“Yeeeello.”
“Yello? Dude, you sound like a fucking eighty-year-old grandpa.”
“And your point is? Grandpas are cool, everyone loves a grandpa.”
“Pfft, obviously you’ve never been to the Chaput family compound in France.”
“I hear that papi of yours is a real killer.”
“Yeah, like literally. He ran over the baker last month with his fucking bicycle. There were baguettes everywhere, made the guy sprain his ankle. He’s lucky he’s not in jail.”
Spencer laughs. “OK, well, what the fuck do you want? I got nothing to tell you, really, Rook seems fine. We had dinner, she did the dishes because I cooked and you know Ford, he’s not about to lower himself to do domestic work. Then they came out to the shop and filmed me with her new camera, trying to bait me into saying something stupid so they could edit it down and embarrass me. She’s OK.”
I let out a long breath. “I dunno, Ford said—”
“Why the fuck, Ronin—after all these years, after all the bullshit between the two of you—why the hell are you even wasting one fucking second on what that asshole has to say about your fucking girlfriend? I mean seriously.”
“Because he’s been noticing some really fucked-up signs, Spencer. Stuff that only he would see, stuff that makes me sick to even think about.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
“Yeah, oh. And I have to say, now that he’s put it out there, I can sorta see it too. I think she needs real help, Spence. She pretends like none of those years with Jon Walsh ever happened. Or actually, maybe she’s not pretending. Maybe she’s legitimately blocked it out and she can’t remember? And Ford said she’s gonna leave. He doesn’t think she’ll stick around.”
More silence.
“Spence?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Just thinking is all. God, I fucking hope he’s wrong. Do you think he’s wrong? It was just your run-of-the-mill abusive relationship, right? I can’t even think about that other shit.”
“I want to believe he’s wrong too, I really do. But I don’t think he is. I mean, Ford knows. And they are very close right now. He spends a lot of time with her. She trusts him. They might, in fact, be BFFs or something.”
It’s Spencer’s turn to let out a long breath. “Well, maybe she needs a new best friend? I’ll call Veronica and see if she’ll invite Rook to hang out. Plus, she’s got that coupon for a free—”
“Spencer, do not tat up my girl, OK? I like her the way she is.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll call up Ronnie and see if she’ll take her shopping or something. Rook needs girlfriends anyway. It’s not good for her to hang out with so many guys.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“I’ll keep my eye on her. I think Ford’s gonna—oh, hold on, here he is—”
There’s some shuffling sounds as the phone is passed to Ford, then some muffled talking.
“How can I help you, Ronin?”
“I’m not sure. I’m just worried about her.”
“She seems fine for now. She was in a good mood tonight. She’s in bed. I’ll wake her up early to run stadiums in town, and she’s got the party tomorrow night, and schoolwork. Her days will be full. She might just settle down and be fine.”
“Or she might not.”
“Right, well, we’ll have to wait and see. I’ll do my best to see if I can persuade her to seek help, but it’s touchy. She won’t put up with a lot of pushing from me. She walks away angry.”
“She walks away from everyone. Including me. I can’t push her either.”
“So why are you?”
“What choice do I have? Just let her hold it all in until it explodes?”
“I told you about Wade. I think she should talk to him. Maybe that will spur her in one direction or another?”
Silence from me now.
“If she chooses him, then there’s nothing you can do, Ronin.”
More silence from me.
“She won’t choose him, though. I’ve spied on him, sifted through all his online records. He’s not her type anymore.” He waits a few seconds to see if I’ll respond, but I don’t. “Well, it’s been fun. Here’s Spencer.”
“Yeeeello.”
I laugh a little. “You’re a dumbass.”
“Hey, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll go kiss her goodnight for you.”
“Asshole. OK, I’ll check in tomorrow.”
“Later, Larue.”
The line goes silent before I can respond to Spencer’s dig.
Nothing I can do. Ford is right, this is all about her and there’s just nothing I can do.
Chaper Fifteen - ROOK
I’m up with time to spare the next day. I throw on some black yoga pants, a black running tank, a Shrike Bikes zippered hoodie, and my running shoes. Ford lives above the shop, so I grab my camera and head down the driveway to see if he’s awake and ready.
Spencer has all his doors coded like Chaput Studios so the crew and other employees can get access when they need to, so I punch in my code and walk through the shop reception area. This is where I’ll be working. Answering phones, making appointments for clients to Skype in with Spencer and place a custom order, driving around town picking up and dropping shit off.
Your basic receptionist-slash-delivery driver position.
Right now the shop has eight bikes in progress. Spencer and another guy named Ryan build the custom bikes, while Fletch and Griff make the showroom bikes. Customers are allowed to ask for modifications, so they do a little custom shit too. What Ford will be doing here is beyond me. As far as I know, he doesn’t build bikes. But he’s been known to surprise me before. He lives upstairs above the shop in another apartment. I walk to the far end of the work area, picking my way between half-built bikes and tool chests, then climb the steep steps.
I knock.
I hear a faint, “Come in,” from behind the door.
“Ford?” I call back as I open the door.
“You’re early,” he says through a mouthful of toothbrush. He’s wearing a pair of old jeans that hang low on his hips, exposing his happy trail because he has no shirt on.
Hmmm. Ford is not a bad-looking guy. He’s all muscle, but not the same way that Spencer is. Spencer is bulky and buff. Ford is lean and taut.
Taut. What a great word. I laugh internally at that, then realize I laughed externally as well.
“Stop staring at me. I never stared at you when you were prancing around naked all summer.”
“I didn’t prance! And I’m not staring,” I reply, blushing. “I was comparing your body to Spencer’s.”
He walks back into the bathroom to spit and rinse. “How do I stack up?” he asks, walking across the hallway to his bedroom to change.
“Umm—” I shouldn’t even go there.
He peeks his head around the corner and tugs a black shirt on. “Well? You can be honest because let’s face it, I’m much better built than Spencer.” He ducks back into his room and I laugh.
“Well, you’re certainly more full of yourself.”
“Right. That’s a good one. I’m humble compared to Spencer.” He comes back out into the little living room with his shoes and sits down on the couch. His jeans are gone now, and replacing them are his usual black running pants. “Why do you have that camera? Is this gonna be your thing? You’re one of those film students who records every moment of their life?”