by Ginger Scott
I nod at her through the windshield and tighten my grip before relaxing into my zone. For the next four minutes, nothing else matters. I breathe in the mix of warm desert air and cooled AC that’s trapped in here with me—with us.
No. I have to remember that I am here alone, even if I’m not.
Alex’s engine revs and I allow one last glance to my right. He’s locked in, and it seems he convinced Lawrence to chill out and sit still in the tight space next to him. My eyes scan along the dash and I will myself to forget the passenger in my car. I am all that matters. I breathe out, the air spilling slowly through my slightly parted lips. One blink. Two.
Ava holds her arms high in the air, the bright yellow scarf wrapped around her wrist as the tail flaps in the breeze above her. My hand caresses the knob of the shifter, my touch light and seductive. You can’t punch a car into driving past its limit; you have to coax it. And faster than the other guy.
I rev.
Alex revs.
The scent of burnt oil and toxic gas fills the air, permeating through the vents and filling my lungs with my secret serum. When I feel like this, I am unbeatable.
I count the sways of Ava’s hips. I’m too far away to see the smirk on her bright red lips, but I know it’s there. This is my home court advantage, and I know it’s the reason she’s here. Six sways and the yellow will fall. My muscle twitch is ready, the rhythm in my lungs as calm as an early morning lake prime for fishing. Nobody is here—no Tommy; no crowd. It’s just me and a yellow scarf that will drop in three . . . two . . .
My foot takes over and my hand follows. My limbs dance together, each knowing what to do independent of the other yet coming together when they should. The wheel feels good, ride smooth despite the roar hugging me through the leather seats. I don’t need to look to my right; I already see Alex’s lights. The desert dust catches everything, and it tells me all I need to know. I only have him by inches, but I have him.
The next series happens fast. The climb from third to fifth is effortless, and I push to sixth sooner than I should because I’m feeling it. The drag isn’t there, and I blow out a hard breath because I took a risk and it paid off.
“Come on, baby,” I mutter, glancing down then up over and over as my speed climbs over a hundred, one-oh-five, one-ten. Dust particles, insects, and the glimmer of desert brush lit by my headlights whir by and the light to my right dims. I have him by feet now. Not many, but I have him.
I lock my arms and hold the line, feeling the road, knowing the posts we’re blowing past by heart. The flip is coming, and it’ll come fast, but I think I’ve got the edge. I won’t need to give up my lead. Alex doesn’t deserve to feel comfortable.
The familiar stretch in my lips inches up and my breath steadies in and out of my nose. My chest barely moves. My muscles are locked, holding their position for thirty seconds, for twenty, for ten. My hand knows exactly where to go, gripping the shifter while my legs work the clutch, the brakes, the gas. The spin to double back happens so fast I barely remember going through it, the only proof I ever spun at all the stench of burnt rubber and the faint trail of smoke illuminated by the red of my taillights.
I don’t know where Alex is, but he’s close behind. His headlights light up the road to my left now, the specks on the pavement too bright. He’s too close. I lean forward ever so slightly, wanting to be ready for the unknown. The Tahoe’s coming up ahead. I don’t know whether it’s heading right at us or if it’s parked, but I know it’s there, and I know the lights are off. It’s going to be a matter of seeing it first and gaining the position. Only one of us will be able to pass. Whoever gets there last will have to slam the brakes.
My palm instinctively pounds the wheel, willing my baby to go faster. My jaw clenches as relaxation loses out to grit. I don’t like this, not knowing. I grip the shifter on a gut feeling, and the glow to my left gets brighter.
“No fuckin’ way,” I fume, my foot heavy on the pedal. My body rocks forward and back as my eyes scan the road, the mirrors, the road, my left, the road—the Tahoe. It’s just a hint of the bumper, a faint reflection that most people wouldn’t notice, but I see it. It’s there, and it’s directly in front of me. I’m either going to have to beat him outright or give up my position to get behind him and pass to the left.
If I do that, I lose. And I don’t lose. Not ever.
