Chapter 21

Still reelingfrom seeing Molly and Torch together, I take Remy up on his offer to move into his basement apartment. At least this way, I’ll get to see her whenever she comes home.

Of course, if she’s still “dating” Torch, seeing them together might make my brains melt and leak out of my ears from the exertion of not murdering him.

It takes less than four hours for Remy, Vapor, Eraser, and me to move what little I have. The next day, I’m sorting through boxes when I find the burner phone I took to the show with me.

Everything was so fucked up, I never bothered to turn it on after Jordan gave it back to me.

I plug it in and wait for it to have a decent charge before turning it on. My short text exchange with Molly has been wiped clean, except for one final text from her.

M: Don’t worry. He’s all yours.

“What the fuck?” I mutter. Who—no, what was she responding to?

That slimy fucking show. It was bad enough that they found and confiscated the only way I had to communicate with Molly. They had to stir up more trouble by sending her fuck only knows what kind of text?

He’s all yours. She wasn’t responding to me.

“Fuck!” I throw the phone back in the box. I can’t even ask her about it. Who knows when the fuck she’ll be home again. And I still can’t fucking call her.

I need to get out of the house. See if I still have a job. Although I still feel and look like shit, I need to see Molly’s car and assess the damage.

But first I need to apologize to my boss for all the trouble I’ve caused him.

I step out of my car and squint at the sky. Another beautiful fall day. It’s so good to be home.

The parking lot’s quieter than I’d expect midweek. Maybe that’s for the best. I don’t need to draw attention to myself.

I swing the front door open, the bell dinging its familiar greeting. Jerry’s behind the counter and glances up.

A welcoming smile spreads across his face. “If it isn’t the best damn fighter in the country.” He steps out from behind the counter and holds out his hand.

“I don’t know about that.” I shake his hand quickly. “How’s it going?” Do I still have a job?

“Lil’ slow,” he says, never one to sugarcoat anything. “But nothin’ I’m worried about, yet. Good to see you.” He narrows his eyes on my forehead. “You all right?”

“This?” I graze my fingertips against the side of my head. “It was worse.”

“Jesus. You look like you went to war.”

“I guess I did.” I run my hand over the top of my head. “I’m not quite a hundred percent to come back?—”

He gives me a slow once-over. “Obviously.”

“But I wanted to apologize?—”

“Get outta here.” Jerry waves a big, oil-stained hand in my face. “Apologize to me for what?”

“Uh, the inconvenience of being gone so long? Having the cops here about Molly’s car.” I hold out my hands. “Pick one.”

“Eh.” He shrugs that off too. “Gave the locals something to do.”

More like gave the cops something to gossip about. One of the local sheriffs actually fights at The Castle some weekends. Christ, I hope Brady wasn’t one of the ones who came here. He’ll be busting my balls all damn night next time I see him.

“You sort things out with her?” he asks in a stern, fatherly tone.

“Not yet.”

His face scrunches into a disapproving scowl. Jerry’s obvious displeasure needles me unlike anyone else’s. I’ve worked for him for a couple of years and have a lot of respect for him. Otherwise, I wouldn’t bother trying to explain myself.

“It was a lie,” I say. “The show made up a lot of stuff.”

He blows out a thoughtful breath. “It’s nonna my business, Griff. What you do on your time is all you.” He shrugs. “But she’s a sweet girl.” He waves a hand out toward the garage. “Came here and apologized for the inconvenience she caused me. Her brother didn’t make her do it, either. She came all by herself.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. That must’ve been hard for Molly. Embarrassing as hell. But it definitely sounds like something my girl would do. “I’m not surprised.”

He grunts at me. “Honestly, didn’t think you’d be coming back. Since you’re a big star and all.”

Cold fear seizes my stomach. Is he going to let me go? I wouldn’t blame him after being gone for so many months. Am I kidding myself that I’ll ever be able to go back to a normal job? A normal life?

“Of course I’m back,” I answer. “That was always my plan.”

He nods slowly.

“I’ll understand if you don’t have room for me now. I never thought I’d be there the whole time.” I touch my cheek. “And I came back in rough shape.”

“You’re still in rough shape.” He runs his disapproving gaze up and down me again. “Look like someone went at you with a bat.”

“Just some fists.”

“Of course I’ve always got room for you, Griff.” He clucks his tongue. “Can’t find guys who work as hard as you do and are actually good at the job.”

“Thanks.” Shit, I really don’t want to ask him for more time off but the longer I wait, the worse it’ll be. “Uh, I may still need a few more days off. I have to go back to film a reunion show.”

The Vegas fight isn’t anywhere near a sure thing, yet. So, I’ll keep that to myself for now.

“I figured.” He shrugs. “Just let me know when. Thinking of spending my winter in Florida if you think you can handle things around here?”

“Me?” My eyes widen. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“All right. We’ll talk when it’s time. I haven’t decided yet. Looks like you need to spend some time recovering anyway.” He waves a hand at me. “Go have a look at the car.”

I nod at him and exit through the front door, circling around the building to avoid the open garage doors. No reason to talk to anyone else now. The back lot’s clear and I make a beeline for the building where I stored Molly’s car.

I unlock the door and roll it up. Weak sunlight spilling in from the open door illuminates the space. Remy and Eraser cleaned what they could. No glass crunches under my feet. The garage floor’s spotless.

A cardboard box sits on the floor. I squat down and carefully pick through the contents. The casing of the side mirrors Molly and I installed right before I left. The glass is long gone. A door handle. A metal piece from a headlight.

I turn and look at the car. Fuck. The passenger window’s gone. The images from the episode replay in my head. Just as I bet they did for Molly each time she smashed the bat into the car. Door dented. A small crack in the windshield. Both headlights gone. Anger at the show’s producers for engineering such a stupid “plotline” for the show boils my blood. For what? Ratings? Molly was the only one who was going to be hurt by that. She was innocent—why do it? So much pain caused for no fucking reason.

I continue circling the car. Back windows are intact. Actually, nothing from beyond the front doors has been touched.

All right. Okay. I can work with this. It’s not too bad. Better than I expected, honestly.

Shit. The damage was probably contained to the front of the car because Molly hurt herself smashing it up. Going at the car with the aluminum bat probably seemed like a good idea, right until she hit something solid with it. Didn’t Remy say she hurt her arms or got scratched? She’s lucky glass didn’t get her in the eye or face.

I make a list of the parts I’ll need to order. Glass will be a bitch. That’ll take the longest to get my hands on. But there’s a good chance I can have it ready to give to Molly for Christmas.

Wait.Should I even bother giving her the car again? What if every time she looks at it, she’s reminded of “seeing” me “cheat” on her? What if it brings up all those awful feelings? I don’t want to give her something that makes her unhappy every time she sees it. Besides, Remy said he ended up buying her a car for school. Something small with all-wheel drive. She doesn’t need this anymore.

I glance at the Malibu again. Do I want to work on it, if it’s not for Molly? Even with the damage she did, it’s in better shape than when I bought it. If I want to turn a profit, though, I should fix it. Or maybe I’ll sell my car. I can put both of them up like some two-for-one sale.

It’s just a car. Molly and I will own dozens of them over our lifetime.

But it still feels like one more thing the show stole from us.