Forces of Nature

Home, Sweet Home

 "Fish was asking about you."

I gave Courtney a sly grin, laughing when she paused with a wonton halfway to her mouth to grimace at me. We were sprawled out over my bed, an old episode of 90210 playing on the TV bracketed to the wall. Our brunch consisted of Chinese takeout from the only place that opened before noon. I'd gone ahead and picked it up on my way back from Cambrook Mechanics, stopping by Courtney's to hijack her for an impromptu TV show marathon.

Three things I always fell back on in times of great stress: Food, my best friend, and binge watching my favourite shows. Of course, I was far too nervous to swallow a bite of food, but Courtney's running commentary on how outrageous the kids of Beverly Hills were was a great distraction.

An uneasiness had settled over me the moment I'd handed over that ring. Regret was already gnawing at my insides, and I alternated between panicking over how Tyson would react when I told him what I'd done, and a sense of rightness that convinced me giving it to Derek had been the best course of action.

Oh, God, he's going to kill me, my inner pessimist insisted.

Don't be silly, my other inner pessimist reassured. Tyson won't kill you, he'll only tell you how much he hates you, and then drop you like you're week old garbage.

What did it say about me that I'd prefer death?

My stomach churned violently as I checked the time on my phone. In less than two hours I'd be staring into those impossibly blue eyes and baring my soul. I'd tell Tyson I was a closet multi-millionaire and co-owner of one of the fastest expanding shipping companies in the country, that I was currently worth upwards of fifty million dollars, and oh, by the way, I may have bought back your mother's engagement ring and given it to Derek with no guarantees he wouldn't pawn it for extra drug money.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Why the hell would Fish be asking about me?" Courtney said now, her voice steering me away from the panic attack I was heading towards.

She said the word Fish like it tasted bad, and my smile was back full force. "He said you're his type."

This earned me a derisive snort. "Female is his type. I'm pretty sure so long as it breathes and is willing to get naked with him, he's not fussed."

"I don't think he's that bad. He seemed okay when he was showing me how to remove a cylinder head from an engine block," I said with a shrug.

Courtney blinked at me. "What does that mean in English?"

"No damn idea. My extensive knowledge of cars begins and ends with accelerator means go, brake means stop. But he was already looking at me like I was a particular brand of special, so I just nodded and made vague noises of understanding."

Laughing, Courtney popped the wonton in her mouth before picking up a box of hot and spicy noodles. "Why were you out there, anyway?"

I shrugged, even as my stomach shrivelled at the idea of lying to my best friend. God, I was doing a lot of that lately and I felt awful about it. But again, it just wasn't my story to tell. Maybe once I got everything straight with Tyson, I'd ask him if I could at least clear up all of the lies I'd been telling her.

"I could hear a rattling sound in my truck, and asked Camden if he could take a quick look at it."

"Oh, what did it turn out to be?"

I gave her a deadpan stare. "Accelerator means go, brake means stop."