Page 69 of Long Shot

“We have to go by Beck’s place,” I tell him when he returns.

“Sure.” He clearly wants to say more, but doesn’t. He locks up the garage and we ride to Beck and Hayden’s condo to find Beck on the patio, drinking coffee, enjoying the morning view over Sail Bay.

He glances up in surprise as we walk around the corner of the condo. “Hey. What’s up?”

“We’re going for a bike ride.” I lift my chin. “You in?”

Now it’s Beck’s turn to give me a long stare. Beck’s gaze slides over to Marco, then back. “Yeah, sure.” He rises from a wicker chair and gulps down what’s left in his coffee mug.

Once he’s retrieved his bike and helmet, we all mount our bicycles. Beck leads the way and we get onto Bayside Walk, part of the Mission Bay Bike Path that’ll take us in a loop of about twelve miles. We cycle along the curve of the bay without talking. I push my legs into the pedals and pull ahead of the others, setting the pace fast, until my thighs burn. I’m going faster than the recommended eight miles per hour along this bike path, but there aren’t a lot of other cyclists out so I push it for a while.

Then, slowing up, I let Beck and Marco catch up to me, both of them grinning.

“You better take it easy, man,” Beck calls to me. “You haven’t been on a bike in months. Your ass is going to complain about this.”

I smile. “Probably, yeah. So be it.”

At the basin, I pull over near a bagel shop. “Let’s grab something to eat.”

“You need to get in shape,” Marco says, but willingly stops. “I could use a bagel, though.”

“I need more coffee,” Beck agrees.

We line up inside and get our food and coffees, then head out to the small patio to sit, watching the activity at the marina. The morning is fresh and cool, the air briny.

“Okay.” Beck pries the plastic lid off his coffee and sets it on a napkin. “What the fuck, man?”

I knew this was coming. And I’m ready for it. “You know what happened last night with Reese.”

Beck and Marco exchange puzzled looks. “Yeah,” they both say.

“She okay?” Beck asks.

“Yeah. Mostly.” I rub my forehead. “She was involved in a shooting a few months back. In New York. You remember hearing about that restaurant that got shot up? Disgruntled ex-employee went back with a gun after getting fired? Two people died?”

“Yeah,” Marco says slowly. “Jesus . . .”

“Yeah.” I nod somberly. “That was Reese’s restaurant. Nova. She had just fired the guy that day.”

“Was she shot?” Beck regards me steadily.

“No. But two of her staff were. They both died.”

“Fuck.” Beck bends his head.

“That’s shitty,” Marco says. “Wow.”

They both look like I just told them I have two weeks to live. Which tells me how much they care about Reese.

“Yeah. Really shitty. She went through a rough time. Still has some PTSD symptoms . . . insomnia. Nightmares. Flashbacks. Last night . . . well, you heard the noise. It startled her and she had a panic attack.”

“Shit.”

“She’s okay,” I repeat. “She got through it. She told me what happened. That’s why she moved here. She couldn’t go back to that restaurant. Feeling all kinds of guilt about it, of course. She didn’t want to work as a chef. Except . . . she loves cooking.” One corner of my mouth lifts. “She apparently couldn’t stop herself from stepping in and trying to help.”

“Is she . . . going to stay?” Beck picks up his bagel loaded with cream cheese and lox.

“Yeah. She wants to. She says it was time for her to get back into it, and she thought this was a good time. A good place. She doesn’t want to be in charge.” I meet Beck’s eyes, then Marco’s. “Understandably. But she wants to stay on. She was feeling okay this morning.”

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