I inch closer to the line between us, my tires warning me of the action, the constant drumming of reflectors being ripped from the ground under my tread. I move in closer, sensing the nearness of my back tire to Alex’s front. He’s holding his position, and there’s time, but not a lot. My mind races through the calculations as I lean back and let feel take over. Tommy wasn’t completely wrong. This is a gamble. And this is the moment it all comes to a head. What I do and what Alex does, both independently and in response to one another, shatters into a dozen possible outcomes: he hits my tail and I spin out; he hits my tail and rolls into the desert; I hit the brakes and he sails by, which is not an option; or he chickens out and I beat him outright.
What kind of man are you, Offerman?
I commit to my choice before the next beat of my pulse. I veer left, and nothing about my movement is subtle. It’s a decision, and it will either hold or not. The Tahoe is growing closer. I could slow down and try to push Alex out right now, but he’s too good. He’ll take advantage of that and swerve into me. I won’t have a choice. The only option is to hope he gives in. Even if he doesn’t, I’m not changing my plan.
We’re nearly touching, and the thought of jacking up my right side to prove how crazy I am flashes across my mind. Lots of details pass in a flash. The road so rough, vibrating my hands on the wheel and my thighs in my seat. My leg jack-knifed, knee locked as I press the pedal through the floor to take the lead. My engine roaring so loudly that the sound makes my ears feel full of cotton. Tires swerving and the stench of brakes working hard. The Tahoe in my headlights, then gone—in my taillights.
I roar the rest of the mile in a trance, blowing past the crowd honking horns as headlights light up the road where everything ends. I keep going, everything numb, the joy still behind held at bay. My mind has gone where it goes, a level that’s almost insanity but one that ensures I never lose. The rush is coming; it gurgles in the depths of my belly. The burn hits my chest.
Fists pound against the top of my steering wheel, and I press on the brakes as I let out the air in my lungs.
“Yes!” I shout, my hands letting go of the wheel as I fishtail. I grip the wheel to whip around and jerk to a stop. The smoke from my tires colors the road.
“Fuck yes!” I shout again, pounding the wheel a few more times as my eyes gloss over from adrenaline. The road ahead is a blur, the lights from the cars like one of the Impressionist paintings.
Tommy is running down the center of the street and I kick open my door, ready to join him in celebration when everything from the outside comes soaring in.
Hannah.
My head swivels to the side and I briefly catch Hannah’s form, her eyes forward, hands on her knees, gripping them tightly, blood drawn on her skin where her nails dug in. She’s rigid, and I don’t get to stare long enough to tell whether or not she’s breathing before I’m yanked the rest of the way out of my car and pounded in the face not once, but twice. My nose is bleeding and I stumble backward several steps as my head jerks to the side. The cut on my lip tastes like metal. What’s with the Judge kids hitting me in the face? I deserve this one, though. I know I do, and it’s the only reason I leave my hands out to my sides and stand my ground, preparing for more pummeling.
Tommy runs his sleeve across his nose while I do the same. Mine leaves behind a streak of crimson. His eyes are wide with fury, his hair is wild, and sweat soaks his T-shirt. Beads of sweat dot his forehead too. It’s warm out but not that warm. He’s hot from nerves and anger.
“Fucking careless! You could have killed her!” His voice curdles with anger.
He’s right. I
could have.
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head, more reality seeping in. What the hell was I thinking?
Tommy turns and stalks away, his hands threaded behind his head and elbows splayed. He makes it a dozen feet before spinning and pointing at me again.
“You drop this thing you have, whatever it is. With my sister? That’s a hard no, Dustin. You understand? N. O. Hannah never gets in that car again.” He charges a few steps closer and our eyes lock. My mouth is heavy on the corners, the weight of my risk sinking me into the ground. I’ve never felt the sting of having something to lose. Tonight . . . I could have lost Hannah. Not my car, or my pride.
Hannah.
“I understand,” I say to my friend. My arms dangle limp at my sides and I hold the stare that is meant to imprint every word on my soul. Those words were threats and rules—they were law when it comes to his sister.
I didn’t only cross the line.
I obliterated the line.
