Page 81 of Double Apex

“The Mikado,” he says with a smile. “Yes.”

“Okay, major points,” I concede. “But I was actually thinking ofThe Flintstonescartoon.”

We both laugh, and Cosmin’s lovely face goes serious as we trail off.

“I am relieved to know you’ll be returning,” he tells me gravely.

I shrug. “In some capacity, yeah.” I swallow hard, nervous to ask the question screeching like a klaxon in my mind. “Have you, uh, are you dating anyone new?”

“What the shit? Phaedra.No.” A semi-hostile bewilderment flashes across his expression. “Areyou?”

“For fuck’s sake, Cos. Of course not.”

His eyebrows dart up, and the memory comes to me viscerally—the way his skin smells. The warmth of touching his face with mine.

“It’s ‘of course not’ for you, but expected of me?”

“A little bit,” I admit.

His chin tips up. “I’m not that man anymore. I don’t feel the same about myself. And Idofeel the same aboutyou.”

There are a hundred replies clawing their way to the top of the pile in my mind, and I choose the one that’s necessary, even though my heart is breaking.

“That’s why Lars is in my chair on the pit wall. So let’s make this worth it, Legs. Give Mo a win at Spa—it’ll be his last race.”

Statistically, most people die in the three-to-four a.m. hour. I’ve been waking up around then every day, terrified and listening to the lingering night noises, waiting for the routine sounds of morning that let me know Mo is still here.

Today I overslept, having a very vivid dream. In it, I got up and my dad was already awake, sitting on the sofa watching the waves out the window.

How did you get out here without the wheelchair?I ask.

He shrugs, still gazing at the water.I walked.Turning to me, he says,Let’s go for a spin in the Vette. How fast can you drive?

I grin.I’ll burn up the damned road. But Mama made you sell it years ago—remember?

It’s still in the garage, he tells me with a wink.

He stands and drapes one big arm over my shoulders, and he’s solid on his feet as we walk down the steps.

The 1960 Corvette is black and white, fucking gorgeous. I was fifteen and went with Mo the day he bought it. He talked the guy from $100,000 down to $99,000, sayingLet’s keep it at five figures so my wife won’t shit a brick. It’s the car I learned to drive on.

We open ’er up on Ocean Boulevard, the wind churning our hair as I push the speedometer past a hundred, roaring along parallel to the beach where the sun is rising.

My mother squeezes my shoulder to wake me, and I’m mad because she’s taken me away from him. Then I register thelook on her face, and the mewling sounds of Aislinn crying in the next room.

“No.” I sit straight up. “Fuckno.” I shake my head hard, whipping the blanket off.

“Phae, honey. He’s gone.”

I won’t look at her, and for some reason it becomes incredibly important to find my socks. Why am I stalling, instead of hurrying like I should? What the fuck is wrong with me?

I yank the socks on and storm into the hallway with the purposeful aggression of a woman about to correct a fuckup perpetrated by the less skilled. As I arrive at the main bedroom doorway, Aislinn is lying on the bed with her head on Dad’s chest, and irrationally my hands shake with the urge to slap her.

I prepared for this. I did, I did,I swear I did.

But as I cross the carpet, all my preparation feels like a champion diver who perfected flawless triple flips, then discovered when it was time for the big event that there’s no water in the pool.

I have the impulse to demand why Linn was awakened first. But she sits up and meets my eyes, and she’s fucking ruined, so I let her have this. Because in that moment, I decide—since no one can ever prove it’s not true—that my father was dreaming the same thing right along with me as he crossed the finish line.

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