CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN DASH

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

DASH

I wake up with a pounding headache and a sore body. I groan as I roll over, giving my back to the bright light assaulting my sensitive eyes. Pounding. I lift my hands to my head and grip it tightly trying to quiet the pounding in my ears. "Shit," I hiss as a sharp object digs into my side. I shift and reach to grab it when I feel the coldness of a longneck bottle. Without even opening my eyes, which feel like they are about to pop out of my head, I lift the bottle, unscrew the lid, and take a swig out of it.

My dumb ass almost chokes on it, considering I'm still lying down, so most of it dribbles down the side of my face when I cough it up. "Son...of a…bitch," I try to say through another cough. I put the cap back on it and throw it to the end of the bed before I kick it completely off and onto the floor.

Then I pull my knees up to my chest and cuddle up to them as if I'm an infant. I got my ass handed to me last night just like I knew I would. At one point, I found myself running to the guest bathroom in the hallway. I fell to my knees and hugged the toilet for a good thirty minutes. When I finally got my legs to work, I walked out with squinted eyes. The room spun, and I couldn't seem to stand up straight. I'm pretty sure I saw Jake kissing the redhead in the hallway who was with the blond guy in the kitchen. And Blake was lying face down passed out on the countertop in the kitchen with a bottle of Fireball in one hand and a Corona, his chaser, in the other. It was then when I found myself reaching for his bottle that I knew I needed to give in to defeat. I had lost. I was considerably fucking drunk and alone. So I dragged myself to bed with my tail tucked between my legs like a good little lap dog and passed the fuck out.

That had to have been only a couple of hours ago. I yawn and close my eyes tightly, allowing my body to fall asleep because this is all I plan to do today. I plan to sleep off everything that I drank last night. I just get back to sleep when I hear my bedroom door open and then a loud banging sound as it hits the wall.

"What the fuck…?" I growl as I sit up in bed and open my heavy eyes. The room sways, and I close my eyes for a few seconds to get my bearings straight. I see Blake run into my room. "Get the fuck out, dude. It's too early." God, even my words sound slurred. I reach up and rub some drool from my chin.

He grabs the remote off my nightstand and then plops down on the end of my bed as he turns my TV on. He seems to be moving pretty damn well for a man who was passed out on my parents' countertop just hours ago. I sigh as I fall back down on my bed and place my pillow over my head. He was always that way. He could drink as much as he wanted and still make it to class or work the following morning. Me, not so much.

"What the fuck are you two doing in here?" I hear Jake's voice ask as he enters as well.

"I'm trying to sleep. Go away. Both of you," I mumble. I lick my lips just to see if they're still attached. They feel numb.

I hear Blake flip through the channels and then I hear a woman's voice… "The incident happened sometime last night…Mr. Knight of Knight Racing…Daughter…Tabatha…."

I sit up quickly and throw the pillow to the floor. "What the fuck is she saying?" I demand as I blink to try to get my hazy eyes to focus.

"Didn't you go see Tabatha last night?" Blake demands as he turns to face me.

"Yeah…" My dry throat makes my voice squeak, and I wish I hadn't thrown that bottle off my bed.

"See who?" Jake asks curious as he plops down beside me.

"She fucked him up. There was footage of him being taken out on a stretcher," Blake says in surprise.

"Who? What are you talking about?" I ask, confused as shit. Am I dreaming this? I always have crazy dreams when I drink. I motion for the bottle on the floor like a child who reaches out for a bottle of milk. Jake reaches down and hands it to me without question. I pop the top and take another swig.

"Rodger," he says, and my eyes widen. "He and Tabatha both went to the hospital…"

I frantically start to feel the covers around me as I look for my phone. I have to have one, right?

"What are you looking for?" Jake asks.

"Phone…" Before I can say another word, he throws it in front of me. My eyes are blurry, and it's hard to read what the tiny screen says. I somehow am able to get to the brightness, and I reduce it for my eyes to read it better. When my eyes focus, I see that I have twenty missed calls from Mr. Knight. "Fuck!" I jump out of bed and wobble on legs that feel like jelly as I grab my pants off the floor.

"Where are you going?" Jake asks. "I'm so confused," he admits calmly, and I ignore him.

My fingers frantically work to call Mr. Knight back. I'm in the process of placing my shirt on backward when he answers.

"Dash," he growls. "Meet me at the police station."

