by Gabrielle G.
“Is it because I’m a woman?” I stand. Quinn may be impressive with his dark, buzz cut hair and muscular arms, but he doesn’t scare me. He can growl and snap, but he won’t bite. And if he does, I’ll bite back.
“It has nothing to do with you being a woman, and you know it.” He steps closer and crosses his arms as well. I roll my eyes once more.
“You know I used to test drive the cars I engineered anyway. What’s the difference?” I ask, puffing out my chest.
“The difference is, you were not driving a car built by God knows who at 200 mph.”
“It’s 160, Ladykiller. I mean, I will get to 200, but I need to practice a little more.”
Just thinking about it has my heart pumping. 200 mph will give me the jolt of electricity I need to feel alive. Life has been quite dull since King died, and if I die tomorrow, I prefer to at least take a chance on life.
I’m a little wild, so what?
It’s not like I’m playing Russian roulette with a gun to my temple.
I know what I’m doing.
I push the limits in the confines of sports that have rules to follow.
I’m not suicidal, nor do I want to die. I just want to feel alive.
Not that I’ve said anything to those two. They’d drag me to therapy.
“Look, Smurfette,” Ashton loves giving ridiculous nicknames. Since I dyed a few strands of my blonde hair blue, I became a Smurf. As she has red hair, I gave her a new nickname as well.
“Yes, Azrael?” It’s the mean orange cat in the Smurfs. I smirk, knowing she hates it. Ashton grunts to prove me right.
“All we’re saying is that you’re maybe pushing your luck a little too far. I know you love cars, you love driving and living on the edge, but racing cars is a little dangerous.”
“More dangerous than giving your life for your country on a mission gone wrong?”
Quinn and Ashton look at me with sadness in their eyes. Yeah, I’m playing the dead fiancé card. I’m not a widow per se, we weren’t married.
A fact King’s mother reminded me of over and over.
She always disapproved of me and our relationship, so when the time came to help each other through the burden that was King’s passing. She shut me out and made me feel like the dirty piece of gum under her shoe.
Which I was.
He hadn’t even told her we were engaged.
I swallow the ball of anger and disappointment I still feel about the way I was treated after his death and breathe in.
“Of course not. But we’re highly trained for that, and we don’t do it for the thrill,” Quinn says more softly than before.
“Right…” I want to call bullshit, but we had this fight so many times, I prefer to back down. We don’t see eye to eye on the subject.
If I knew I was with someone that could die, if I knew the risks he took and why he took them, in hindsight, I came to realize that I was maybe lying to myself thinking I was strong enough to shoulder it. If his death has taught me anything, it’s that life is too short to cry over people and get trapped in a relationship. Move on. Live your life to the fullest. Embrace who you really are.
“Maybe you could talk with Mark again about working for them as a receptionist?” I look at Ashton with daggers in my eyes.
Glorified babysitting. That’s what this is.
Because I know how to pick up a phone, Ashton and Quinn want me to work at Cole Security Forces, so Mark and the guys can keep an eye on me at all times.
Our friend Natalie works there too. She went through agony when her husband disappeared. So talking to her should help. Doesn’t matter that the guy came back and was PTSD as fuck. Doesn’t matter she fell in love with someone else and now lives happily ever after.
They all tell me she can relate.
But can she?
“If I work for Mark, it won’t be to answer a damned phone… Now, if it’s for you two to be up my ass, I have better places to be. I was telling you guys just to let you know why I wouldn’t be around much over the next month or so, not for me to get a stupid lecture on my way of life. But thank you, I feel so much better knowing you got my back.” I pass them and make my way to the door.
I was never close with my family, so if I were to lose my closest friends, it would be hard, but I’d never stand in the way of someone rejecting who I am or how I live my life.
“Tessa, don’t…” I shake my head for them to stop speaking. I understand their worries. I understand Quinn made a promise he needs to uphold. I understand we became friends more because of circumstances than by choice. But I can’t have them telling me that I need help, that I need to talk to someone, that I need to calm down. Not again. Not ever, again.
Driving away, I’m not surprised to get a call from Mark. Of course, Ashton called him to talk about my new endeavors. Of course, he decided to call me.
“Murdock,” he says when I pick up. Again with that stupid Marvel nickname.
“What do you want, Dixon? I’m letting you know I’m not in the mood for yet another lecture about racing cars.”
“Oh, I know. I’m not calling for that. In fact, I need a favor.” As suspicious as I am of Mark and his intentions, I’m curious how I could help him.
“I’m listening.”
“A very good friend of mine is arriving in town tomorrow. Quite a sad story. His fiancée died in a car accident five years ago. Because you’re not interested in men, and it seems he’s taking to bed anything with a pulse, I thought you two could meet.”
“And share stories of dead fiancés?” I deadpan. Why the heck would I take care of a lost manwhore?
“Not really. He’s coming because we need him for a job, but from what I’ve heard, he doesn’t drive anymore since his girl died. Guilt and some unresolved shit that I hope I can help him get through. Anyhow, I thought maybe you could be his driver. We’ll pay you, of course.”
