Anything but Broken

by Joelle Knox

  “Understood.” I stand, zip up my suit, and try to take my helmet from Boone’s outstretched hand.

  But his fingers have tightened around it, and his gaze is focused behind me. Now that the Mini Modified race is over, I hear his mutter clearly. “Speak of the devil.”

  “You should spare yourself the embarrassment tonight, Whitlow.”

  “Mason.” I turn to face him. He always has the same look on his face, like he smells a fart. “Come to give me a good-luck kiss? Pucker up, honey.”

  He sneers at that—and shifts targets effortlessly. “I have to give you credit. It takes balls to get behind the wheel of a car Gibb’s had his hands on.”

  Gibb looks like he wants to take a swing, and I don’t blame him. Mason’s trying to cause trouble, hoping to get us kicked out before the race starts. Even knowing that, my first instinct is to give in to the rush of anger boiling up inside me. It would be easy to let it loose, to unleash a little of the rage clawing at my gut.

  So I smile. It’s hard as hell, but I do it. “Gibb could do this shit in his sleep. You jealous?”

  A muscle in his cheek jumps, the only sign that I got to him. Mason’s always been jealous of Gibb, because not even his father’s money could buy him Gibb’s natural ability with engines.

  He never lets anyone forget about the money, though. “Hardly. My crew chief has an actual education.”

  Oh, he’s mean tonight. “Fancy,” I say flatly.

  Behind me, Boone snickers. “An actual education. Fat lot of good it does you, Shaw.”

  Gibb jerks his arm free of Boone’s grip, and I tense, ready to hold him back. But all he does is smile. “Yeah, I bet your daddy buys you the very best friends available.”

  I know it’s not directed at me, but it still hits a little close to home. I work damn hard, but my father left me with a lot of advantages. Vintage cars, expensive tools, even enough cash to get my business running without having to sacrifice everything else—like the racing.

  The last time Gibb’s dad was in town, he stole Gibb’s TV.

  Mason still looks like he’s struggling for a retort, and I doubt he’s sharing my discomfort over money. All of Mason’s friends from high school are off getting MBAs and law degrees, not spending their Saturday nights racing for cheap, plastic trophies and pocket change.

  No one here likes him—and he makes it clear he doesn’t want us to like him. Gripping his helmet, he leans close. “I’m going to destroy you tonight.”

  And, just like that, he’s tipped his hand. He’s nervous about the race, nervous enough to bluster and bluff and try to throw me off my game.

  For a heartbeat, I almost feel sorry for him. This sport is hard enough without good people backing you up, and Mason Shaw doesn’t have that. He has brown-nosers, and he has asshole jerks with no soul who care more about winning than racing.

  Then I remember his digs at Gibb, and the ice in my gut freezes out the sympathy. “Don’t talk shit if you can’t back it up, Shaw.”

  “Oh, I can back it up.” He turns and stalks off, back toward his crew, who never even took their attention from the car. They get paid whether Mason disqualifies himself or not.

  “Dickhead.” Boone slams down a wrench with a clatter.

  “Sorry, sad-ass wannabe,” Gibb contributes. He slaps my helmet. “Don’t let him get in your head.”

  “Takes more than that to get through my thick skull.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  Climbing into my car is like coming home. I slide through the window, buckle my harness, and reach for the steering wheel that’s sitting on the dash. I was telling Gibb the truth—in here, nothing else can touch me. There’s no doubt, no second-guessing, nothing but the oval track. The rest of the world is filtered through the Lexan windshield, and I can shut it out anytime I want.

  5

  »» hannah ««

  Evie’s trying. She’s trying hard.

  I’m pretty sure she didn’t want to come out tonight. I’m more certain she didn’t want to come to Shorty’s. I’m not sure why I wanted to, either. Not until midnight, when Sean comes through the door and my heart leaps into my throat.

  Evie eyes me over the top of her Diet Coke. “Now I get it.”

  I’m sure I’m blushing, even as I protest. “It’s not like that.”

  “That why your face is all red?”

  “I’m drinking. And it’s warm in here.” So much warmer when Sean looks my way and raises a hand in greeting.

