“He’s all worked up,” Alexa said. “He came over here and he was, like, threatening you, and then he took my mom’s keys, right from the bowl, and then he just took off in her car—”

“Wait,” said Cam. “Where’s your mom?”

“She’s at Brooke’s end-of-summer party. I had her car here. And Tyler is on the warpath. He’s drunk or something. High. I don’t know. It’s like he’s coming to challenge you for me. He called me his girl. Blech. How gross is that? And now I think he wants to fight you for me.”

“He’s coming to fight me?” A decade ago, Cam was briefly obsessed with martial arts; he went thrice weekly to Tokyo Joe’s on the Bridge Road, where he’d made his way to the junior advanced level. But he was not, in general, a fighter. Tyler played lacrosse; he was a big guy, six one, at least, and strong. “And he’s driving drunk?”

“Maybe high. Just don’t engage with him, okay? And don’t let him drive away, it’s not safe.”

Adrenaline surged through Cam. He stepped on the remote, and the Masters recording unpaused. Mickelson putted. Thirty-four years old, and he’d finally won his first major tournament. The crowd went wild. “Got it,” he said.

“Do whatever you have to do, just take the keys and hang on to them. Promise? I really need you to promise.”

“I promise,” said Cam. “I’ll take the keys; I won’t let him drive home. What should I do with Tyler, though? Is there somebody I should call?”

“Throw him in the bushes, I don’t care.”

“I’ll bring the car back to you. How about that?”

“No! No, Cam, don’t do that.”

“Why not? Are you okay, Alexa? You sound scared. Are you scared about something, besides Tyler?”

“Just stay where you are, okay, Cam? I’ll call you later, and we’ll deal with the car. Just take the keys, and stay where you are.”

She disconnected the call, and now Cam’s doorbell was ringing, and ringing, and in between rings someone was pounding on his door.

To call their exchange brief was a bit of an understatement, like calling a long iron shot into the wind moderately challenging.

Cam said, “Keys?”

“What the fuck?” said Tyler.

“Keys,” said Cam firmly. He stepped out onto the front porch, held out his hand, and Tyler dropped the keys into it.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Tyler sounded petulant, like a little kid who had his electronics taken away by a parent.

“Call somebody for a ride, I guess.” Cam made a great show of locking the door behind him. “I’m going to take this car back to Alexa’s house.”

She had told him not to. But he would go anyway.

80.

Alexa