Flying Gold

by Vanessa North

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tiffani

  “Package came for you.” Tegan drops a thick envelope on my toolbox as she passes out the mail. “Also, Snap-On is coming Friday. Any tool requests for the shop need to be in by noon Thursday so Tanner can review them.”

  “Thanks, Teegs.” I’m not expecting anything, but I pick up the package and feel it out like a Christmas present. I don’t recognize the company in the return address. I tear it open and find a small box, wrapped in gold paper with a black ribbon.

  A small card falls out, which I open first.

  Ani,

  I’ll never forget this weekend. Thank you.

  Love,

  Matt

  I blush bright red. I know he’s thanking me for help with the car and not for—well, all of it. But the signoff Love, Matt sends a rush of awareness through my body. A remembrance of the way his hands ran through my hair, and how his lips felt on my skin.

  I slip the box from the paper and open it.

  Nestled in black tissue paper is a small gold Hot Wheels car. A gold Chevelle with black racing stripes. I turn it over in my hand, already knowing what it’s going to say on the underside. Mattel 1970 ChevelleTM SS.

  I know I’m grinning like a fool before Duke even tugs on my braid.

  “We fixin’ toys now?” he teases.

  “It’s a present from Matt.” I place it on the top of my toolbox, next to the family photos and my phone dock. “A thank-you for helping him at the race.”

  “Uh huh.” Duke goes back to his lift. “Sure it is.”

  I stare at it for a moment, sitting there on my toolbox, a tiny little reminder of what it feels like to be with someone who adores me. I send him a text.

  Thank you for my car.

  He doesn’t answer, but I know he must be busy on set, and I put it out of my mind until it’s nearly lunchtime and my phone buzzes in the pocket of my coveralls.

  You’re welcome. <3

  I’m still smiling as I leave for lunch, walking the short distance to Mac’s law office, where Brendan’s sister Misty is already waiting for me.

  “Tiffani, hi, it’s great to see you again.” Brendan and Misty couldn’t be more different. While he leans in hard to his broody alternative boi look, she’s a suburban mama-figure through and through. Round and smiling in a floral blouse and red capris, she looks like she’s ready to give me a hug and listen to my problems. Maybe that’s why she’s the best real estate agent in Royal.

  “Hi Misty, Mac.” I set my bag down and take a seat at the conference table.

  “Hey, Tiff.” Mac hands me a folder full of papers. Way more papers than I expected. “As executor of your dad’s estate, I’ve looked over the listing documents and everything is in order. Your sisters and Tyler—” He clears his throat. “Excuse me. They’ve all agreed and authorized me to act on their behalf.”

  “Correct. And of course, mine too.” I smile nervously. He smiles back, and I immediately feel better. Mac wouldn’t smile like that if he thought I was making a mistake.

  “So, today we’ll sign the listing agreement, which is good for six months. Misty will set up a lockbox with a key on the front door and place a sign in the yard. Do you want to be there while she does that, or do you want me to do it?”

  I glance at Misty, who gives me one of her maternal smiles. “It’s up to you, honey.”

  “Mac can do it.” I look to him for confirmation. “Is that okay?”

  “Of course.”

  I fish the spare set of keys out of my bag and hand them to Misty. “Here.”

  “Thank you.”

  We sign a bunch of papers, so many I lose track. Can this be real?

  I swallow and look down at the table, tears suddenly filling my eyes.

  “Excuse us for a minute, Misty?” Mac’s hand comes down on mine and gives me a squeeze.

  “Of course.”

  I take a few deep breaths as she leaves the conference room, trying to calm myself and banish these unwanted tears.

  “Hey, hey.” Mac squats down next to my chair. “You okay?”

  I take another deep breath and slap at my face. “Yeah. I just—I need to do this, but it isn’t easy.”

  “I know. I can take over from here if you need. You don’t actually have to be here, Tiff. That’s what you guys are paying me for.”

  I nod. “I know, but I think I needed to see that it was real.”