“What does he do now, and where does he live to be able to live without driving?”
“New York. Where else can you live without a car? And he owns a bar there. But he’s a former SEAL and former consultant for us.”
“Will I be able to help him?”
“As soon as you pass the psych eval, maybe. You’ll have to wait for him anyway, wherever he goes and whatever he does. Sometimes it might just be to drive him to the office, other times maybe something more exciting.”
Mark is dangling a carrot in front of me, and I can’t resist. He knows it. I know it. And I let him win.
“Okay… When does this start?” I mumble still reluctantly for the sport of it. I won’t show Mark how excited I am to finally be considered for a job at Cole Security Forces for something other than answering the phone. Not an office job but something where I still have my freedom and make more money to pursue my hobbies. That’s a good deal.
“Come tomorrow first thing in the morning, and we’ll fill in some papers and speak with the psychologist. If he clears you, you can start the next day. I’m going to get Oliver settled and catch up with him on his first day. Haven’t seen him in five years.”
“Oh, Mark is missing his friend… That’s cute, Dixon.”
“Shut up, Murdock, or I’ll fire you even before you’re hired.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Better. I’ll see you tomorrow, Tessa.”
“Mark?”
“Yes?”
“Thank Ashton for talking to you, and thank you for the opportunity.”
“No problem, Murdock. Whatever others think, you’re family, and we always take care of family.”
Hearing Mark say that almost brings tears into my eyes. Quickly, I ward off my tears and cough not to have my voice crack when I say goodbye.
Once home, I try to find any information about the guy Mark wants me to drive around.
More out of boredom than curiosity.
Or maybe I’m a little curious.
We all know each other pretty well around here, but I’ve never heard of someone losin
g his fiancée to a car accident. Checking the local newspaper, I find a small article—not much more than ten lines—on a car accident on the interstate, but no names were revealed.
I try my luck with the bar in New York.
I don’t know much.
Oliver. NYC bar owner. Former SEAL.
Nothing. Google sucks sometimes.
After three pages of searches not giving me what I’m looking for, I close the window and go back to videos of cars racing.
But I don’t know why the guy doesn’t leave my mind.
Maybe it’s the dead fiancé we have in common or the fact he doesn’t drive after a car accident, but something draws me to him. In a way, I can’t wait to meet him.
I feel something is in the air.
Not like hope, more like an inevitable instance born to happen, and excitement I feel from head to toes, as if he could give me the last shot of adrenaline I need to subsist.
And that hasn’t happened in a very long time.
Chapter Three
OLIVER
As usual, I don’t acknowledge the fact that I’m packing for the third time and verifying, once again, that I have everything I need for my upcoming trip.
I pretend I’m not doing it.
The same way I pretend I’m not locking the door a few times every time I need to or checking the stoves are off a half-dozen times after I use it.
I don’t derive any sense of pleasure from performing these behaviors when I feel I don’t have any control in my life, so I try to ignore them.
Everyone checks on things to find peace when their anxiety is high. I’m just another statistic, and in such short notice, it’s normal I validate that my suitcase has all I need. Better safe than sorry. I can’t harm anyone else I love.
Being prepared is the only way to avoid death.
No one else can die on my watch.
If death would come knocking on my door tomorrow, I’ll be better equipped to fight it than last time.
I won’t let it win.
I’ll have everything ready and checked to survive, for my loved ones to survive. I close my eyes to chase the dark thoughts away. Thinking about people dying is not a way to live. I promised myself I’d stop once Aito was born. And I did. Mostly. I sigh and walk to the kitchen to go over the list I put up on the fridge.
Give Peter all the access codes to the bar and go over the list of what has to be done. Check.
He’s my main guy on the floor and has helped a lot since Aito’s birth. He should be able to manage the bar without me around. I cross this point off the list, but underneath I write to call him daily to check on things.
Turn off the water and all necessities and unplug any electronics. Check.
Several times. No issue there.
Pack. Check.
Three times. Maybe a fourth one if Jackson is late. I’ve packed light as if I was going on a mission. I know I can buy anything I need there. But I can’t replace the few things I never leave behind. An old picture of Elaine I never look at. The keychain Anna got me when I became a dad, but I never put it on my set of keys in case I lose them. The watch Naomi got me as a token of appreciation for giving her a son. Those three things are secure in my jacket, close to my heart.
I continue the perusal of my checklist.
Give Naomi everything she would need for Aito. Check.
Even if we have two or sometimes more of everything. I made sure he had his favorite stuffy and pajamas. He always sleeps through the night when he wears this one, it has little cars on it. I bought them at The Gap, I believe. I had to buy two. I go into his bedroom to be sure I haven’t forgotten the damned pajamas in his drawer. Never mind, I dropped him to Naomi’s last night and already confirmed I didn’t forget it a good amount of times. I need him to sleep to be healthy. But before opening the drawer, I need to go through a few things. I always do the same when I’m in his room.
