Last Ride

by Laura Langston

  Last Ride

  Laura Langston

  orca soundings

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  Copyright © 2011 Laura Langston

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Langston, Laura

  Last ride / Laura Langston.

  (Orca soundings)

  Issued also in electronic format.

  ISBN 978-1-55469-417-4 (bound).--ISBN 978-1-55469-416-7 (pbk.)

  I. Title. II. Series: Orca soundings

  PS8573.A5832L38 2011 JC813’.54 C2010-908053-X

  First published in the United States, 2011

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2010942085

  Summary: Tom struggles to give up street racing

  after killing his best friend in a race.

  Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover design by Teresa Bubela

  Cover photography by Getty Images

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO BOX 5626, Stn. B PO BOX 468

  Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA

  V8R 6S4 98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  14 13 12 11 • 4 3 2 1

  For Barry

  Every end is a new beginning.

  —Proverb

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  I killed my best friend. Thirteen months and six days ago.

  Not on purpose. It was an accident. Even the cops wrote it up that way. But if I hadn’t dared Logan to race, he’d still be alive.

  Sometimes I swear I see him. Out of the corner of my eye. Just a glimpse. Like he’s haunting me. Like he’s royally pissed.

  That accident…I think about it every day. And most nights too.

  I’m in Ray’s garage, flat-backing it under a 350Z and silently cursing because the hoist is taken, when I feel it. Breath on the side of my face.

  I bolt up too fast and hit my head on the undercarriage.

  “Whoa, man, I didn’t mean to spook you.” Ray’s beady squirrel eyes peer in at me. He’s a paunchy middle-aged guy in greased-up coveralls. He has thinning hair and dirty mechanic’s hands. “Get your ass out from under there. I need you to do a test drive.”

  My heart’s still racing as I wriggle out from under the 350Z, grab a rag from the floor and wipe my hands. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades. I’m warm but I still shiver. I’m not sure if it’s the cold air blasting through the open garage door or the idea of the test drive. Maybe it’s a little of both.

  Ray nods his head at the car waiting outside the service bay. “I’ve installed a new turbo in that baby. She’s gonna fly.”

  That means somebody somewhere is missing the turbo charger for his Lexus…or maybe his entire car is gone.

  Ray drops the keys into my palm. “Go on. Take it around the block.”

  I stare at the black IS300 Lexus. Logan died in his dad’s brown one.

  “Make sure you push it into the double digits.” Ray smirks. “You know you want to.”

  Of course I want to. I haven’t broken thirty since the accident. I think about racing all the time. The adrenaline rush, the power, the blur of speed. Followed by the screech of tires and the explosion of metal.

  This must be how an addict feels. Craving something they know is deadly.

  I toss my rag in the bin and head for the door. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

  “Take at least half an hour. And don’t be a wimp. Remember what I said the other day: use it or lose it.”

  Ray’s trying to suck me back in. He wants me to race again. Ray’s a slime-ball. And coming from me, that’s saying something. Because, in spite of what my mom believes, I’m a badass.

  The leather seat crackles when I slide behind the wheel. Was it this cold when Logan slid behind the wheel of his dad’s Lexus thirteen months ago? I can’t remember.

  But it’s cold in Kent now. In fact, the whole Pacific Northwest is having record lows for November. We even had snow the other day. I turn the key and the engine burbles to life. I flick on the heat, adjust the mirrors, switch on the wipers. When I pull out of the lot, the headlights sweep over my silver Acura. The one Ray and I just finished rebuilding. The one I’ll be paying for forever.

  Ray’s garage is in a large ten-block industrial park on the edge of Kent. The surrounding buildings are dark, and the streets are deserted. No surprise for eight thirty on a Thursday night. It’s the ideal time to put a car through its paces. I’m nervous at first, which is unusual for me behind the wheel. Driving is where I’m most at home. It’s the steel shell I need between me and the world.

  After about five minutes of driving up and down the blocks, I relax. I let the engine creep to sixty, then seventy, then eighty. Buildings rush by. I’m one with the car, loving the feel of the wheel under my hands, the slick sound of the tires slapping the wet pavement.

  Suddenly I feel it. The tiny prickle at the back of my neck that makes me think Logan is watching. My heart leaps. I take my foot off the gas, hit the brakes. I can’t do this again. Can’t. Do. This. Speed killed Logan. I killed Logan.

  And I won’t ever let myself forget it.

  I’ve only been gone fifteen minutes, and Ray will give me a hard time if I return too soon, so I head a few miles east, away from the industrial park, toward Mulligan’s Ravine. I pass a run-down strip mall, a performance garage that’s Ray’s biggest competition, and a Dairy Queen. When my cell phone vibrates, I pull over to read the text.

  It’s Aisha. Where R U? I read. We’re at Drew’s. U coming?