  “I get it.”

  “How do you do it? How do you sit at your dad’s desk?”

  He pinches the bridge of his own nose and drags in a breath. “It’s been a long time. It gets easier.”

  “Promise? As my lawyer?” I let out a watery laugh.

  “I promise as your friend.”

  “That’ll do, I guess.” I fan my face rapidly. “I have to get back to work. Do you have everything?”

  “I have everything. Say hi to the fam, okay?”

  I nod, gathering the folder he prepared for me. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime.”

  * * *

  The first official race of the circuit is in the mountains of South Carolina. Close enough we don’t have to stay in a hotel room. This time, we borrow Duke’s truck and a trailer from the shop. Matt meets me at American Heavy Metal at oh dark thirty, scratching his scruffy jaw as we load the car onto the trailer.

  “Hey.” He leans across the console and kisses me. No preamble, no asking permission. His hand sinks into my hair and tongue teases my lips open, sending lush heat through my body in a wave. The stubble on his face abrades my chin and I whimper into his mouth. He pulls back and smiles. “Good morning.”

  I take a moment to catch my breath, then whisper, “Good morning.” I gesture to the cup holder. “Fresh coffee.”

  “Thanks.” His smile widens to a grin. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?”

  “Nah. Save your brain and your reflexes for the track. Take a nap even. I’ve got this.”

  He doesn’t nap, but he does stay quiet, quieter than I expected as we cut around Atlanta and up I-85 toward South Carolina. About forty miles northeast of Atlanta, he stretches and yawns. “Can we stop to pee soon?”

  I glance at the clock. It’s only five. We have time. “Okay.” I pull off at the next truck stop exit, and we both go inside to take care of nature. After, I go looking for snacks and find Matt intently studying the gummy bears.

  “Sour or not sour?” He holds up two bags.

  “Both,” I say decisively. “Energy drinks or more coffee?”

  He squints at his watch. “Energy drinks. Coffee might upset my stomach at an inopportune time.”

  “Got it.” I head for the cooler, where I grab the energy drinks, and, on a whim, a couple of cans of Cheerwine. When I meet him at the register, he’s added Twizzlers and Fritos to the pile of snacks.

  “I don’t think the coffee is what you need to worry about,” I tease.

  “Oh, this is all for you. Didn’t know what you liked.”

  The cashier looks back and forth between the two of us and the growing mountain of food, as if trying to figure out if we’re serious.

  Maybe it’s the early hour and the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the way Matt reminds me what life was like before the weight of adulthood made me serious, or the ridiculous idea that he of all people might not know what I like—or the fact that right now, I like him more than just about anything. I feel giddy, so I grin up at him.

  “Honey, you know what I like.” I bite my lip and run my hand down the back of his arm until I reach his hand. Tangling our fingers together, I lean forward and stage whisper, “SweetTarts.”

  His ears flush red, and he laughs, then swallows and picks up a roll of the sour candy. “How could I forget?”

  “And chocolate.”

  He reache
s for a Hershey bar, glancing at me. I pout, and he moves his hand to the Snickers and grabs two.

  “And a lottery ticket.”

  “Anything for you, pumpkin.” He smiles at the cashier. “All of this, and a lottery ticket.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Did you want to pick the numbers?”

  “No, we’re in a hurry. We should let the machine pick them.”

  As we haul our bounty of road trip food out to the truck, he hands me the lottery ticket. “I hope you win, pumpkin. Who’s going to eat all of this?”

  I laugh. “It’s junk food, it’ll keep. I couldn’t help it. You make me feel like a kid again.”

  He goes still, resting his head on his arm, leaning against the truck. His eyes are closed and his body language is a display of restraint. “That’s the nicest thing I think you could possibly say to me.”

  We both go quiet, and he opens his eyes and looks over at me. “Come here.”

  I go into his arms, easy as anything, and he kisses my forehead. “Silly, ridiculous, amazing woman. Let’s go win a race.”

