Page 122 of Spotlight
“Actually, I have?—”
JT elbows me before I can finish the statement. “We’ll be there.”
Once they’re gone, I say, “I can’t stay long. I have something I need to do.”
“Yeah, me too, but you have an hour. After that, they’ll be drunk and partying and no one will notice when we cut out.”
I nod. He’s right and I know it’s a big deal to be included, but all I want to do is see Olivia and Greer. It’s been three days and that’s three days too long.
* * *
As JT predicted, about an hour after arriving at Gunnar’s, the party is so big and wild that no one cares when we head out.
“Thanks for inviting me,” I say to Gunnar.
“We have a tradition.” He places one hand on my shoulder.
“What kind of tradition?”
JT takes my phone from my hand. I give him a strange look but then Gunnar picks me up.
“What are you doing?” I ask, gripping his big biceps to steady myself.
He marches toward the pool and his intent becomes clear.
“Woah, woah, woah.”
“Sorry, Holland,” he says seconds before he tosses me into the pool. When I surface, the party is cheering and laughing.
Gunnar is waiting by the side. His hand stretched out to me.
“Like I’m going to trust you,” I say and move to the pool wall next to him to pull myself out. My wet clothes are heavy and it’s a struggle.
He grabs a hold of my arm and helps, then pulls me into a bear hug, crushing me against his huge chest, water splashing around us. “You’re one of us now, Holland.”
* * *
It’s getting dark when I pull up in front of Dad’s house. After the party, I went home to change and then planned to go straight to Olivia’s house, but when I got in my truck, it seemed to have a mind of its own.
Dad’s Harley is in the driveway, and I spot Terri in the front yard trimming her rose bushes.
She smiles at me as I get out of the truck. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Hi, Terri. Is he here?”
“In the garage.” She tips her head in that direction.
“Thanks.”
The one-car garage is on the right side of the house. As I walk around, the door is open, and rock music plays from an old radio on a workbench. For a moment, I’m struck with the familiarity of it. A memory floats just out of grasp. Dad tinkering on his bike in the garage, music playing. There’s something simple about it that feels like home.
The hood is up on his truck and Dad bends over the engine.
“Timing belt acting up again?” I ask him.
He glances up, then stands tall as a smile pulls at his lips. “Flynn. What are you doing here?”
He wipes his hands on a rag and then comes toward me, holding his arms out for a hug.