Look into the crib—even if he’s not there.
Be sure the windows are closed—even if they don’t open.
Set the thermostat at seventy-two—even if I never change it.
Only then I can look in the drawer if I’ve given the mother of my child the miraculous pajamas. I wince at my compulsion to check the windows once more before going back to the kitchen. If I don’t acknowledge it, it’s not there. I’m about to leave the room without doing it, but the what-if is niggling at the back of my mind. Just once more. I turn around and retrace my steps. The window is still sealed closed. Aito is safe. We’re safe.
I walk around the apartment once more to be sure everything is closed or turned off, water tap, windows, oven, stove, lights, and when the doorbell announces Jackson’s arrival, I put a big smile on my face, swallow all my insecurities, take a big breath in and go meet him downstairs.
Doesn’t matter I have checked my luggage once more just to be sure.
Doesn’t matter that I’ve lost a couple of minutes locking the door several times.
Doesn’t matter I have the feeling I forgot to check on something, and it will nag at me until I return. The show must go on. Jackson can’t know before Mark what I’ve really become. If I don’t acknowledge it, it isn’t for other people to do so.
“Jackson!” I say too happily for my feelings to be true.
I’m dreading the trip to Virginia, and he knows it.
But I’m still glad to spend some time with old friends. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I’m a firm believer that if you repeat the same things over and over, you’ll believe it in the end. It’s reverse self-deprecation. If it works to tell yourself you’re stupid and believe it, why wouldn’t you repeat you’re amazing, fine, or happy and believe so as well.
So I’m happy to go to Virginia.
I thought all night about it, and I’m glad. Very glad.
“It took you long enough to come down. Everything alright?”
I look at my watch.
All my little rituals took me ten minutes.
I might need to cut it shorter if my anxiety continues to peak high.
Anna doesn’t see those things. Living with a moody rock star, lateness is now her way of life.
“Sorry, had to check on something for Aito. I wasn’t sure I'd given everything his mother needs.”
My son has become my perfect excuse.
Every time I’m running late, I blame him. It’s shitty, but necessary. A change of explosive diapers, a nap I couldn’t disturb, something I forgot for the diaper bag. I use him for all my quirks, and no one ever raises an eyebrow. Who would get mad at you because you’re a good dad?
“Everything alright?” Jackson repeats while assessing me from head to toe. I keep my emotions in check. No fidgeting. No nervousness. I’m fine. I’m normal. I’m a usual, okay guy. Everything is going to be alright.
“Yes, of course. I’m not going to lie, it’s going to be a hard trip”—unbearably hard—”but I’m happy to see Mark again and spend some time with him.”
“Uh huh,” Jackson says, opening the door of the car waiting for us and sliding in. I need to get into character and fast. Those guys went through the same training as me, and they can smell bullshit from far away. I know I could too before my brain got confused with checking for safety. I hope I still can, to help Mark with whatever he needs.
I get in behind Jackson and rest my bag at my feet. I would have preferred to put it in the trunk for safety, but I won’t say anything. I nudge it in between my feet so it can’t fly around in case of an accident. “You’re okay, though?” It takes me a couple of seconds to realize what Jackson is implying.
The car.
My hate for driving and being in anything on four wheels.
The “accident.”
If only he knew.
If only anyone knew.
“I’m fine.” Is all I say before retreating to my thoughts. I planned every aspect of the trip. I couldn’t not. And my first step is to let go. Opening my wallet, I take the pill I’ve secured in a p
lastic bag and pop it in my mouth with some water from the bottle I always carry around. It will take one hour to work its magic, and I can count on New York traffic to be on my side. It will just relax me before I can sleep on the plane and wake up another man in Virginia.
That’s what I hope every night when I go to sleep. To wake up someone else. Somewhere else. With Elaine by my side.
“So, what’s up with you?” I ask my friend, pretending I’m somewhat interested in what he has become. If I were, I would have come to his wedding or sent a gift when he became a dad. I never found it in me to keep in touch. That life was over the moment Elaine died.
“A much less interesting life than yours. Married, but you know that. Kids, but you know that. A job I love, but you know that. Now, if you want to tell me how the best guy at unmasking impostors became a single father and owner of a bar where celebrities hang out, I’m all ears.”
The Darling Devils.
The bane and the saviors of my existence.
The biggest rock band for the last twenty-five years. People I now call family when before my family was my unit, those guys, and everything we believed in. Remembering we used to have each other’s back, I tell him the story everyone knows if you’ve read anything about the band in the last three years or so.
How my sister met the lead singer of the band in a hotel bar in Montreal. How her assistant started something with the drummer of the same group. About my relationship with that girl and our friendship with benefits for years. All the ups, all the downs, all that made my life more complicated, more enjoyable, less like drowning. By the time we’re on the plane, I’m sleepy and glad I don’t have to make conversation while flying. We caught up enough for us to ignore each other for the hour and fifteen minutes of the flight duration.