  It’s barely light outside when we pull up to the Dragway, but I drop him and the car off by the pit and go park the truck. On my way back to the track, I hear a whistle behind me. Ugh. Until I hear, “Hola, mi reina.”

  Eli? I spin around, grinning, and he greets me with a hug. “Hey. How’ve you been? How’s Tío Javi?”

  He nods. “I’m good; he’s good. You look at the lineup yet?”

  I shake my head. “Just got here. Matt’s over by the pit.”

  He hands over a piece of paper, and I scan the names and car models listed. I find Matt’s name instantly. My gaze drops to the other line in his bracket, then up to Eli. “Oh fuck.”

  “May the best man win?” He shrugs a shoulder. “Sorry, mi amor.”

  I bite my lip nervously. We have the faster, more powerful car. But Javier has been racing since before Matt and I were born. And Matt’s reaction times are too erratic to be predictable. Ah hell.

  Eli and I split at the track with a wave, and I make my way over to Matt, who’s standing next to the Chevelle, squeezing contact lens solution into his eyes. He blinks up at me and gives me one of his sunshine smiles. “Hey, what’s up?”

  I hand over the bracket lineup. He flinches when he sees his race. “So that’s that, huh?” He buries his hands in his hair and pulls, eyes scrunching shut.

  “Your car is faster,” I offer, knowing it sounds lame.

  “He’s a better driver.”

  I can’t disagree. “We’ll see. Every race is a fresh start.” Kind of. Not in a series like this. At least we won’t be disqualified if we lose to him, but the series cup would go to the team with the most points at the end of the season. And losing in the very first race would suck. Bad for morale and whatever.

  We watch the first few races in near-silence. The early crowd is not as raucous as they’ll be when the beer starts flowing in a few hours. Out of habit, I make notes on the cars and drivers on the bracket. Who’s got the better reaction times, any mods to the cars. When Javier comes to stand next to me and leans on the railing, I’m biting my lip and squinting at a Camaro down in the staging area.

  I glance up at him. “Hi.”

  “You gonna tell your boyfriend to go easy on an old man, gorda?” He smiles back at me.

  “Not a fucking chance.”

  “Good.”

  We watch as the Camaro and the GTO next to it burn out their tires and pull up to the pre-stage. “GTO,” I say softly.

  “No bet.” He laughs.

  The lights on the tree start flashing, then both cars leap forward. They scream down the track, and the Camaro crosses the line first.

  “Damn. We were wrong.” I bite at the eraser of my pencil.

  “Not quite.” Javi points at the tree. The lights are red for the Camaro.

  “He crossed too soon? How’d I miss it?”

  Javi shrugs. “You were watching the cars. Not paying attention to the drivers.”

  “Hey—no hard feelings if you win,” I tell him. “But I hope Matt kicks your ass.”

  He laughs and nods. “I see how it is. No hard feelings either way, but I’ll be hoisting that trophy at the end of the summer.”

  When it’s our turn, I help Matt get the wheels straight and lined up to stage. He steps out of the car.

  “A kiss for luck?” he asks me nervously. I plunge my hands into his hair and pull him down to me. I kiss him hard, pouring all my confused feelings into the contact of lips and tongues. We ignite. His hands come around my waist and his hips rock into mine, pressing the length of his arousal against my belly. I groan into his mouth, and he bites my lip. When he finally pulls back, his pupils are blown and his breathing heavy. And I want him.

  I take a step back and pat at his chest. “You should put your helmet on now.”

  “Right.” He grabs the helmet, then turns back to me. “Any advice?”

  “Push your foot to the floor and pray.”

  The Coronet pulls up next to us and burns out, sending smoke into the air. I step back out of the danger zone and pull my T-shirt up over my nose. Matt burns out, and then eases up to the pre-stage.

  Eli, Alex, and I stand together as the tree lights up. Alex’s hand finds Eli’s shoulder.

