Anything but Broken

by Joelle Knox

  So I believe her, and ask the question I should have on the first day. “Why did you come home?”

  Her eyes widen, and she goes still. But before she can do more than stammer, a voice calls out to us. “Hannah! Evie! Over here!”

  I turn to see a pretty blonde woman waving at us, and even if I didn’t recognize her, the family resemblance is undeniable. Sean’s sister, Sadie, the one who works at the hospital with the babies.

  Evie flashes a relieved grin and heads her way. Sadie already has a trio of stadium cushions laid out, and Evie settles on one, leaving an empty seat for me between her and Sean’s sister. “What did we miss?”

  “The Renegades are almost done with qualifying.” Sadie pats my arm. “Hi, Hannah.”

  “Hey.” This is awkward. Does Sadie think I’m here on a date with her brother, or just as a spectator? I can’t tell from her easy expression, and that makes me think she doesn’t know. I can’t imagine anyone who cares about Sean wanting him tangled up with another Casey train wreck.

  I spot Sean and Gibb down on the grass, standing beside a car trailer with a third man. Sean shades his eyes against the glare of the lights, then raises one hand in a wave.

  My heart thumps. I lift my arm to wave back, and even Gibb’s frown doesn’t bother me. “How long until he races?”

  Sadie consults the printed program in her hand. “They run four races ahead of Street Stocks, but they’re short. Shouldn’t take too long.”

  I open my program and skim the division listings. Mini Modified and Buzz and Renegade and Outlaw Late Model. It’s a whole secret language, a world that’s always been here, right on the edge of my own.

  There are so many things I’ve never let myself do, because I was trying to be small and quiet and invisible. There’s nothing quiet here—it’s loud and wild with the crowd shouting over the roar of the engines and the bright stadium lights chasing away the shadows.

  It’s not my sort of place at all, and I love it.

  Sadie passes us two cans of soda and shakes her head. “I keep asking Sean when he’s going to give this up. Our mom knows better—never.”

  Remembering the way he talked about it that night up on the point, I know that’s the truth. “Evie says he’s really good.”

  “He is,” Sadie says simply. “He’s the best. But even winning every race? The prize money barely covers racing fuel. That’s not why they’re out there.”

  I know why he’s here—for the moment when his skill and his talent and his luck collide, when he beats his competitors and the odds and just wins. “He loves it. I can tell.”

  Evie cracks open her soda and gestures toward the far wall, where banners advertising various local businesses, from plumbers to hardware stores, hang. One features Sean’s logo and the words Whitlow Automotive. “At least he gets a write-off for the garage.”

  “And the customers.” Sadie shrugs. “For some people, it’s a big deal, getting their fuel pump replaced by someone who can build these cars and keep them running.”

  I can see that. He looks like a walking advertisement for mechanical competence down there, ducking under the open hood of his car, wrench in hand. And as much as I hate to give him credit, Gibb’s an even better poster boy. Sean has charisma, but Gibb is just so damn pretty, even when he’s scowling at the third man and shouting.

  Remembering Evie’s flushed cheeks, I sneak a peek at her. But instead of looking at Gibb, she’s flipping through her program. She reaches the last page and grins. “There it is.”

  Across the bottom of the page is an ad for Phoenix Metal & Jewelry, along with Evie’s name and phone number. Sadie leans over me and peers at the page. “You’re doing commissions now?” she asks.

  “Whatever people want. That’s business, right?”

  I hold up my hand and spread my fingers wide, flashing the ring I bought from her. “I’d pay for a matching set. You’re good, Evie.”

  She nudges me with her shoulder. “Thanks.”

  “Do you do wedding bands?” Sadie asks casually. At Evie’s upraised eyebrow, she smiles. “Nick and I are talking about it.”

  I don’t know who Nick is, and it’s a reminder that I don’t really belong here. Most of Hurricane Creek knows who I am—or at least knows me as the surviving Casey girl—but I don’t know them. And I’ll never get a chance to meet them without my family’s history hanging over my head.

  If I stay, I can have a new life, but it won’t be anything close to a fresh start. And I need to remember that.

