Page 5 of Falling for the Wrong Guy

That prospect sounded better, so off he skipped, clapping his hands together in excitement. The garage was on the side of the rental house. It was big enough for a small car and Quinn’s motorcycle. Angie’s sedan had a big dent on one side. She’d called me, hysterical, after getting sideswiped by some idiot in a truck. Max had been in his car seat and he was fine, but just the notion of something happening to her little boy, especially with everything going on in her life, had been one calamity too many. Her inadequate insurance wouldn’t allow her to get the dent fixed, and so she had to relive that harrowing moment every day when she climbed into her car.

The sight of Quinn’s motorcycle made my chest heavy. He’d called me the second he bought it. It scared the hell out of me to think about my wild best friend out on a motorcycle, but riding a motorcycle had been a childhood dream, and since most of his childhood had been a nightmare, I didn’t have the heart to spoil his excitement.

The bike looked in reasonably good shape considering it hadn’t been used in a year. Quinn took good care of it. The motorcycle was the first real thing he’d owned, the first thing he’d bought after working hard for the money. It had been a hopeful sign that he’d finally found the right path in life. He had Angie and a job with a construction crew, and he and Angie had found a house to rent. She got pregnant with Max a year after they married. That triggered his new quest for something better. “I want my kid to grow up way better than I had it,” he would tell me. He couldn’t see that he already had that. The simple life he’d made with Angie, where they worked and came home to movie nights and spaghetti dinners and went on the occasional dinner date was already way better than his chaotic childhood, but Quinn was determined to get rich. He found himself back with a few guys we hung out with in our early twenties, a time when neither of us knew how to make a decent decision. Back then, I’d introduced Quinn to Sam and Victor, two guys who were always looking for a get rich quick scheme, even if it meant a possible stint in jail. They were freshly out on parole and already up to trouble. They needed a third partner for one of their worst schemes yet, and Quinn was ripe for the picking. I would never forgive myself. I’d introduced them in the first place, and now I had to right that wrong … for Angie … for Max … for Quinn.

Quinn and I met in junior high in the principal’s office, a place the two of us spent a lot of time. Quinn was new to the school, and he showed up in tattered, faded clothes. Even his backpack looked as if it had already spent fifty years in middle school. Some of the school bigshots decided to pick on him during lunch, but he was tough. He gave our star soccer player a black eye and then they piled on him. I jumped in to help Quinn. I never needed an excuse to throw my fist at someone who deserved it. We both got suspended. But while my dad told me he was very disappointed and that he’d have some chores for me to do while I was home, Quinn’s dad took a whole other approach. The man was a monster. Quinn could barely walk when we got back to school. After that, he spent the night at our house often. I wanted my parents to do more, but like everyone else in town, they were afraid of Quinn’s dad. And now every fist I’d thrown in his defense, every black eye and bruising I’d suffered keeping Quinn safe, was all in vain. In the end, I couldn’t protect Quinn from himself.

I unscrewed the cap on the fuel tank. As expected, it was dry as a bone. I’d need to buy some gas. The tires were low. They’d need some air. I’d fill the tank, start it up and take it up and down the road to check the brakes. As I made my plans, the side door on the garage opened and shut. I spun around. Angie stood in the dimly lit space clutching Max to her as if he was still part of her body. Her pale complexion was white as snow.

“Ang? What’s the matter?” I held my breath bracing for bad news about Quinn.

“There’s a truck outside. I’ve never seen it be?—”

I was heading out before she finished. I turned back. “Go inside the house and lock the door.” My words took even more color from her face, but I couldn’t take a chance.

The truck was a Chevy with faded paint and a missing tailgate. A man was sitting behind the steering wheel staring at the house. He shrank back as I approached. It was a common response given my size. The fact that I had my jaw set and my fists clenched probably didn’t help.

I stayed a few feet away from the passenger window and motioned for him to roll it down. He was reluctant at first. As he rolled it down, I did a quick visual sweep of the cab. I didn’t see a weapon, but that didn’t reassure me much. On closer inspection, the man looked much older and less menacing than I expected. Some of the adrenaline that had bunched up every muscle in my body disappeared.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

A piece of crumpled paper was clutched in his hand. “Are you the man selling the lawnmower?”

“No. You’ve got the wrong house.”

He looked at the paper. “I’m looking for 2400 East Moss Street.”

“Try the next road up.”

He chuckled, but it was a nervous sound. The poor man would probably skip the idea of a secondhand lawnmower and drive straight home. “I’m no good with that Google Maps thing. Thanks.” He started the truck and hurried away.

Angie opened the door. The fear hadn’t left her expression.

“He was at the wrong address. Looking for a lawnmower.”

She released a breath that it seemed she’d been hanging onto since she first saw the truck. I stepped into the house. Max was propped in a booster chair, eating a crust-free sandwich with both fists.

I sat down to my lunch. Angie poured us each a glass of milk, then she sat, too. “Ang—” I started.

She shook her head. “I told you—this is where my job is, my friends. Max has a playgroup that he loves. And I’m a twenty-minute drive from the hospital.”

I nodded. “With the bike, I’ll be able to get here in thirty minutes.”

Angie reached over and placed her hand over mine. “I feel so much better knowing you’re nearby now, but I worry about you, Dex. You were happy. Things were working out for you. Now we’ve ruined everything.”

“I wasn’t all that happy, and as far as I’m concerned, you guys are family. I’ll do whatever it takes to get Quinn back home once he recovers.”

We returned to our lunches.

“Any luck yet with—you know—” Angie asked.

I shook my head. “I keep replaying the words and trying to make sense of them, but I have no idea what Quinn was talking about. And he was in such a terrible way by the time I got to him, I’m not even sureheknew what he was talking about. But don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.”

Angie smiled. “I know you will, Dex. You’re all we’ve got, too.” Her starry gaze fell on her little boy. He had peanut butter on his face and a big drop of jelly on his T-shirt. “Quinn couldn’t ask for a better friend,” she said with a sigh. “Someday, the stars will line up for all of us, Dex.”

I nodded. “They sure will.”

“Tinkle, tinkle iddel star,” Max started singing between bites. Kids always brought back joy, even in the middle of a less than joyful time.

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