  The engines roar as the two cars hurtle down the track. It’s a tight race, and I can’t tell who crossed first until I look at the clock.

  Matt’s time is 13.9 seconds. Javi’s is 14 even. I slump in relief next to Eli and Alex, who are muttering back and forth in Spanish, and then I step away to jump up and down, waving at Matt as he lifts off his helmet at the other end of the track.

  Since my Spanish is limited to car talk, I don’t catch what Javi’s guys are saying until I turn to face them and Eli switches to English.

  “Congratulations.” He gives me a tight smile, then they walk away.

  “Thanks,” I call after them, then look at the scores again. The race times are the same. Javier’s reaction time is slower than I’ve ever seen it. Was he spooked by the Camaro disqualifying? That isn’t like him.

  I go to help Matt pack his chute, and he pulls me into an effusive hug. “Did you see the times? I won on reaction time alone. Me.”

  I nod, glancing over at Javi and his crew, huddled by the Coronet. “Congratulations.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Just feeling bad for Javier.”

  We plan to stay to watch a few more races, but Javier comes over and says goodbye. “Wasn’t my day. Congratulations, Matt.”

  They shake hands and then Javi gives me a hug. “See you in a few weeks at Tate. We’ll be staying at my sister’s house in Ellijay.”

  “See you then.” I hug him tightly. “Stop by the shop before you go home to North Carolina.”

  He nods. “I will. It’ll be good to see everyone again.”

  I lean my head against Matt’s sweaty shoulder, feeling bittersweet about the win.

  “I didn’t mean to kick your uncle’s ass,” he mutters. “I’m sorry.”

  Laughing, I wrap an arm around his waist. “Yes you did, and no you’re not. And all’s fair down there on the track. I’m proud of you.”

  “Let’s not stay.” He takes my hand. “Let’s go home.”

  I look into his eyes, which are dark and serious, and I nod. “Okay.”

  Matt

  Tiffani is quiet—pensive even—for the first hour of the drive, staring listlessly out the passenger side window until I hand her the roll of SweetTarts.

  “Thanks.” She takes them and pops one into her mouth, then hands me one. Blue raspberry. I let it dissolve slowly on my tongue, from tart to sweet to nothing.

  “What’s wrong with Javier?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing. But because of Da
d, I’m paranoid about losing the father figures in my life, you know?”

  I don’t, not really. My own dad is an asshole of the first order. Controlling, manipulative, mean. When he and mom divorced, it was ugly, and I was used as a pawn. Tiffani got me through those years, seeing me through to the other side of the worst time in my life.

  The least I can do is try to do the same for her, whatever form that might take. “Hey, I’m sure he’s fine, but we can call him and check on him when we get home, okay? Just call to make sure he got home safe.”

  “Okay.” She nods. We pass the rest of the drive going over the race, the competition, who we might be facing off against next time. Before I know it, she’s unlocking the gate to American Heavy Metal, and we’re unloading the car in the back lot.

  “Are you going to your mom’s tonight?” She turns to me.

  “I thought about it, but it’s still early. I can make it back to Atlanta at a decent hour.”

  “Come over for dinner first?” There’s an edge to her voice, and she’s practically vibrating with restless energy.

  She’s not inviting me for dinner. And I’m not about to say no. “Sure.”

  We lock up in silence, and then climb into her BMW. “Fasten your seat belt.”

  I know she says it out of habit, probably says it every time someone rides in her car, but it still makes me smile. Those words were as good as foreplay for years. It clicks into place and she grins at me.

  When we arrive at her house, there’s a stack of real estate agent business cards on the kitchen counter next to a vase of gladiolus.

  “Pretty.” I touch one of the delicate flowers. “Why don’t you text Javi?”

  She swallows and pulls out her phone, fires off the text, and then crosses her arms and stares at me. Her phone buzzes on the counter, then her shoulders slump as she reads the message.

  “He’s fine. Told me to stop rubbing it in.” Her smile flickers.