Page 61 of Changing Lanes

Yeah, but…knowing it and admitting are not the same and I’d bet good money Angela wouldn’t come out and say some simp ass shit like that. Only my pussy whipped friend would.

He covers his mass of dark hair with his matching black helmet before lifting the visor to say, “Marc was right. You’ve got your head so far up your own ass, you don’t know which way is up. Here’s some advice though, wherever she is, that’s up.”

I raise my hand like I’m back in school. “Uh, for clarification purposes, who’s the she in this far-fetched, totally unbelievable scenario? Like which one exactly? Imma need you to clarify.”

It gets real quiet after that, neither of us talking, then just when I think he’s not going to answer, he says, “The one that makes you want to be better. Even if you have to reveal the worst version of yourself just so you have a shot at being the best version. For her.”

“Bro,” I shake my head, putting my own helmet on and making sure to open the visor as well even though this conversation officially drags, “you lost me at ‘the,’ okay?”

Thank fuck we have technicians trained in customer relations because Coty would make a shit salesperson. Whatever my man’s selling, I definitely ain’t buying. That sounds exhausting and not enjoyable in any way. People willingly sign up for that?

Hard pass.

“All I’m saying is make sure you’re ready, man, because when it happens, you’ll be in for the climb of your fucking life.”

Dude starts his bike, revving the engine a few times and I follow suit, wanting to be done already.

“What if I like where I am?”

His eyes meet mine over the roar of our machines.

“Do you?”

My stare moves to the land below one last time. Sounds simple enough. Do I like where I am? Theoretically? Yes. Sure. I have a job I’ve dreamed about since I mounted my first dirt bike, financial stability most people my age wish they had, friends that I trust, family I chose, a dope apartment I share with one of my brothers and a smoking hot roommate.

Realistically though? I don’t know. Lately it feels like I’m missing something. But what if that something was never really there for me to miss in the first place? What if I’m not set up for more? What if I’m not equipped to climb, as Coty put it? By no means am I afraid of hard work, but I’ve never had to exert myself for anyone else. I’ve always thought that by staying put, never moving forward or backward, the right person would find me when the time came. If they were looking.

We bump knuckles, saying our usual motto of “ride it” before pulling back onto the main road out of here. Ride life, don’t let it ride you. Is that what I’ve really been doing?

He pulls off toward his house shortly after, jerking a nod in my direction, then I head for the apartment.

With the sun at my back, the sky before me looks like a painting with purple giving way to pink as it blends into orange and Coty’s words stay with me no matter how hard I lay on the gas. What a load of shit suggesting I gotta climb. Climb where? If anything, women flock to me. He should know. He’s seen the evidence himself. Everyone has. That’s how I’ve always been. It’s simple logic, really. If I stay in one place, I’m easier to find.

But isn’t that what I’ve been doing with my mom all these years? Waiting for her to put in the work. Scared of what I’ll find should I actually put myself out there.

That’s not something you just get over. Especially not for that one person, whoever that may be.

Back at Creekwood, I notice Paige’s CBR still in the same spot it was this morning so I park as quickly as I can just in case it shit the bed again. She might be waiting for a ride to work and I can intercept—if needed. Judging from the losers she insists on bringing around, it’ll definitely be needed.

What I don’t expect to find is Paige asleep on the couch when I open the door however. Her hair is piled on top of her head in some sort of crazy mess and a throw blanket is pulled up around her shoulders. Bare feet and jean-covered legs are peeking out the bottom as she lies on her side.

I contemplate waking her since she’s clearly not ready for work but Marc comes out, stopping me as he motions me over.

“Should we wake her?” I ask quietly, joining him in the kitchen.

His head shakes as he grabs a Gatorade from the fridge. “We ate dinner.” My teeth clench so tight I think a filling pops out. “Then she passed out watching a movie. She said something about having some time off so I covered her up and let her sleep.” What a perfect gentleman. Dick. “There’s some leftovers if you’re hungry. She made kabobs and rice.”

My eyebrows lift as he disappears back into his room, taking a bag of cookies with him.

Resting my elbows against the island, I watch Paige sleep. She’s facing the back of the couch, hiding her face from the world—from me—and not for the first time, I wonder what else she’s hiding.

Her back is hanging over the edge, just barely, and I have the urge to catch her before she falls. That thought alone should make me retreat to my room. Let her ass hit the floor. It’d be good for her, dropping without a safety net in place, learning she’s not infallible. Maybe take her down a few notches.

Just then Paige shifts and I’m there instantly with my hands out and ready. Instead of tumbling to the floor though, she rolls to the other side exposing her face and I’m the one that almost collapses.

What in the actual fuck?

My knees actually do buckle and my fingers ghost across her forehead, too scared to touch the wounds. What happened to her? She explained away the split lip as an accident, but this? This is more. This is something else entirely. This is fucked.