by Eden Connor
I let off the gas and unhooked the restraint. Leaning over again was out of the question. I opened the door and hobbled to the passenger side, trying to stand straight and not fall on my nose.
The car title lay where Caine had tossed it after Ervin returned it. I scooped a pen out of the floorboard. “Be right back.”
“I always said Caine thought with his head, Colt with his heart. But you do it both ways.”
I huffed. “What day did you actually wake up?”
His eyes sobered. “I had to give your mama the commencement, sweetheart. I know it hurt you ‘cause I wasn’t there. Hell, it like to have killed me. But we’re gonna have lots of celebrations. To her way of thinkin’, she only has your graduation and your wedding left, and that’s all she wrote. Besides, if the press found out I was awake, then they’d still think I fed Caine the way to rig this thing.”
I couldn’t find the flaw in his logic, either.
“What are you doing?” Caroline cupped her hands around her mouth. I motioned. She bounded off the Viper and ran to the barrier.
“Please, tell me you figured out a way to render the code useless after the race.”
She grinned. “Just make sure I got a second to get that chip out of the camera Niles and his boy totally missed.”
Kolby’s eyes narrowed when I staggered past Marco and skirted the front end of the Porsche. I slapped the title on his hood. Unfolding the page, I asked, “Any idea where I need to sign this?”
“Huh?” Barnes jack-knifed off the wall. “What the fuck are you doin’?” His eyes blazed, sending ripples through the usually smooth chocolate irises. “What kind of trick are you tryin’ to pull now?”
Was that panic? “You know what, Kolby? I meant what I said at the party. I’d have been honored just to line up against you. But you had to go and be a jerk, so Dale reacted like a father first, and your crew chief second. You need to own that shit. Just like Dale needs to own his part in this mess. Racing for car titles was never my idea.”
I scanned the paper. Finding what seemed to be the right line, I pointed. “I’m about to sign right here. If that’s the wrong spot, speak now or hold your peace.”
“I don’t understand.”
I scrawled my name under ‘seller’. Tossing the pen to Niles, I slapped the title against Barnes’ chest.
“Let’s try it like this, then.” I jerked my thumb toward the Audi. “Baby, it just ain’t my ride. I’m a Mopar girl, like my daddy. Here’s your car back. Now, we’re just racing for fun, the way it should’ve been all along.”
“But,”—I managed to get up on my toes to look him in the eye—“I’m still gonna use it to kick your ass. And, if you wanna hold your head up after this, you’re still gonna buy me a new car. What was your best time?”
“Seven flat.” Kolby folded the title with an arrogant grin.
If my blood pooled in my shoes, I couldn’t resist the mocking bow. “I look forward to hearing your retraction. My father innovates. He doesn’t cheat. But, like you, he does occasionally lead with his dick.”
I threw out my hands and grimaced at Niles. “Men. What’cha gonna do?”
I spun and stalked to the R8. Ten hard runs later, I earned the late start, with the fastest time of my life.
Six point seven seconds. My time blazed in foot-high letters on the new sign—a full second faster than I’d turned at the drag strip in Greer. I made a slow circuit around the oval, laughing at Caroline, turning handsprings.
Dale tucked his hands behind his head, grinning from ear to ear. “I always did run faster with a light conscience.”
I wondered whether he realized he’d just told me why he really walked away from driving and never looked back.
The hardest person to forgive is yourself.
Chapter Forty-Eight
News vans rumbled through the tunnel and lined up in double rows along the concrete barriers on the infield side of the strip. Reporters clung to the vehicle’s hoods. Cameramen perched on van roofs like snipers. Flashes of light streaked the stadium as fans raised cell phones and cameras.
I feared Jonny and Caine would have to install a new deck on the back of the Viper, judging from the way Caroline and Marley hugged each other and jumped up and down.
My tires—and Kolby’s—put off enough smoke to obscure the crowd, leaving disembodied screams. About half yelled, “Team Hannah!”
Then, the other half would respond, “Team Barnes!”