  “Splotchy,” Evie murmurs as he heads our way. “Did I mention splotchy?”

  Evie’s gotten mean over the last seven years. She’s gotten evil, because now I’m imagining myself all flushed and desperate, which is how I feel anyway when Sean stops at the table, with Gibb his brooding, disapproving shadow.

  I try to smile. It probably looks more like a grimace. “Hey.”

  “How’s it going?” Instead of standing there, Sean pulls out one of the empty chairs beside mine. “Evie.”

  She flashes him an innocent smile. “Hi, there.”

  Gibb is still looming, like he can save Sean from the clutches of spoiled rich girls by refusing to get comfortable. In a way, it’s funny, because Gibb has one thing in common with my parents—he’s the only other person Cait never managed to win over.

  When he does speak, it’s to Evie. “How’s the car holding up?”

  “Not bad. Still makes that weird noise sometimes, but it runs fine.” She slides the last remaining empty chair away from the table and nods to it. “You’re defeated, Blair. Three against one.”

  “I’ve beaten worse odds.” Gibb spins the chair around and straddles it, folding his arms across the back. When he pins me with the next surly look, I have to grip the table not to shrink back. But he just tilts his head. “You staying in town?”

  Sean rolls his head back with a groan. “Gibb. Come on, man.”

  “Not forever,” I promise, because it’s probably what he wants to hear—that he won’t be forced to hang out with Cait’s little sister until Sean gets bored with me. “I’m staying with Evie while I’m here, though. Thanks for that, Sean.”

  “Don’t mention it. And don’t pay any attention to him.” He punches Gibb lightly on the shoulder. “We won the race tonight, but the car got a little banged up.”

  Gibb’s glower gets more intimidating somehow. “Fucking cheaters.”

  “They have to cheat because they suck,” Sean says mildly. The server brings over two beers and the biggest basket of nachos I’ve ever seen, and he thanks her with a grin.

  Sean’s grins are contagious. They’re addictive. He’s so intense right now, like a live wire. I want to touch him and see if he sparks the same life into me. “Tell me about racing. Is it dangerous?”

  “Not really. There are safety precautions in place, and they always have medical crews and the fire department standing by.”

  “Do you win a lot?”

  Evie reaches for a chip. “No one wins as often as Sean. And Gibb, of course,” she concedes.

  “Nice to be noticed,” Gibb grumbles, but the grin he flashes Sean is amused. “Girls always dig the drivers.”

  I’m taken aback by the thought of Sean, surrounded by girls without my baggage and crippling shyness. But I’ve had two drinks, and that’s enough to feel light. Loose. “I can’t imagine why girls don’t like you, Gibb. You’re so damn friendly.”

  He arches one eyebrow. “Well, look who grew up feisty. For your information, Little Miss Sarcasm, the girls like me just the way I am. Ask your friend here.”

  Evie shrugged. “I could take you or leave you. Even take you and leave you.”

  I laugh, and it’s so abrupt and unexpected that it feels wrong, because I forgot for a few seconds that my life is supposed to be made of sadness. It’s reckless and disrespectful, but I don’t care. I clutch at the moment, desperate to drag it out a little longer. “You’re going to break his heart, Evie.”

  “Not likely.�
�� She smiles again, mischievous but sweet, with no mocking in her words. “I’m too dull for Gibb. He likes ’em wild.”

  “Watch it, Galloway. That almost sounded like a challenge.”

  Evie sneaks another chip. “I know better, Blair.”

  Sean gestures between them with the neck of his beer bottle. “You two want some privacy, or are you just gonna get it on right here?”

  I should rescue Evie. But she doesn’t look like she needs rescuing, and if I’m going to seize this night for myself, I might as well go for it. “We could go play pool and let them flirt.”

  “This isn’t flirting, it’s warfare.” Sean grabs his beer and rises. “But I’ll take you up on that game.”

  I glance at Evie to make sure it’s okay, and she gives me an encouraging wink. So I follow Sean to the table and try not to stare at his ass as he bends over to set up.

  He looks good in jeans. Really, really good.

  “You got a particular game?”

