Spinning Out

Chapter 8

ELIJAH

We're about ten minutes from the exit. She's been asleep beside me for most of the ride. I don't want to wake her, she looks exhausted. I've turned down the music so it's just background noise to the sound of the road as we grow closer and closer to when I'll have to say goodbye.

I wonder if the boy on the phone is her boyfriend. It would be my luck. This year has gone to shit really quick. The cast on my arm is a reminder of how I can never seem to get ahead of the wave that constantly crashes into my life. The last thirty minutes my brain has been trying to focus on how to solve the Bryant problem, but it keeps drifting to the mystery of the girl in the passenger seat. We are essentially strangers, yet this whole ride has felt like the end of a long road trip. I'm comfortable with her.

Ok think.

A glance of the dashboard clock tells me it's close to eleven now. The night was fleeting and now it's almost come to an end. The problem is, my friend needs help. He doesn't want it, but he needs it. I glance out the side window, watching the lights of the cars on the opposite side of the freeway. It's the way I need to go to drive out to him and drag his sorry ass home. I could do it. If I leave by midnight I could be there in two hours. If I don't get stopped by the police, that is.

The problem I can't seem to solve is what I would do once—no if—I brought him home. Is it time to go to his parents? Is it time to go to mine? It still doesn't feel right. It feels like such a betrayal of our friendship to spill his issues at the feet of adults that don't understand him. He's shared a lot with me—just as I have with him—that I wouldn't want shared. Add to that, it is clearly the darkest time in his life, and making any sudden moves feels like a huge step I can't make. But something has to be done.

Our exit is off in the distance. Two miles until I need her directions.

"Jaina," I say softly. I don't want to startle her after what I saw earlier.

She stirs. At first a look of confusion plays out across her face. Then it seems like she remembers. She reaches for her phone and quickly unlocks the screen. What she was looking for doesn't seem to be there. Maybe a message from her boyfriend? Her parents?

"How long was I asleep?" she asks. Her voice is gruff from her nap.

I wish I could tell her to rest again, But I have no idea where I'm going. "Maybe a half hour. Sorry to wake you. I don't know where you live."

"Oh," she answers, "just drive to your place and I'll go home from there."

I love that she's trying to help me, but I don't want her to drive when she's tired. There's been enough turmoil in my life. I'll protect the people I can.

"I'll drive you home. I can get an Uber or something from there. Don't worry about it, I assure her. I point to the exit so she can confirm we are getting off at the right place.

Jaina nods. "Turn left off the freeway."

I expect her to still be sleepy, but the quick jolt to read her messages has her looking more aware and awake. I'm so curious about her situation, but I don't ask.

She guides me the rest of the way to her house. A single-family home with the porch light on. The light from the front room helps light up the walkway. Someone is waiting up to make sure she gets home safely. I park at the curb and shut the Jeep off.

"Thanks for taking me home," she says.

"You're welcome," I reply.

"It was nice meeting you Elijah....?" The long pause and questioning look cue me in that she'd like my last name.

"Meyer," I tell her. "It was nice to run into you again."

She grabs her phone, stacking the two on top of each other. It's so interesting to me that she has the second one. Maybe he forgot it in her car, or maybe he's the person she was visiting at the hospital. That would be tragic, really.

I get out and then go around and open her door for her. I hadn't noticed the bruising on her forehead before, but under the bright illumination of the dome light, I can see that she's been through something. What a pair we are.

"Goodnight, Jaina," I say as I hand her the keys.

"Goodnight," she replies.

Maybe it's me, but I get the feeling we are both trying to find words to prolong this goodbye.

Say it. Ask if you can keep in touch. Offer to teach her what she wants to know.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Her eyes watch as I retrieve it to check. Normally I'd love to give the person I'm with my full attention, but a text thread from Bryant feels like an out of control train running full steam into the station. I can't do much to stop it, but maybe I can do something to minimize the damage.

When I look up from his message, I see that she's made her way up the walk and to her porch. I watch to make sure she gets in safely. Once she opens the door, she turns around and waves to me. The last imagine I will see of her is her silhouette in the doorway. It breaks my heart a little. Any other time I might have the bandwidth to figure out how to keep up with her—even if it's just as friends.

Fucking Bryant. That selfish ass.

She closes the door and the light from the front room goes out. At least I did something right this time. I got her home safe.

I turn and begin my walk home. I could easily call an Uber, but I need some time to think. I need a plan. I also need to ward off the need to get in my mustang and drive out to get Bryant tonight. His problem isn't one that was created in a night—it certainly isn't one that can be fixed that quickly either.

The air is still warm as I walk. Bryant's messages still unanswered in my pocket. I know where this is going—I just keep praying there's another way.