“Now that Shelby Hannah has returned the title to the Audi R8 to Kolby Barnes, in a stunnin’ show of sportsmanship,” Lee intoned, “the only thing at stake is the pristine, 1971 Plymouth Hemi ‘Cuda convertible. The fabled 6k ‘Cuda will either go home with the Hannahs tonight, or go back into mothballs at an undisclosed location, folks. Are. You. Ready? Hannah versus Barnes!”
Nice of Lee to try and preempt Barnes from backing out of his half of the bet. Not that I thought anything would stop the driver from reneging. Caroline was right about him, I figured. But, I still saw no way to piggy-back an anti-bullying campaign on the shoulders of the original bet.
We’re here now, Kasey. Might as well race. Dale’s drawl floated out of the past and into the car on a whiff of burning rubber.
Based on the fervent screams, I thought the crowd was ready.
My heart thumped, from strong coffee Caroline forced on me while Niles’ crew refueled the cars and ran a final inspection of the strip—and a surreptitious one of the R8, to Caroline’s amusement.
But, the moment of truth was at hand. I flexed my fingers over the shifter knob and eased off the gas.
“Late start, huh?” Dale beamed. “We been here before, sugar.”
I popped my last stick of gum and nodded. A breeze caught the smoke in the infield, lifting it above the grass so I could see the ‘Cuda. I soaked in the sleek body, in all it’s purple glory, while the official helped Kolby set his nose on the line.
“I want that damn car.”
I thought Dale might laugh, but he sobered. Raking his nails under his chin, he admitted, “It was Caine’s mama’s dream car. I was hell bent on givin’ it to her.”
If Caine loves me half as much as you love his mama, I’m the luckiest woman alive.
His smile held a touch of sadness. “Barnes ain’t a bad kid. He makes more money than he can figure out what to do with. Don’t buy him friends. Man can’t even buy a girlfriend. Kasey and him—I dunno what to tell you about them two, but they ain’t nothin’ like my boys. Feels like that kid’s just out there all alone. Don’t nothin’ he accomplishes make him no happier. But, he ain’t never let me in. He might follow through on his word, with the whole world watchin’. Either way, time to go hammer down and hell bent, kiddo.”
I popped my gum. “That car belongs with us, not in some dark garage.” Ghosts and all. “Time to make someone’s balls crawl up into their asshole and hide.”
“I know that’s right.” Mirth danced in Dale’s eyes.
An orange safety vest moved on my right. The official motioned me forward with stained, impatient fingers.
Every muscle in my lower body locked. Pain drove talons into me, shutting off my breath. I had an inkling how hot Hell might be, because the devil breathed fire across my skin. The Nomex suit felt like thick skin, sealed by sweat and blood.
“Just a little jog to the end of the asphalt and back. Nothin’ to it, sugar,” Dale crooned. “I’m right here, babe. You ain’t alone, sweetheart. Me and you and your brothers? We’us born to be a team. Let your heart go first. Then, she’ll fly.”
You gotta bring the heart.
Yeah? Okay, Caine. This run’s gonna be all heart.
The incredible pain in my gut let go. Gasping, I rolled to the line with no idea how long my body would wait before attacking again. Sweat stung my eyes. My hand slipped on the wheel. I chanced wiping my palms on my thighs while the yellow lights along the top of the tree lit.
“Kolby’s sweatin’ harder’n you. Even with the e
arly start, he knows, if you hit fourth before he hits third, it’s over. And sweetheart, you can do that in your sleep.”
“I take that as high praise, from a man who’s an expert in getting things done while he sleeps.” Dale just laughed at my taunt.
“It’s go time, folks!” Lee intoned. “Hannah versus Barnes!”
The throbbing engines couldn’t mask the roar. “Shel-by! Shel-by! Shel-by!”
Red.
Yellow. The Porsche hurtled forward, but inside my head, everything slowed, almost like God sliced time into distinct pieces, letting me savor each millisecond.
I shoved in the clutch and slammed the gas pedal to the floor, timing the tree’s roll to....
Green.
Best jump off the line of my life. I knew, to my bones, that was true. Even though the gas pedal hit the floor, I pressed harder. If air to the fuel supply was the key to higher combustion, then the faster I went, the faster I’d go. Which, after all, was the Hannah way.
Second.
The stadium blurred to streaks of color, something I usually noted when I hit—
Third.
