Wing Jones(75)

Out of the corner of my eye I see a bouncer jogging over. Good.

Jasper the asshole blinks at me and doesn’t move, but his friends do. They bring Aaron over and I unlock the doors and they slide him into the backseat, putting him on his side. Aaron moans but doesn’t make a fuss. They curl his knees up so that they can shut the door. And then they stand there, staring at me, eyes wide, like baby birds waiting for something from their mama.

I sigh. The bouncer is almost here and I’d rather not have to talk to him, although I’m hoping he saw Jasper waving his gun around. Even though they don’t deserve any help from me … I don’t want them driving either. “Do y’all need a ride somewhere?”

“No,” says the one closest to me. “We’re gonna go back inside. We were just waiting for you to come get Aaron.” The guy stares at me with a drunken solemnness. “Because you’re his girl.”





CHAPTER 53


I can’t take Aaron home. Not like this. I start driving, not even sure where I’m going, trying to listen for his breathing so I know he hasn’t gone and died on me. I drive until I find myself near Piedmont Park, and I manage to parallel park right on the street, which is a minor miracle in itself. I turn in my seat and reach back and jostle Aaron, a little less gently than I could.

“Aaron. Aaron. Wake up.”

His eyes flutter open, and then when he sees me, I swear they light up. Even with the fog of booze and who-knows-what-else, his eyes light up when they land on my face.

“Wing!” he says, and I start to wonder if he’s going to say anything other than my name for the rest of the night. Then he scrunches his face up and holds his stomach. “I’m gonna be sick,” he says, and I get out and open the door just in time.

“Not in my mama’s car,” I say as he leans out and throws up on the sidewalk. Not sure if it’s the right thing to do, I rub his neck and back while he pukes his guts out. When there’s nothing coming up but sounds and air, I go back to the front seat and grab a half-empty water bottle.

“Sit up,” I say, and he blinks and slowly pulls himself upright. I tilt the water into his mouth. A good bit dribbles out the side of his mouth and down his chin, but I think he’s swallowing some of it and that’s all I can ask.

I hold the bottle to his lips until it’s empty. Then I tug on his arms. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go for a walk.”

I know that Piedmont Park isn’t the safest of places at night, but I think Aaron needs the air. Anyway, I can outrun almost anyone if I need to. This knowledge makes me feel safe and strong until I loop Aaron’s arm around my shoulders and my body buckles under his weight. So much for being able to outrun anyone.

But the park is empty. Or appears to be. I’m sure there’s a bum or two or five sleeping in the bushes, but nobody bothers us as we make our slow, staggering way along the sidewalk.

It’s a cool night; I’m glad I’m wearing my fleece. The dogwoods are in full bloom, and as we pass under one, the wind blows, scattering blossoms around us. A few petals land on my shoulder and in my hair.

We don’t talk. Not because I don’t want to – I want to talk so badly. I want to tell him how training is going and that I’m so stressed about getting the Riveo Girl contract and that it’s making me sick but I can’t stop training, can’t slow down, not when I think I really have a shot at it. I want to tell him I don’t remember how to run for me anymore. How it used to be.

And I want to shout at him for being out at Clermont Lounge. I want to ask him what the hell he was doing with Jasper. Is it my fault he’s out with him, making bad decisions? Is it because of how far I’ve pushed him away? But Aaron’s making me make bad decisions too, coming out late like this, driving when I shouldn’t be. This is why I pushed him away in the first place, because I started to worry that maybe he was bad for me, because when I’m with him he’s all that matters and I don’t care about anything but him and I’d do anything for him and I want to tell him he makes me fearless, and stronger and weaker all at the same time. And I miss him and dream of him and when I run I imagine him next to me, or behind me, or waiting for me at the finish line, cheering me on.

I want to tell him that I love him.

There’s so much I want to tell him but I don’t say a word. Partly because I’m waiting for him to speak first, because I’m a stubborn fool like that, and partly because I’m pretty sure he won’t remember it tomorrow.

When he finally does speak, I’m not expecting it. Even though his mouth is right next to my ear, his words are so quiet that at first I don’t realize he’s talking at all.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says, and there’s a sadness in his voice underneath the drunken slur, and that sadness cuts into me like a spear into a fish, it goes all the way through and out the other side, leaving me gasping for air.

“Of course I came,” I say, stopping and turning so I can see his face. His beautiful face. “I’ll always come.”

“Then where ya been, Wing? Where ya been?” He’s swaying, so I guide us to a bench under one of the dogwood trees and sit him down and then slide in next to him, as close as I dare, and not nearly as close as I want to be.

“Aaron,” I say softly. “What happened tonight?” I’m not expecting a coherent answer, but I’m curious what he’ll say.