60
There are no coincidences.
It’s not a coincidence that Pinedale won last night. It’s not a coincidence that Alex and his buddies celebrated in typical style by getting completely smashed. It’s not a coincidence that Alex saw me with David on Friday night and came to the wrong conclusion.
It isn’t a coincidence that I did a one-hour brutal session on my arms tonight, and another hour on my legs. Or that I decided to go without my brace for the rest of the night, and see how it felt in the morning.
And although I might tell people differently, it’s not a coincidence that when I heard the pebbles against my window, I didn’t even hesitate about going down.
Something in me.
He was still drunk, of course.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“You weren’t at the party.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