  “I only know how to play eight- and nine-ball.” I retrieve a cue and go looking for the chalk. It’s on the floor, which is faintly sticky from who-knows-how-many spilled beers.

  “Nine-ball it is.” Sean slides the triangle slowly into place and lifts it, leaving a perfect diamond. “I’m surprised to see you here tonight.”

  He hands me the cue ball, and I spend a moment lining up the break before I answer. “I can’t deal with sitting around right now. I know there’s nothing I can do on a Saturday night…” But not doing anything feels worse.

  “You could have gotten settled into the spare room at Evie’s.”

  I could have. I should have. I can’t exactly tell him that I’m here hoping to perv on how his jeans fit, though. So I keep my mouth shut and break.

  I’m not great at pool, but I’m not bad, either. I’ve played enough games at parties, usually after Carly drags me to her boyfriend’s frat house and disappears upstairs with him. Pool is a good alternative to grinding up on strange guys I don’t really want to be touching.

  Sean makes me nervous. I barely manage to hit the one ball, and the cluster breaks apart weakly. I give him a rueful look. “I guess I’m just trying to distract myself.”

  “Understandable.” He takes his shot and sinks the first ball. “Maybe that’s exactly what you need.”

  “I’m going slower with the Jack and Cokes tonight,” I promise as I watch him. Not the shot he’s taking, but the way he takes it. His hands. They’re big and clean, but work has left them rough. Watching the pool cue slide back and forth beneath his crooked index finger is hypnotic.

  I’m sorry, Cait. I’m not thinking about him like he’s yours anymore.

  He misses the next ball and takes his time straightening. When he does, he props himself on his pool cue and eyes me. “You do it a lot?”

  It takes me a second to remember what I said before I started staring—Jack and Coke. “No, but my roommate drags me out with her sometimes.”

  He smiles. “How do you think I wound up here after a race?”

  I glance toward the table, where Gibb and Evie are still sparring. “He really doesn’t like me, does he?”

  “It’s not you, trust me.”

  “I know my parents were shitty to him.” I circle the table, hesitating. “They were shitty to you, too. You never deserved that. You were good to her.”

  His smile vanishes, and his jaw tightens. But all he says is, “Your shot, Hannah.”

  The message is clear. Cait’s off limits, and she should be. I bend over the table and have to count the balls to figure out which one I’m supposed to be aiming for, and my heart’s not in it.

  Who the hell am I to be flirting with Sean Whitlow? I’m the girl who always stands in someone else’s shadow. The eternal third wheel. It takes two drinks to loosen my tongue, and no amount of alcohol can thaw me below the neck.

  The cue ball goes careening into the corner pocket. Sighing, I pluck it from the return slot and hold it out to Sean.

  He reaches for it. His fingers brush my hand and linger as his eyes lock with mine.

  No amount of alcohol can thaw me below the neck, but Sean can do it with the tips of his fingers. And with his eyes—oh God, I can’t believe I ever thought his eyes were unremarkable. They’re deep, endless. I could fall into them. His expression is neutral, but he’s staring at me like he’s feeling the same thing I am. Tiny sparks, dancing up my hand to spread throughout my body. Tingles. Goose bumps.

  Except that’s impossible. Boys like Sean—no, come on, men like Sean—don’t get sparks and tingles and goose bumps. They get laid, in the backs of their trucks or probably in the bathrooms of bars like this, bars with sticky floors and shady corners and smoke obscuring everything.

  He can’t be feeling the tingles. But he’s still touching me.

  He blinks. Just like that, the moment is over. He tugs the ball from my fingers and turns to study the felt table. “I might have been good to Cait, but I was never good for her. Your parents were right about that, at least.”

  It doesn’t seem fair, but maybe I just don’t want my parents to have been right about anything. “Well, broken clocks, and all that.”

  “Don’t worry—that’s all the credit I’m willing to give them.”

  “Me too.” That’s rebellious. It’s downright ungrateful. But it’s the truth, and Sean might be one of the few people who can understand it right now. “I feel terrible for thinking it, though.”

  “Yeah.” He lifts his beer like he’s toasting me. “To honesty, and the perfect fucking right to feel uncharitable sometimes.”