  I put in my earplugs and watch Sean work on his car through the first two races. I’m already building a fantasy in my daydreams, one where I wake up in his bed with him in it. Not just once but day after day, like the fact that we’re playing this dangerous game means we could ever have something real.

  The third race ends with a blur. The winner accepts a trophy and makes a speech I can barely hear through my ear protection. That’s when Sean puts on a helmet and climbs into his car.

  Evie and Sadie are talking, their words buzzing faintly in my ears. My heart beats faster, and I clench my hands around the program, crumpling the paper. I know how hot it is when Sean handles a car. I can picture his hands, his focus, the way he’s totally relaxed and totally in control, both at the same time.

  He was like that in his office, gripping my waist, lifting me to the desk, taking control of my messy, clumsy kiss. I’ve kissed my fair share of boys, but almost none of them while sober. With Sean, that didn’t matter, because I can’t think when he’s touching me anyway.

  He’s going to touch me tonight. I know he is, and that’s not something I should be thinking about with his sister next to me, laughing at something Evie said. But Sean’s going to put those strong, competent hands on my body, and every nerve I have is already buzzing with the anticipation.

  A man on the stand at the starting line waves a yellow flag, and the cars take off. They’re moving, but it’s not nearly as fast as I expected.

  Sadie leans over and raises her voice. “They’re not racing yet. Not until they get the green.”

  I nod my understanding without taking my eyes from Sean’s car. It’s black with a neon-orange 37 emblazoned on the side, plastered with stickers and decals, speeding around the track near the middle of the group. They make three full circuits before the green flag waves, and then they’re off.

  It’s hard to watch the whole track at once, so I follow Sean’s car. A gasp rises from the crowd, and I glance over to see another car, a dented one with dull green paint, spinning out of control.

  The car rights itself, but not before the man on the high stand waves a yellow flag. The cars slow, and I suck in a breath.

  “It’s going to be one of those nights,” Sadie says.

  I watch the cars sail around the track, with no one passing anyone else. “What does the flag mean?”

  “It’s a caution.” She gestures to the green car. “They’re giving Hallman a chance to pit if he needs to.”

  But the man in the green car sticks his arm out the window with a thumbs-up, and the race resumes.

  I lose count of the laps quickly, and the announcer’s voice crackling through the crappy speakers is unintelligible. Sadie tries to help by shouting explanations from time to time, but I don’t need her words to recognize the truth.

  Sean really is the best. He’s in the lead. And he’s going to win.

  Almost as soon as I think the words, the sleek car riding close behind him surges forward. Metal screeches as it slams into Sean’s left bumper.

  Sadie surges to her feet. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  Sean’s car wobbles, but he doesn’t lose control. He sails around the last half of the track, past the finish line, past the man waving a black-and-white checkered flag, and the crowd roars.

  I roar with them. Up on my feet, screaming and cheering until my throat hurts. Because Sean won.

  And he’s mine. Tonight, anyway.

  Sean pulls to a stop in the sa
me place as the previous winning cars. But instead of getting out and greeting the announcer, he rips off his helmet and stalks toward the man who hit him.

  “Oh shit,” Sadie mutters. “Let it go, baby brother.”

  The man who climbs out of the other car is lean, blond, and familiar. Mason Shaw, valedictorian and president of Cait’s graduating class. He was headed to Harvard or Yale, last I heard. My mother had been enchanted by him, of course, because Mason was a rich boy from a good family who would go on to Do Great Things.

  Right now, he’s taunting Sean. I can’t see his expression from here, but his lazy gesture says it all. I grab Evie’s hand without thinking, clutching at her as Gibb lunges after Sean, snatching the back of his racing suit before he can reach Mason.

  Sean is yelling, though I can’t make out his words. Mason starts yelling right back, and the tension escalates until Mason says something, and then it’s Gibb taking a swing at him while Sean grabs at his arm and Mason jumps back.

  A man in a neon vest walks out on the track—and so does a sheriff’s deputy. Sadie mumbles another curse, but Sean backs off, shaking his head. I ease my grip on Evie’s hand and exhale. “So Mason’s still terrible?”

