Page 22 of Her Sloth

Long after my sobs died, she finally speaks.

“You’re a good driver,” she says. “And as much as I hate to say it, thank you for saving my ass.”

“Who says I did it for you?” I say, staring into the distance.

“No one, but it was a tight call. So whyever you did it, thank you.”

I look at her.

She has a light-blueish swelling on her cheekbone.

“I got you, huh?” I ask.

“Not as bad as I got you,” she says dryly.

“Fair enough,” I say, because, yeah, the cut on my cheek, the blue eye, and the probably cracked nose are quite bad. Bad enough that my manager had a complete freak out.

We look at each other, and suddenly we both crack into a grin followed by a snigger. Painful, and yet, it’s a grin. A grin between all the tears and despair.

“You really got your ass served by me, didn’t you?” I ask playfully. “How does it feel to see the backlights of a car for the first time?”

“I was distracted,” she says. “Won’t happen again.”

“I’ll happily prove you wrong.”

“I know your move now,” she says. “Definitely won’t.”

“Hhhhhm,” I say. “Overconfidence and a big mouth, daring combination.”

She chuckles as she stands up.

“How about another race,” she says while she turns towards the water. “Quarter mile. That’s where real skill shows.”

I contemplate her. Governors Island and the ocean of lights called Manhattan behind her.

“Sure,” I say. “The moment I have the car back.”

“Where is it?”

“The Erie Basin Auto Pound, I have been told,” I say, reciting what the officer told me when I was released.

Cass laughs.

“Come,” she says.

“Where?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“We’re getting the Eleanor back,” she says, her mouth tugged into the hint of a smile.

A smile I mirror, because right this moment, for this infinitely small fracture of time, things aren’t as heavy as they were.

7

CASS

PLAYLIST: ME, MYSELF & I – G-EAZY, BEBE REXHA

“Get in,” I tell her and open the passenger door to the Hellcat that waited at the gate to the empty lot.