  Maybe in a while, I text back. But I’m not going to the party. Hannah will be there. Probably with Cole. And seeing Hannah is too damned hard. I slap the phone shut, shove it in my pocket and head for Ray’s.

  That’s another reason I’m a badass. I have the hots for my dead buddy’s girl. How disgusting is that?

  The light ahead flashes amber, then red. I gear down, coast to a stop at the intersection and adjust my wipers. The rain has turned to a mean, sleety drizzle. It suits my mood. Hannah’s been spending too much time with Cole. And I’ve been spending too much time thinking about her.

  I turn on the radio, punch the buttons, search for some mind-numbing rock. A car pulls up beside me. I’m too busy channel surfing to care.

  Until I hear the rev of an engine.

  Until I hear the signal.

  I glance to the left, see two guys in a silver Nissan.

  The driver smirks and revs the engine a second time.

  Sweat blooms on my palms.

  If he knew about Logan, would he still want to race?

  Probably.

  Hell, I still want to race. />
  But I won’t.

  I pull my gaze away, punch button number three on the radio and crank the volume.

  The guy revs his engine again. This time his passenger yells something.

  My head snaps up just in time to hear the second insult. “Wuss.”

  My spine stiffens. I might be an ass but I’m no wuss.

  I don’t look at them. Forcing my shoulders into a slouch, I pretend not to care. But my foot is poised, my eye is on the light.

  The second I sense the green, I floor it, launching away from the intersection a good car length ahead of them. There’s no time for doubt, just the exhilarating blur of the world flying by, the amazing sense of control as I weave the IS300 effortlessly around an suv like it’s a piece of trash in the middle of the road. Blood roars in my ears, makes me lightheaded, giddy with power.

  The past, the future—they fall away. Nothing matters but this. I’m in the zone. At one with my steel shell. Focused on the here and now. More focused than I’ve been in a long time.

  I’m back where I belong.

  And then I catch a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. It’s a guy and a dog, heading for a side street. I do a double take. It’s Logan. Staring right at me.

  And the smell of cherry Twizzlers floods the car.

  My foot falls off the gas. The two jerks in the Nissan shoot past, waving their hands out their open window. I’m shaking too much to care.

  Logan is haunting me. Either that or I’m crazy.

  Chapter Two

  I’m not crazy. I’m imagining things. I turn down the side street to follow the guy and the dog. The guy looked just like Logan.

  But there’s nobody there. All I see is a lone dog sniffing the base of a tree. The same dog I saw a minute ago.

  The same dog Logan was standing beside.

  My shaking kicks into high gear. The smell of the Twizzlers Logan loved threatens to choke me. Slowly I cruise down the block past the dog. Sleet hits the windshield with tiny pings, making it hard to see. I turn the wipers up to high and peer into the darkness. I’m searching for a body. Signs of life.

  Nothing.

  After about three blocks, my shaking stops and the smell of the Twizzlers fades. I turn the car in the direction of the garage.

  Mom says I’m overly sensitive. I’ve picked up on other people’s feelings since I was a kid. Only it’s gotten worse since the accident. She calls it being an empath. That’s just a fancy word for feeling too much.

  But the only thing I’m feeling right now is scared. I saw Logan. At least I think I saw Logan. Maybe it was a trick of light? Or maybe I’m just tired? I haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.

  Punching down my fear, I focus on the other thing that’s bugging me. How could I let myself be conned into racing again?

  Because racing is what you do, my badass self says. It’s who you are.

  Not true, I repeat over and over again until I almost believe it. That’s not true.

  “You finally got some color in your cheeks,” Ray says with a broad grin when I pull in a few minutes later. “That’s all it takes to bring you back to life. A little pedal to the metal. How much did you push ’er?”

  “Don’t know.” I toss the keys in his direction. “I wasn’t exactly looking at the speedometer.”

  A broad grin cracks his face. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

  A white blur peels around the corner and squeals to a stop within inches of Ray’s back door. I jump back. When I realize what I’m looking at, my heart goes into overdrive. It’s a shiny new Porsche Boxster. Top-of-the-line sexy. A whole lot of show but not much go. Not the kind of car I ever see at Ray’s.

  The driver door opens. A short muscular guy in jeans and white T-shirt jumps out. I stare at his upper arm. If I had a thunderbolt tat that big, maybe I’d wear T-shirts in the middle of winter too.

  Ray takes another drag from his cigarette before grinding the butt under the toe of his work boot. “Your pay’s in the envelope,” he says to me. He angles his head toward the desk in the corner. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I head for the desk.

  “Santiago!” Ray turns to the Porsche owner. “I thought you weren’t getting here until next week.” Santiago answers, but I’m too busy counting my cash to catch what he says.

  “What the hell?” I must have made a mistake. I count again.

  No mistake. It’s a measly hundred and thirty-one bucks. I was banking on four hundred. Hoping for five. I need gas money, spending money, and I wanted to give Mom a few hundred bucks toward my medical bills. “Uh, Ray, there’s a mistake here.”