  “Terrible?” she echoes. “He was a spoiled little shit.”

  “I remember.” Cait’s junior year, she decided to run for class president three weeks before elections. On a lark, because she was so up just then, and when Cait was up, she shone. She trounced Mason without even trying, then drifted into a funk the next month. Mason spent the rest of the term throwing tantrums until she resigned.

  Evie grimaces, a flush of guilt climbing up her cheeks. “He’s not so bad, not anymore. Trying to wreck Sean was a real dick move, though.”

  Sadie looks tense. She doesn’t want Sean to race, and watching him obviously worries her, but she’s still out here, supporting him.

  “Are you okay?” I ask softly.

  “Yeah.” She shrugs it off. “It gets intense, that’s all. Last year, a guy rolled his car, and Trey and I had to pull him out of it. He spent a week in the ICU.”

  It takes me a second to connect the name to Gibb’s older brother. Trey’s a firefighter, I think, an upstanding hero of the community. Unlike his younger brother, who’s still glaring at Mason like he’s planning on getting even later.

  At least Sean seems calmer. And he’s in one piece, uninjured and accepting his trophy. But instead of making a speech like the others, he stalks back to his car.

  He’ll be running hot and dangerous tonight. Just the thought makes me shiver, and not from nerves. I wanted a distraction. I wanted to be bad.

  I think I’m about to get both.

  »» sean ««

  My hair is still wet from the shower when I slide behind the wheel of my Mustang. Gibb’s been bitching nonstop since we left the track, and I’m half-tempted to leave his ass at the garage.

  “Next time,” I promise as he settles into the passenger seat. “Next time we run into Shaw off the track, you can beat his ass. But fighting on the track is an automatic disqualification. You really want to take the points hit?”

  “No,” he grumbles, flexing his fingers like he can already feel Mason’s throat under them. “But if he talks shit about my family again, I’ll jump him in the parking lot.”

  “Fine. Anywhere but during a race.”

  He mutters something, lost under the rumble of the engine, and stares out the window. “We meeting the girls at the bar?”

  Another rush of adrenaline surges through me. “Yeah. I told Hannah we’d be a while. She said they’d wait.”

  “I’m sure,” Gibb drawls. “Trouble always waits.”

  Instead of heading out of the lot, I hit the brakes. “You don’t have to go. I was yanking your chain about the double-date thing. Mostly.”

  Gibb snorts. “Too late for that, buddy. You think you’ll get any action if I leave Evie hanging?”

  “If you’re gonna be an ass, I’ll take my chances.”

  “Fine.” He throws up both hands in surrender. “I’ll be good. At least Hannah’s...”

  A knot forms between my shoulders as I pull out onto the road. “At least she’s what?”

  Gibb doesn’t answer until we’re two blocks down the road. “She doesn’t seem much like Cait. Maybe that’s good.”

  The denial is like acid on my tongue. Even worse, I can’t seem to choke it out. Hannah isn’t anything like Cait. Half the fucked-up shit that used to make Cait laugh like the world was ending would horrify Hannah, because it was all so stupid. And yet the thought burns, because it feels so disloyal.

  We can run away, Sean. Go anywhere we want. Hell, I’ll even stay here if you want me to. Just give me one more chance.

  “Cait was younger,” I hear myself say. “We all were. Don’t you remember? It didn’t seem real, and we were invincible.”

  “Sure,” he says wearily, the way you talk to someone when it’s not worth arguing—or when you don’t think they’re ready to face the truth.

  I turn up the radio for the rest of the short drive. Better that and the wind than an argument, especially when we’re both still so amped from the race. I may be spoiling for a fight, but I don’t want it to be with my best friend.

  The bar is packed, with vehicles lined up in front of the entrance and parked across the faded lines drawn on the cracked lot. I find a bit of empty space away from the other cars. Music and people are spilling out of the open front door, and I see more than one familiar face on my way in.

  Hannah is in the corner with Evie, and she lights up at the sight of me. She’s wearing cutoffs again, this time with a blue-green top edged with lace. She’s holding a drink in one hand, so I bypass the bar and head straight for her.

