“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going for a drive! That should give you at least an hour to cool off!”
“Make that three hours, and don’t slam the door on your way out!”
Two seconds later, the front door slammed anyway.
Ten seconds later, the gunning of a car engine and the squealing of tires sounded outside the house; you could almost smell the burning rubber.
After the livid ranting and stomping on the stairs faded out, Joey poked his head into the living room. He made a quick survey of the area before whispering over his shoulder, “Okay, the coast is clear.”
Justin followed Joey into the room and joined him on the big black sofa. With a long, slow exhalation, Justin said softly, “Whoo-whee…I didn’t know Chris could yell like that. I was sure the people in the next state could hear him.”
“And if Lance isn’t careful, he will bust that door right off its hinges,” said Joey as he reached for the TV remote.
Justin lifted one foot onto the opposite knee and toyed with the ragged hem of his denim jeans. “Think one of us should go up there and try to talk to Chris?”
Joey shook his head adamantly. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Not if you want to keep your neck in one piece.”
The opening sequence for Downton Abbey was well underway by the time JC appeared. He was holding his cell phone in one hand and a ballpoint pen in the other, his facial expression a cross between miffed and mystified. “What is going on here, guys?” he demanded. “I could hear shouting all the way from my work area in the basement! And which bonehead banged the door so hard?”
Joey kept his eyes on the screen as he answered, “Chris and Lance had a little row and Lance just stormed out. Chris is upstairs, most likely simmering in his room.”
“A little row?” said Justin, knitting his brows at Joey. “I’m surprised there’s no blood on the carpet!”
“Chris and Lance?” JC said, as if he could hardly believe his ears. “What in heaven’s name were they bickering about?”
“Hey,” Joey countered, lifting his hands, “once they opened fire on each other, I thought it wisest to simply stay out of the war zone.”
Justin admitted, “I tried to keep out of it, too, so I couldn’t say what set them off, either. But whatever the issue, it must have been very serious for them to go at each other like that.”
“I should think so,” said JC, shaking his head. “And I thought Chris was supposed to be the adult around here.”
“Just because he’s the oldest doesn’t mean he’s the most intelligent,” Joey muttered, half to himself.
Looking briefly to the ceiling, JC said, “I think I should have a little talk with Chris.”
“I think you should wait,” Joey said, this time with proper eye contact. “He’ll probably bite your head clean off before you set foot in the door.”
“For once, I have to agree with Joey,” Justin said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen or heard Chris that angry before, and I imagine Lance is halfway across town by now.”
JC sighed, but gave in. “Okay, fine, if you insist.” As he turned away, he added tersely, “But when Lance comes back, I’m definitely telling him that if he treats the door like that again, he’s going to pay double on rent.”
Lance knew he was running the risk of a speeding ticket, but at the moment, all he cared about was getting as far away from the house—and Chris—as possible, as quickly as possible. Even now, he could still see red, and he gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles gleamed white.
He had no particular destination in mind; he just took a turn here and a turn there, followed one car for a time and then shifted to another. Even with his radio playing at full blast, the words he and Chris had hurled at each other kept ringing in his ears. Every time Chris’s face flashed before him, he put on the gas a little more. At this rate, he could have very well barreled through the entire night.
It was only about nine o’ clock, but already dark enough to pass off for eleven or twelve.
Of course, Lance hadn’t meant for things between him and Chris to get so out of hand. In fact, anyone who knew them personally would have been surprised that they’d had such a serious argument to begin with. While they did bicker on occasion, tonight was like a lit match in a closet full of dynamite. Somewhere deep inside, Lance was well aware that he could have handled the situation better, but Chris could have done so, too. Chris, of all people, should have acted more his age. Lance was just glad to have gotten out of there before any bodily harm could occur.
He had no idea how long he rode the street like this, for he did not watch his clock, and he made no bother with the road signs, either. But something about the latest car in front of him redirected his thoughts. This particular car—a black BMW—kept drifting in and out of the traffic lanes, making a dangerous zigzag.
It would slow down one minute, then speed up the next; more than once, Lance had to put on the brakes to avoid slamming into the rear.
What is this jerk’s problem? Lance narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. The third time he was forced to drastically decelerate, he lost his patience and hit the horn as hard as he could.
Whether the other driver was deaf, stupid, or dead drunk, this precarious driving kept up.
“Oh, come on!” Lance hollered at the top of his voice. “What do you think you’re doing, you crazy—”
The sudden flare of taillights was the last thing he saw before the two cars met with a sickening, heart-stopping crunch. The violent force would have pitched Lance entirely through the windshield had his seatbelt not restrained him.
The last sounds were a harsh screech from behind, followed by another crunch of metal and glass.
Then everything went pitch-black.