The patriotic bunting melted into a swath of violet. I nosed the Audi past Barnes’ rear fender, then drew even with the door. Face it, motherfucker, I own your ass.
Fourth. The Audi leaped like a panther, God bless her twin Quattro engines. I heard the painful grind when Barnes missed third. Buh-bye. Velocity pinned me to the back of the seat.
Fifth. The scarlet car disappeared from my peripheral vision.
And motherfuckin’ sixth.
The trap lit, but the message blurred to stripes of gold. I felt for the switch Caine installed earlier in the week—to foil Barnes in case he decided to ram me again. The parachutes deployed, jerking me forward, then throwing me in the opposite direction. But the safety harness did its job. The car slowed from—fuck me, was the needle buried? Past two hundred?
The roof of the Porsche sped past. A whoosh of relief took some starch out of my spine.
Why was the asshole pumping his fist out his window? Didn’t he know I’d kicked his ass?
One hundred, to fifty, to zero. I ripped the helmet off and spun the wheel. Pressing the gas, I downshifted into second. The tires barked. Black streaks of rubber marked my turn onto the oval track.
A rush of joy welled in my chest. I reveled in the silence of the stunned onlookers. Cutting the wheel to the left, I hung on, hitting the green infield.
Dale shook his head, but smiled. “Doughnuts for Ernie? He sure was partial to ‘em.”
“Think Lee will forgive me?”
“Let’s find out.” Oh, that smirk. One of these days, I was gonna give Caine a son who’d turn that same grin on me every time he got in trouble.
“Un-beee-lieeev-able!” Lee boomed through the loudspeakers. “Kolby Barnes wins the Shootout at Midnight, folks!”
I slammed on the brakes, staring in disbelief at the new sign over the tunnel.
Disqualified?
Chapter Forty-Nine
“But.” I gaped at the moving screen, then to the small screen mounted in the console. Dale still shook his head.
“Sorry, kiddo. That’s racin’. Hell of a fucking run, though. Seems to me that time might be—”
“But—”
The loudspeaker kicked in again with a painful burst of feedback.
“Folks. You just seen history made one mo’ time, right here where legends are born. Six. Point. Zero. One! A new world record for a quarter mile in a street-legal car! Zero to two hundred and forty-four miles an hour in six seconds—and six gears! Shelby Hannah loses the grudge match to Kolby Barnes, but topples the current world record holder, Bill Wayne, from Nashville, Tennessee.”
Panting, I focused on hearing Lee’s next words.
“Since Shelby beat her dial-in time of six point seven three, that’s an automatic disqualification on the grudge match. Take your pictures of that ‘Cuda. She’s goin’ back underground.” Lee’s proclamation escalated the emotions hammering me.
Oh, shit. I dropped my head to the wheel, jerking the goddamn thing as hard as I could.
“Take them circles anyhow,” Dale barked. “Chew it up. Leave your mark.” I lifted my head, as though the finger he raised pulled some invisible string. “A world record, little girl, means more to me than any car no one’s ever gonna drive. You’re the best in the world tonight at what you do.”
He slapped his hand over his heart. “Moments like this don’t come around every damn day. Enjoy it. That witch’s here so I can take a leak. I love you, Shelby Hannah, and I’m goddamn proud.”
I blinked at the dark screen. He cut me off.
Shaking my head, I peered through the side window. More guards ran to surround the ‘Cuda, but the grape-colored paint still taunted me between the khaki-clad sheriff’s deputies.
He’d given up the same car once, for Caine. And now, he smiled and waved it goodbye a second time, for me? My heart... hearts shouldn’t do what mine did. It swelled, and soared, contracted, and twisted, all at once. I’d failed, but I was worth more than the most valuable ‘Cuda convertible of them all, to the racin’ man who’d changed my life.
Why not? I wrenched the wheel as far to the left as it would go and hit the gas. The tires bit, chewing up turf. Around and around and around I flew—until my overloaded system rebelled.
“Hope four’s enough, Ernie. Something tells me, if I puke in Kolby’s ride, he’d hold a press conference about it.”
The Porsche turned onto the oval track and started a slow circuit, but the crowd’s chants resounded in my ears. “Shel-by! Shel-by! Shel-by!”