  Ray and I have a sweet deal going. Since I’m not a licensed mechanic, Ray pays me under the table, sometimes in cash but sometimes in parts for my car. “I don’t need any more parts, remember? The Acura’s fixed.”

  “How could I forget? You owe me up the wazoo for it.”

  My heart knocks against my ribs. It’s the third time this week he’s brought up my debt.

  He waves his hand dismissively through the air. “That’s all I’m giving ya.”

  Like hell. I close the distance between us. “I worked twenty-seven hours this week. That’s worth two hundred and seventy bucks. And I sent three guys in. One wanted a complete rebuild on the front end. That has to be worth five hundred.”

  That’s the other deal Ray and I have. I refer people to his shop, and he kicks back a percentage of whatever they spend. And they spend big. Mostly because Ray will do whatever they want to improve the performance of their cars, whether it’s legal or illegal. Safe or unsafe.

  “What three guys? I didn’t see nobody.”

  Santiago is watching us, a tiny smile on his thin lips. He’s older, at least thirty. He looks tough but he’s not. When his gaze connects with mine, a shiver crawls down my spine. The guy’s naïve. And somehow Ray’s conning him.

  I hate knowing stuff about people. But I also hate being cheated. “Blair said he was coming in for a new front end.”

  “He didn’t show up. Nobody did.” Ray grabs my arm and steers me back toward the desk. “Listen, Shields, you’re lucky I paid you anything at all. You owe me twenty thousand dollars in parts alone for the rebuild on the Acura. And then there’s the bodywork I shopped out and paid for.”

  I don’t like where this conversation is going. “I know.”

  “I’m not gonna carry you anymore.”

  Sweat blooms on the palms of my hands. “What are you saying?”

  “You aren’t working enough hours to pay off your debt, what with going to school and all.” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Either you come up with five grand by the end of next week or I take your car.”

  My stomach bottoms out. “But it’s my car. The title’s in my name.” Off in the distance, someone laughs. Logan. I turn hot, then cold. “You can’t take it away.”

  Ray’s beady squirrel eyes bore into me. “Sure, I can. I’ve got twenty grand worth of bills proving what you owe me. It won’t be hard convincing a judge to sign it over.”

  He can’t be serious. “You wouldn’t go to court. You hate lawyers and judges.” And anything else to do with the law.

  “Try me.”

  Words jam the back of my throat. I’d rather cut off my right arm than give up my Acura, and he knows it. “I can’t come up with five thousand dollars in a week. You know that.” Even if I could, there’s no way I’d give it all to Ray. It wouldn’t be fair to Mom. She’s been working major overtime to pay down my medical bills. I’d have to give some of it to her.

  “Either you bring me five grand in cash or you bring in ten grand worth of business.”

  “Ten grand in a week?” Mentally I start adding up the costs of various jobs. “It’s almost December. Guys aren’t spending on cars. They’re saving up for gifts and stuff.”

  “That’s your problem, not mine.”

  “Come on, man! Be reasonable.”

  “Oh, I am.” He smiles. “’Course, there is anot
her way you can make money.”

  Racing, he means. “I told you, I’m not racing again.” I promised Hannah I wouldn’t. Right after she visited me in the hospital.

  “Then you’ve got two choices. You either deliver five grand in cash or ten grand worth of business. By the end of next week. Or that car is mine.”

  Ray is not getting my Acura. No way. I need to find him ten thousand dollars’ worth of business. Starting tonight.

  And that means I’m going to a party.

  Chapter Three

  There’s a great road on the way to Drew’s place. Guys hang around all night just waiting for an opportunity to race. I go fifteen minutes out of my way to avoid it.

  You can’t stop, my badass side taunts when I turn onto Drew’s street. Not now. Not when your car’s on the line.

  Yes, I can, my mind argues. I’ll find ten grand in business. Starting with Blair.

  I can’t lose my Acura. I pull in behind a gray Taurus and kill the engine. My gaze drifts over my black leather seats, my new stereo system with navigation and dvd screens, my custom gauges. You’d think I’d want to get rid of my car after what happened. Not true.

  I stare out across the carbon fiber hood. Losing it won’t bring Logan back. Although half the time it’s like he’s back anyway. I swear I feel his eyes on me as I get out of the car and follow the sound of the music.

  Drew’s curtains are open. People are dancing in the living room. I’m halfway up the stairs before I spot Hannah. She’s dancing with Cole, laughing up at him. My heart hammers against my rib cage. Cole Murray. The poster boy for perfect.

  Aisha flings open the front door and grabs my arm. “Tom! ‘Bout time you got here.”

  Cole glances my way. When our eyes connect, he smirks. Cole considers me a waste of air space. Underneath Cole’s superiority, I pick up another feeling: his yearning for Hannah. He likes her as much as I do.

  But only one of us can have her. Only one of us deserves her.