedule and let everyone know I wouldn’t be back at the hospital until after the weekend, so some of them are expectedly curious, and I give everyone the shortest possible story for my sake.