I'll Stop the World (33)

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is and I’m it.”

“Give me your keys.”

“No.”

“Give them to me now.” She holds out her hand.

“No. You’re the one who wanted to come to this stupid bonfire, ’Loossa.” Loossa? Damn, I’m drunker than I thought. Short sentences it is. I examine each word carefully in my head before I let it escape my mouth. “Go. Have fun. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not going to let you do this.”

“Not your choice.”

“I’m calling Stan,” she says, pulling out her phone.

Before she can unlock her screen, I grab the phone out of her hand and hurl it into the darkness as hard as I can. Our gym teacher spent freshman year trying to convince me to join the baseball team, saying I had a pretty good arm on me, but eventually gave up when he realized I had no interest in team sports—or any other sports, for that matter. Now my untapped throwing talent rises to the occasion. The phone arcs high into the night sky, spinning over the last row of cars, and disappears.

“Are you serious?” Alyssa shrieks. She may as well shoot laser beams out of her eyes. I swear I smell something burning. “I cannot believe you did that,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Guess you’re gonna have to go look for it,” I say with a shrug.

She hesitates for a second, then goes stomping off after the phone. “Don’t you dare leave,” she calls over her shoulder, but I’m already unlocking the Mustang and slipping behind the wheel.

“Justin!” she yells, her voice swallowed by the growl of the engine as I turn my key in the ignition.

I pause for a moment and look up at her, running back toward me in the glow of the headlights, her phone forgotten. I roll forward, wheels bumping through the grass, as she bangs on my window. “Stop the car, Justin,” she yells, her voice muffled by the glass as she jogs to keep up. “Come on. At least let me drive.”

“Leave me alone, Alyssa,” I call to her. “I’m not your problem, okay? Go do what you want.”

She yells something else, but I don’t want to hear it. I crank the wheel and hit the gas, shooting out onto the driveway and leaving her behind.

Stan was right. I should never have come here.





Chapter Twenty


JUSTIN

I glance at my phone as the Mustang traces the winding road south, toward Wilson Bridge.

Come back. Don’t be stupid.

Too late, Alyssa. Crossed that line a while ago.

It’s started to rain, and the windshield begins to fog up. The defroster tries to turn on, but the fan is sluggish and barely any air drips from the vents. I lean forward to wipe away a circle of condensation with my hand, improving the nighttime visibility about as much as swapping out a blindfold for sunglasses.

My phone buzzes again. Please? We need to talk.

I sigh, wringing my hands around the steering wheel. I can’t believe I just left her there. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time—noble, even—but now it feels like yet another bad decision shoveled onto the steaming dung heap that is my life.

On the off chance I haven’t already screwed things up between us permanently, I should probably go back. Eventually, if I keep pulling crap like this, she’s going to decide I’m not worth the effort, and I’ll have lost the one thing in my life that’s actually decent.

I should apologize. As much as my life sucks, I can’t even imagine how much worse it would be without her.

I fumble at my phone, figuring I’ll call and tell her I’m on my way back, but the liquor has made me clumsy, and I drop the phone into the floorboards. Awesome.

I look down and spot the phone by my foot, and think of a story I heard once about a guy who had something roll under his brake pedal, making it impossible for him to stop the car. It crashed, he died, and it was all very tragic.

No thanks.

I’m on Wilson Bridge now, crossing high over Stone River, the only car traveling in either direction. I make sure the headlights are lined up straight, then bend down to grope for the phone. It takes longer than I expect to find it, but finally, my fingers close around it, and I straighten.

There’s something in the road.

At first, I think it’s a deer, but then I realize it’s a person—standing right in the path of my car, washed white by my headlights.

I don’t even have time to wonder what sort of idiot goes walking in the rain, on a bridge, in dark clothing, at night, before I slam on my brakes, my heart leaping into my throat. The car skids, spinning like a coin, the wheels slipping over the rain-slicked pavement.

I can’t remember what I’m supposed to do. Blood pounds in my ears, my chest clenching like a fist.

What am I supposed to do? Turn into the skid?

I yank the wheel, but nothing happens. The car is out of control. I have no idea which way I’m pointing, what’s happening, until the car slams to a stop with a sound like a thunderclap.

My shoulder and head smash into the door.

Lights explode behind my eyelids as pain blossoms between my ears. I feel like I just got run through a blender.

But the car has stopped moving, and I’m alive.

Relief washes through me. For the first time since I hit the brakes, I venture a breath, taking inventory of my body. Nothing hurts when I breathe in, which is a good sign, I think. My head aches, and I probably have a concussion, but nothing feels broken. All my limbs are present and accounted for. I don’t even think I’m bleeding.