“Alex’s cousin has your cash,” Tommy barks out. He pinches the bridge of his nose and glares down at the pavement between us. “Nice fucking race.”
He turns and marches away, back into the lights to the kegs and weed that he will no doubt get lost in both to forget me and to spite me. I’ll wait and drive his ass home. Sick as it is, I can’t help the tiny smile that itches the right side of my mouth. My chest puffs with a single laugh, part exhale of stress and part appreciation. As pissed as Tommy is, he’s still in my corner when it comes to my gift.
Nobody beats me. Nobody. And one day, nobody in the world will.
I kick at the road a few times and breathe out all that’s left in my chest before rolling my head to my right. Hannah’s eyes are waiting for me. She hasn’t moved much, but she watched all that go down. Hard not to, I suppose.
I climb back into the driver’s seat and drape my hand over the wheel, as if we’re out for a Sunday drive. My body is poised the exact opposite of how it was only minutes ago. All of that aggression has passed. It’s like sex, driving like I do. I’m satiated. And as wrong as it was to put her through that, it also felt right.
“Hannah—”
“That was the single most amazing feeling I have ever had,” she glees, cutting me off. “Ever.”
My grin returns, bigger this time, and I jerk with another short laugh.
“I almost got us killed.”
Turning slightly in her seat, her hands release their grip on her legs. Her eyes square with mine and her gaze locks on mine for several wordless and breathless seconds. Reaching to her side, she clicks the safety belt free and lets it coil away from her body before leaning over the center console and pressing both of her hands on my burning hot cheeks.
“You would never hurt me, Dustin Bridges. I know it. I trust you with my life—every . . . single . . . time.”
I barely have time to unravel the mystery of her words when her lashes sweep down and kiss her cheeks as she leans in and presses her cool pink lips to mine. It’s the faintest touch, a taste of heaven and all its angels that sends a chill down my body and through every inch of my veins. She pulls back slowly, our lips almost clinging to stay connected.
“I’ll walk back,” she says in a hushed tone, the smirk on her lips just enough to seal the mystery in place.
Hannah Judge is all grown up, and she thinks I’m all grown up too. I see a woman and she sees a man. And we are doing a lot of things we promised Tommy we wouldn’t do. I don’t think I can let the taboo stop here. I’m already buzzed on her kiss.
7
I don’t know why I was so calm.
I should have been screaming, begging to be let out of the car.
Instead I sat there, eyes locked on the lines in the road, the distance shrinking, the milliseconds remaining for Dustin to make a move all flying through my mind in calculations. My body felt the same way it always does when I watch Dustin race. Or at least, I thought it did.
When my brother punched Dustin in the face, I peeled my hands from my legs and realized how hard I had been holding on. I don’t think it was fear of dying, though. I meant what I said. I do trust Dustin with my life, probably more than I trust Tommy. It would hurt my brother to hear that, but it’s the truth.
No, I wasn’t afraid for me. I was afraid for Dustin. I knew he wouldn’t lose, but I was willing him to win just the same. I was anticipating the big cheat, waiting for one of Alex’s guys to break the rules. I was waiting for fate to steal this from him with a blown tire or gasket. That’s what gripped my chest and held on tight. That’s why I cut my fingers deep into my skin. I didn’t want anything to take this from Dustin. I wanted him to get what he earned, what he deserved.
I always do.
I always have.
I knew he’d come to my house tonight, even if he didn’t have to. Bailey and I watched a few more races and I filled her head with what I thought she wanted to hear about: what it was like in that car, the intensity, and how close we were to losing it all. The entire time, though, my thoughts were on that kiss. And I knew Dustin’s mind was there too. I saw it in the glances he gave me from across the road where he leaned against the side of his car, hands deep in his pockets, relaxed. The only time he is ever relaxed, at least fully, is after a big win.
His headlights illuminate our driveway from down the street, the familiar growl of his engine music to my ears. I draw my legs in and hug them as I wait, barefoot, on the hood of my car. The air is a mix of warmth and the cool that drifts up from the river. It feels like summer.