"Sir…?" I need water. My tongue feels like sandpaper. "I just…Sorry…"

"Get your ass together," he demands, and I straighten my back as if he can see me, although it doesn't help my limp legs.

"I…"

He doesn't allow me to explain. He can tell I'm fucked. "Rodger admitted to cutting your brakes. The cops need your statement of the incident." What the fuck is happening?

"Tabatha…?" I remember the news mentioning her.

"She's gonna be okay," he says, and I let out a deep breath. "Now get up here to the station." Click.

"Drive me to the station," I order Blake. I don't know what is happening, but she's gonna be okay. That's what is most important.

"Who the fuck is Tabatha?" Jake asks, getting concerned now. "And why are you going to the police station?"

"Why can't you drive?" Blake asks, ignoring his older brother, as he follows me out the bedroom door.

"Because I've already had two shots of whiskey this morning. And I was still drunk when I woke up; I really don't wanna get arrested today."

***

I walk into the police station not feeling any better. The coffee that Blake stopped and made me drink has not helped my drunkenness, although I do feel like I'm on speed. My hands are jittery, but at least my legs are working. I just wanna find out what in the hell is happening and then go to bed. I plan to stay under my covers for a few days. Of course, Jake had to come along with us. He's as nosy as a chick. I approach a police officer to ask where I need to go when I see the back of Mr. Knight's head. My palms start to sweat when I see that Tabatha is sitting next to him. I didn't think she would be here. Why is she here? He said she was fine. "Come on, man," Blake say giving me a reassuring pat on the back.

I walk toward them and Mr. Knight looks over his shoulder at me. "Dash," he says in welcoming, and I look over just in time to see her body tense from him saying my name.

"Hello, sir," I say and have to clear my throat. God, this is hard. Hard to see her. Hard to be so near her. I hate that I care so much for her. Did he hurt her? If so, how bad?

Mr. Knight stands and places his hands on my shoulders as his black eyes stare down at me. "You look like shit, kid," he whispers, and he starts to straighten my shirt. The same shirt that I partied in last night. The same shirt that I wore as I laid on the bathroom floor after puking up the red shit known as Fireball. I can still taste it in my mouth, and it makes me wanna vomit again. Don't puke on your boss!

Instead, I straighten my back and try to pull myself together. "I apologize. I didn't expect to be speaking to the police this morning," I say through gritted teeth.

He releases me. "Come on." He doesn't even allow me to speak before he starts to pull me back to the front door I just came through. He all but shoves me outside, and I stumble to stand up straight.

"Good God, Erik. Have you even been to bed yet?" he asks judgingly.

I pinch my nose between my fingers as I try to squash this headache. Why is the fucking sun up? "It was a long night," I admit. "And I have no idea what is going on." I release the bridge of my nose and look up at him. "Why is Tabatha here? Why am I here?" I ask squinting my eyes. I need sunglasses. "I saw the news this morning. What happened to her? To Rodger?" With each word I say, I seem to sober up a little. My mind seems to be understanding that this is real life. That some horrible shit went down last night and I'm not gonna like what happened.

"Rodger admitted to cutting your brakes."

His words make me think I'm not sobering at all.

"No. That can't be," I say holding my hand up to him. "Valerie admitted it to me last night at my party." I point a finger at him. "The party you told me to throw in order to get information. And I got exactly what you wanted." My voice starts to rise. "She admitted to fucking with my bike." And I almost fucked her.

"I'm sure she was the one who did it, but she was not the mastermind behind it."

"Why the fuck would Rodger care about my bike?" I ask confused.

"Tabatha." That one word has my anger rising.

"What are you saying?" My hands now tremble for a different reason. Fear. Fear for her. He tried to hurt me because of her. Would he hurt her because of me?

"I'll let her explain that to you," he answers.

I snort and his eyebrows pull together. "That won't happen," I say crossing my arms over my chest.

"Ah," he says after a few awkward seconds. "I see."

"You see what?" I demand.

"You two are fighting. That's why she wouldn't call you to come up here."

I want to yell at him. I want to tell him that because of that stupid party he made me throw that I lost the best thing that has ever happened to me. But he'll argue with that statement. He is my boss, after all. And as far as he knows, I'll risk anything to keep my job. Because that's exactly what I did. I threw a party and invited my ex-girlfriend because that's what my boss told me to do.

I realize what I've been doing wrong, and there's a simple answer. "I quit."