  She smiles when I reach her, staring up into my eyes like I’m the only damn person in the world. “Congratulations, winner.”

  She doesn’t smile enough. I need to change that. “Thanks. How’d you like your first race?”

  “It was exciting.” She leaned in until her bare arm brushes mine, and it’s all sparks and heat as she lowers her voice to a whisper. “You were exciting to watch.”

  “Yeah?” It takes me a second to tear my gaze away from her lips. When I do, I find Evie watching me with a barely suppressed smile. “Hi.”

  “Hi, Sean. Nice driving tonight.” She raises her half-empty beer to Gibb, who’s standing just behind me. “And a nice car.”

  “You know it, Evie.” Surly or not, Gibb’s dug up at least some of his usual charm. And whatever I said earlier must have changed his mind, because he’s in full-on wingman mode as he tilts his head toward the dance floor. “Wanna ditch the lovebirds and dance?”

  She bites her lip. “Actually, I—”

  “Ready?” Sawyer McGinnis, one of Gibb’s older brother’s friends, slides up to Evie with a grin. “To get your feet stepped on, I mean.”

  He says it like the joke it is, because Sawyer’s never stepped on a woman’s feet in his life. He’s way too smooth for that. Evie hands her beer to Hannah, slips her hand into his, and raises her eyebrows at us. “Be good,” she murmurs, and then she’s gone.

  Gibb stares after her, stunned. Hannah chokes on a laugh and blinks innocently when Gibb pins her with a glare. “What? You bailed on her last time. She wasn’t betting on you sticking around.”

  He didn’t want to be here in the first place, though I doubt that’ll soothe his ego. Gibb Blair isn’t used to women walking away from him.

  But he recovers, shaking his head before slapping me on the back. “I’m gonna go win all of Alan’s money at the pool table.”

  The song playing on the jukebox is slow and sexy. I tilt my head at Hannah and hold out my hand. She smiles again—shyly this time—and sets both drinks on a nearby table.

  Then she slides her fingers over mine.

  Dancing is damn near the dirtiest thing ever invented. Bodies, close together, moving as one. It’s sex standing up, that’s what it is, and I’m going to
take advantage of it. I lay my hand at the small of Hannah’s back and pull her in until her breasts brush my chest. Every step, every sway, creates a friction that makes my teeth clench.

  Her thumb touches the side of my neck, stroking in time with our slow movements. “I was worried about you tonight. Especially when Mason hit you.”

  It takes me a minute to process the words. “He was trying to spin me out. If I wrecked on the last lap, they wouldn’t have bothered to throw a caution. He’d have won.”

  “But you beat him.” She presses closer, and I can feel every inch of her, even the hard tips of her nipples through her shirt. “You came out on top.”

  “I always do, Hannah.” I ease one thigh between hers. “One way or another.”

  Her breath catches. Her eyelids flutter, her chin coming up as her head tilts back. Her bare throat is vulnerable, tempting, especially when she swallows hard. She’s as turned on as I am, flushed and hot and wanting it bad.

  “How do you usually celebrate?” she asks breathlessly.

  Fighting. Fucking. Anything to burn through the leftover buzz. “Depends. Tonight, I want to make a pretty girl smile.”

  She does, her big eyes hazy and dark. “What else?”

  My voice drops to a low whisper. “Whatever you want.”

  Her hips shift. Just a little, but it’s enough to bring her up on her tiptoes, half riding my thigh, her breathing so unsteady I wonder how close she is. If I could slide my hand down, rock her against my leg, and watch her shudder apart right there in the crowded bar.

  My hand is already moving when I hear the first shout. There’s a crash, and Evie’s voice splinters through my arousal. “Oh, shit.”

  Hannah blinks and starts to pull away, but her eyes widen as she catches sight of something over my shoulder. “Oh God, it’s—”

  Another crash drowns her out, but I already know what I’ll find when I spin around. Only it’s worse than I expected because Gibb’s not just fighting with Mason Shaw. No, Shaw brought his pit crew with him, and Gibb’s trying his damnedest to tear through all three of them—and any part of the bar that gets in his way.