Pitbabe S2, Chapter 6 pg2

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   I went quiet but made the most exaggerated grimace. I had no idea what possessed Pete to come up with this idea. He was just a businessman dabbling in investments for fun—seemed like a good fit already. No need to chase something so out of character like this.

   “Why?” Pete narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. “Are you saying I can’t be a racer?”

   “Uh, yeah.”

   “Phii Alan,” the young businessman whined. He dragged his feet and flopped onto the sofa like he was heartbroken, looking like I’d just crushed the spirit of an Elmo cartoon character. I was just being honest, that’s all.

   “What’s with you?” I followed and sat on the pricey leather sofa in the Beyond Group president’s office without waiting for an invitation. My butt had already claimed this soft leather countless times anyway.

   “Bored.”

   “Why not go play golf?”

   “Ugh, I’d rather puke,” Pete made a face like he genuinely wanted to hurl his breakfast. “Golf doesn’t cure boredom. It’s work.”

   I kind of got it—businessmen often seal deals over rich people’s sports. But I’d seen plenty of high-society types who loved whacking little balls into holes, carrying clubs worth more than the grass on the course, with pretty caddies trailing close behind. It seemed like a sport that fit their vibe. At least it didn’t look as out of place as Pete waltzing onto a racetrack.

   “If you’re bored, go find something else to do. Racing’s too serious.”

   “Your team’s not taking new members?”

   “Nope, quota’s full. I’m already stretched thin managing what we’ve got.”

   “Hire more people? I’ll cover the cost.”

   “Stop,” I quickly raised my hand to cut him off before this businessman could indulge his whims too far. Deep down, I thought I knew what was making Pete so restless, whining like a kid. “If you want to drive, go to the track. I’ll have one of the guys take you for a spin.”

   “You don’t think I might actually want to be a racer?” 

   “Watching Way’s race clips a hundred times doesn’t mean you want to be a racer, Pete.”

   Pete froze at my words. If they didn’t go in one ear and out the other, they must have struck a nerve. But for someone who’s been through countless heart-to-hearts with him, I felt this was something I needed to say sincerely, at the very least as his older brother. And not just Pete’s—I was Way’s brother too.

   “Not a hundred,” Pete said softly, his head hanging low, the aura of a big-shot CEO completely gone.

   “Ninety-nine.”

   “Don’t exaggerate.”

   “You can’t even see his face in those race clips. I can’t believe you’d sit and watch them all day.”

   “At least I know Way was there.”

   Pete’s heavy sigh carried a weight I could feel. I knew it wasn’t easy. Even though two years had passed, for Pete, Way’s story probably felt like a gripping movie he’d watched just yesterday—a movie that ended with too many unanswered questions. He hoped for a sequel but was heartbroken knowing full well the story was over, with no chance of ever knowing how it might have continued.

   “And if you want to see his face clearly, just check North’s channel. It’s full of Way,” Pete said with a self-deprecating chuckle, helpless to change anything. “I only just realized how funny he was.”

   “Yeah, Way was hilarious when he was with the younger guys. Kind of like Babe.”

   “When he was with me, he always looked so serious,” Pete said, the atmosphere growing heavier, like storm clouds hovering over us—especially over Pete, a massive, dark thundercloud. “I’m not even sure if I ever saw him smile with his eyes.”

   “It was just bad timing.”

   “Or maybe I was the problem.”

   “Enough already.”

   “Do you think, if Way were still here, there’d be any chance for me and him?”

   That was a question I didn’t want to answer. And I believe even if Way were sitting here, he wouldn’t have an answer either. In all the time I knew him, Way never looked at anyone but Babe. He loved Babe from start to finish, and even in his final moments, he chose Babe. That’s why I didn’t dare speak for the dead. If possible, I didn’t want Pete’s imagined scenarios to keep spiraling because of my words. The past two years had been more than enough, drowning in questions that would never have answers.

   “No, right?” Pete let out a soft, hollow laugh in his throat. I hated that laugh of his—it wasn’t genuine, and it irritated me to the point I wanted to smack this high-society guy’s face. “For Way, it could never be anyone else. I know.”

 

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