Caroline and Marley raced across the infield. Colt and Caine burst out of the tunnel. A wrecker followed on their heels. A Crown Vic with county markings rode the wrecker’s bumper. Another sheriff’s car raced in behind the first. And another. Every single one of their light bars flashed. I could barely hear their sirens for the crowd. They stood in their seats now, feet pounding metal and Fiberglass in unison. “Shel-by! Shel-by! Shel-by!”
I swung the door open and sucked down a breath of cool air, tinged with the sweet, sweet aroma of burnt rubber and gasoline. Fumbling for the latch, I disengaged the safety harness. The lining of my new red boots felt wet—please, God, let that be sweat—but my skin hummed.
Best of all, I felt no pain.
The jubilant crowd surged down the steps, brushing aside the security guards. The high-spirited fans engulfed Colt and Caine.
Reporters surged toward me in a yapping pack, mics extended. But Caroline got to me first. She stepped into the space between me and the open door. Marley took a position at her side.
“Not now.” Caroline’s soft voice rang a confidence I’d never heard. “The heat comin’ outta this car has to be over a hundred degrees. We need to get her on that ambulance for IV fluids.”
Marley threw up a hand and motioned. The shrill beep, beep, beep of a back-up warning device—or more than one?—pierced the thunderous tumult around me. The boxy rescue squad’s rear doors rolled toward us and its siren wailed. Pointless gesture, thanks to the wailing sirens on the sheriff’s department vehicles. The ambulance halted near the front end of my car, but I squinted through the passenger window.
Why was that wrecker backing up to the ‘Cuda? Had Caine arranged to have it towed home? Didn’t he know I’d lost?
And why was Mack Brown barking into a megaphone like a junkyard dog? The noise dropped a few decibels as the fans watched the spectacle in the infield.
“Stand back! This car’s impounded by the Cabarrus County Sheriff’s Department. It’s stolen property!” The pack of newsmen hurtled toward the Plymouth.
“That man shoulda gone into actin’. He has one hell of a sense of timing.” Marley extended a hand to help me out of the car. “It’s five minutes to the hospital from here. A doc’s waitin’.”
She smiled. “I thought we had a good plan to handle the press. Sheriff Brown saved us the trouble.” S
he took my arm and waited till I had my feet under me, then steered me toward the ambulance.
“What’s in those pills? My skin’s crawling, but I can think straight for the first time since the wreck.”
She grinned and swung her hips in a circle. “Eight hundred milligrams of prescription-strength acetaminophen and enough caffeine to make a garden slug stand up and twerk.”
“Caroline!” I yelled, but she was in the car, reaching for the rearview mirror. Backing out, she showed me the tiny memory chip for the camera. Tucking the black wafer into her pants pocket, she touched her thumb to her forefinger. Grinning, she pressed the circle to her eye.
Us, against this one small town. I stared around me as Marley plowed forward. By God, we just might win.
Mack strutted through the crowded infield, passing within inches of me. Cameramen trained their long lenses on the sheriff’s wide back. No one in the exultant crowd was brave enough to challenge him. He marched to the track and stepped onto the asphalt. Spreading his feet wide, he raised one fat hand.
“Oh, shit.” Marley stopped in her tracks.
Lee and his new board kept the crowd stirred up. Chasing letters proclaimed, World record time! Six gears, 6.01 seconds, 243.9 miles per hour! #TeamHannah!
I held my breath, wondering if Barnes would stop or swerve around Mack.
I don’t know why I looked up. Maybe I picked out my mother’s voice amid all the screams. George England smiled like the Cheshire cat, watching while the wrecker driver raised the winch, towing the ‘Cuda onto the tilted surface of the rollback.
I jerked my attention toward the Porsche, just in time to watch Mack slam Kolby face-down over the hood. His handcuffs glinted when the fat man jerked them out of the black case on his belt.
Every fan stopped to stare. The noise level dropped by half.
“Kolby Barnes, you’re under arrest for receivin’ stolen property.” Mack’s bark was likely heard by anyone still tailgating in the parking lot.
“Ain’t mine!” Barnes protested. “I never took possession.”