  “Honesty,” I echo, hoisting my own mostly empty drink. “Maybe if I say some of the horrible stuff out loud, it won’t eat me up from the inside anymore. I’m so afraid it’ll come out around one of their friends, or the doctors.”

  “It’s probably nothing they don’t know.” He leans over and strikes the cue ball with one decisive motion.

  An uncomfortable reminder that nothing is secret in small towns. We all know, but it never stopped my family from trying so hard to beat the odds. “I forget. It’s easy to be anonymous in Atlanta.”

  He huffs out a quiet laugh that doesn’t sound amused at all. “Not in Hurricane Creek.”

  “Have you ever thought about leaving?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he walks around to the other side of the table, his shoulder brushing mine as he passes. “Not seriously. My job is pretty secure, even in a place like this. You can’t get anywhere without a car.”

  “And you own your own business. That’s cool.” I lean on my cue and imagine him under the hood of a car, greasy and muscular and competent. God, right now, that’s the most attractive part. He’s like a rock. He’s got his shit together.

  “It has its moments,” he concedes. “Then there are the times when two of my mechanics call in sick because they’re still shit-faced from the night before, and a third one’s in jail. Not so much fun being the boss then.”

  I grin in spite of myself. “Sounds like you’re all trouble.”

  “Don’t ever forget it.”

  Evie walks over and pulls a stool up beside the pool table. “Gibb Blair,” she declares, “is no gentleman. He just ditched me for another woman. One who walked up and told him, right in front of me, that she’s desperate for a tune-up.”

  Sean winces, and I choke on a horrified laugh. “That’s a terrible line.”

  “Perhaps her wits aren’t her best asset. Or it could be an inside joke.” She jerks her head toward the dance floor. “She didn’t seem to need a line.”

  I look, and I’m not entirely sure what to think. I don’t know what I expected—some hot, young race groupie, maybe—but the woman slipping her hands into his pants has to have ten years on him, and she’s wearing cutoffs, flip-flops, and a faded black T-shirt. She’s almost plain—until she laughs at something Gibb says, and maybe she’s wittier than she let on, because she’s making Gibb laugh, too.

  It irritat
es me that Gibb might not be as shallow as I assumed he was. But he’s still rude, so I loop an arm around Evie’s shoulders. “We can head out, if you want.”

  “You’re not finished with your game.”

  I’m not, and I don’t want to go, but Evie’s been tolerant enough for one night. I hold my cue out to Sean. “Rematch some time?”

  “Sure.” He tosses Evie a little salute. “Good night.”

  “Night, Sean.” She downs the rest of her Diet Coke and slings her purse over her shoulder.

  I hesitate, because I can’t drag Evie back here every night, hoping to bump into Sean. But I can’t seem to get the words out, either, though they should be simple. Want to hang out?

  That’s the first step down a bad road. One I shouldn’t even think about, because I need to be looking for roads that lead back to Atlanta, and college, and pulling myself out of my skid. “Good night, Sean.”

  He gives me that look again. “See you.”

  Oh God, I hope so.

  I follow Evie out into the balmy night. “I’m sorry. I know Gibb’s...whatever he is. An asshole.”

  “Pfft.” She digs her keys out of an outside pocket on her bag. “You think that bothers me? It is what it is.”

  “Still sucks.” For all I know, Gibb counted on this happening when he abandoned Evie. It might be self-centered to imagine he hooked up with someone just so Evie and I would leave, but he really doesn’t seem to want me around Sean.

  My phone beeps as Evie starts the car, so I dig it out of my purse and check my inbox. There’s a third e-mail from the registrar’s office, and I still haven’t opened the previous two. The time hasn’t run out on my grieving daughter excuse—and even thinking that makes me hate myself a little.

  Not that hating myself has helped much. Maybe I should just steer into the skid.

  My thumb moves down to the contacts on my phone almost without my permission. Sean’s number is there, so tempting. It only takes a few seconds to pull up the text window and type out a brief message.

  How soon do you want to see me?

  Don’t do it. Don’t do it, Hannah.