Dustin isn’t in a hurry. It may be because my brother is on the verge of vomiting in his passenger seat and he doesn’t want to push him over the edge. Or maybe he’s thinking about what comes next, after he gets my brother inside, when we talk about the night.
The Supra’s lights dim as the car crawls into the driveway, and Dustin flicks them off before killing the engine. I stay where I am, coiled on my car, chin balanced on my right knee and gaze locked on Dustin’s through the windshield. I see him so clearly, even through the blur of reflected stars.
When Tommy pushes against the passenger door, Dustin leaps from his, jogging around to finish opening it before my brother gets sick inside. Tommy rolls out onto his hands and knees, heaving the cocktail mixed in his system onto the pavement. I roll my eyes and let go of my legs, sliding down the car to help. I move to Dustin’s open door first and reach in to grab his keys before closing it. By the time I get to the passenger side, Dustin’s managed to get my brother to his feet. I tuck myself under Tommy’s right arm to help keep him steady.
“Sorry about this,” I say, knowing how much Dustin hates this kind of stuff. My brother usually doesn’t get shit-faced. He has a good time, but that’s as far as partying goes. He did this to be a jerk.
“This isn’t your fault,” Dustin says, glancing at me as he leans forward and kicks the passenger door closed. I press the lock button on his key fob then stuff the keys into my pocket.
Thankfully, Tommy isn’t out enough to not be able to walk. He isn’t steady on his feet, but he’s at least able to prop up most of his own weight as we help him amble toward the front door. It’s two, maybe three in the morning by now, and our parents will be up by six for an event my mom is hosting at Town Hall. Thank God my mom quit trying to make Tommy and me volunteer for her craft fairs and bake sales. It’s mostly older ladies who help out, and they always want to teach us lessons. I don’t know that the good word can be heard when you’re seventeen and eighteen in a small town. Temptation comes in the form of nothing better to do out here, as my brother is so gracefully proving right now.
Dustin and I manage to get Tommy through the door and up the stairs before he nods off, his head slumped forward and body instantly a thousand pounds heavier.
“I got it from here,” Dustin says, sweeping my brother up in his arms. I pull my phone from my back pocket and snap a quick photo in case I need to hold this image over Tommy’s head sometime, then pull the comforter back on his bed
before Dustin sets him down.
“Think we should take his shoes off?” He steps back to stare at his friend, my brother, as he inchworms into the covers and instantly begins to snore.
“I don’t think he cares,” I say, flipping the cover over half of his body. “I say we leave him.”
I move to the door and flick the switch for the ceiling fan. Tommy’s always liked the noise it makes; helps him sleep like a baby. Maybe he’ll make it late into the morning and avoid the massive hangover waiting to move in. Dustin stares at his bed for a few seconds before pushing his hands into his hair and blowing out. He rocks on his feet and spins to face me, our eyes meeting automatically.
“Come on,” I call to him, urging him out of my brother’s room. Frozen in place, he stares at me for a few breaths, probably considering the hidden meaning in my request. Where will he go when he leaves this room?
I step into the hallway and a second later, Dustin follows. I close my brother’s door and turn to find Dustin near. His body looms over and around me, my face at his chest. I reach up and run my finger along the center of it, drawing a line in the cotton of his T-shirt. I lift my chin to find his dipped, his eyes locked on my face, waiting for me to tell him what to do. I tilt my head to my right, toward my bedroom, then let my finger trace down to the bottom of his shirt, hooking the hem briefly as I turn away.
He doesn’t follow immediately, but by the time I reach my door, he’s only a few paces behind me. I hold the door wide for him to enter, breathing in his scent as he passes. He is all the things I love—oil, leather, a hard day’s work, his coconut shampoo, spearmint.
I push my door gently until it clicks at my back as Dustin moves slowly through my room. He’s been in here a thousand times, yet everything feels intimate now. My things feel on display, as if everything I own is a representation of who I am, and I’m suddenly worried he won’t like the story they tell. But Dustin, he’s one of those things too. He’s perhaps the biggest piece of my story, owning more than even my own family.