A Son of Carver (Carver High #2)

by Haven Francis

  I forgot how good the rush of a new relationship feels. And by new, I mean two days in, but they’ve been a pretty great couple of days.

  Friday was a slight set back because Nash made it clear that I had discussed Angel with him but Angel doesn’t take anything about Nash seriously and generally feels bad that I’m stuck with him in photography class. He thinks Nash is a complete joke and until very recently, I was on the same page. I don’t know how to tell Angel that I was wrong, that he’s wrong, without looking like a complete idiot.

  But I was wrong. Nash has been proving that to me every day. Even that stunt he pulled at Tatum’s was just his childish, Neanderthal way of showing me he cares about me. And I get why he’s apprehensive about me dating Angel, but he’s as wrong about Angel as Angel is about him.

  I told you I have to go take pictures of Nash at his race tonight

  Who am I supposed to stare at from the stage?

  Tatum?

  I can’t make sexy eyes at Tatum

  Then don’t make sexy eyes

  I always make sexy eyes when I’m performing

  You sound really stupid right now

  Yeah, texts are not my best form of communication

  Most of the crap you say doesn’t really work without the sarcastic tone

  Exactly. I just read this back, and yeah, I sound like a total douche

  Completely douchey

  I’m gonna miss you tonight

  I get all giddy at his words. Giddy. Me. Which is so stupid and girly but I can’t help it.

  Maybe I can find a ride to your place when it’s over

  Try. Text me when it’s done

  Yep, I text him before shoving my phone in my bag and heading outside to wait for Nash at the corner- neither of us want to deal with Jolee.

  He’s already there, so I climb in and give him a bright smile.

  “Are you really that exited to watch me race?” he asks, his head cocked.

  “Sure,” I tell him, not sure how much I want to discuss Angel with him.

  He pulls away and laughs under his breath. “You’re already completely pussy whipped, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t think you quite understand what that term means,” I tell him with an easy laugh.

  “It applies, trust me.”

  Clearly, he’s calling Angel a pussy, but I refuse to engage. “So, are you nervous?”

  He looks at me and shakes his head. “I’m not sure how I feel about this new pussy whipped version of you. Where has all the feistiness gone?”

  “Kill me for being happy.”

  “So I was right all along, huh? You just needed to get laid.”

  “I’m not going to acknowledge that comment with a response. If you would like to rephrase it, we can discuss it.”

  “You know what else I don’t like? This new diplomatic formal way in which you speak to me ever since we agreed upon the terms of our new friendship,” he says all monotone, clearly mocking me, since it’s the tone I now use when I’m in take a second before you ream his ass and think mode.

  “It’s called exercising self-control. I don’t like constantly yelling at my friends and now that you’re part of that very small circle, you get to receive all the benefits.”

  “Then maybe I don’t want to be your friend.”

  “You would prefer I go back to being a bitch to you?”

  “I would prefer you be real with me.”

  Ugh. I’m trying with him, I swear I am. But there’s no pleasing this damn kid. “Seriously, Nash, you should just take what you can get. I wasn’t bullshitting about the kid gloves – I refuse to put them on every time we’re together. I’m trying to have a grown-ass relationship with you.”

  “That was better. Jesus Christ, I can’t handle you all uptight and weird as hell.”

  “That’s great except that once I slip back into my old ways you’re going to start giving me speeches about how you’re trying and I’m not and everything you say is genuine and I don’t believe any of it and blah, blah, blahblidy blah.”

  “Blahblidy blah? And I’m the one who needs to be handled with kid gloves?”

  “You tend to bring out my inner five-year-old.”

  “Just so you know, I like your inner five-year-old,” he says as he pulls up to the front of his house.

  I smile at him without even trying. Okay, I think to myself. This is fine. This is who we are. I just need to accept that and go with the very immature flow of our friendship.

  “I think the five-year-old version of me is very compatible with the eighteen-year-old version of you. Who’d a thunk, right? Too bad we couldn’t have figured this out months ago.”

  He sticks his tongue out at me, and I stick mine out at him.

  “Oh my god,” I say, rolling my eyes when I realize how deeply I just embraced our new friendship. “You’re going to be bad for me, Nash. I can already feel it,” I tell him as I get out of his truck and walk with him towards the pole barn.

  “The word’s fun Presley. Get yourself a dictionary and become acquainted with it.”

  “We’ll see,” I tell him. “I guess anything could happen.”

  “Yep,” he says suddenly tense, “anything could happen.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, starts walking to his full potential and I’m suddenly ten yards behind him.

  I’m confused until I look beyond him and see the truck and trailer that’s loading his big old car. Clearly he’s nervous. I would be too. What kind of race car is that?

  “Presley,” a man that I recognize from the picture as Nash’s dad, says as I get closer to the commotion. He catches me off guard when he wraps his arms around me and gives me a bear hug. I pat his back with my face smashed against his rough flannel shirt. “Good to finally meet you. Nash’s been talking about you a lot lately.”

  “Really?” I ask when he finally releases me. I look over his shoulder to where Nash is congregated around his car with his brother and a handful of tattooed bearded guys that I don’t recognize.

  “Sure. You’re a pain in his ass, but I don’t think he minds,” he tells me with a wink.

  “The feelings mutual,” I assure him.

  He laughs, slaps me so hard on the back that I stumble forward, then says, “So, you ever been to a street race before?”

  “Street race? That’s where I’m going? To a street race?”

  “Not what you were expecting?”

  “Isn’t that like, racing down the road?”

  “Well there’s no track but it’s a little more complicated than that.”

  “Is that the car he’s racing in?” I ask with genuine concern.

  I asked Tatum what she meant when she said she doesn’t go to Nash’s races and she told me it’s because she’s terrified he’s going to get hurt. I get it now.

  “She looks like a beauty, but trust me, she’s a beast.”

  “Oh… her name’s Ruby right?”

  “Yep. One of Nash’s favorite girls of all time. Never thought he’d love anyone more than his first love, Davina, but Ruby’s been good to him.”

  “Davina?”

  “His little black baby,” Nick says with a sparkle in his eyes.

  “Wait, we’re talking cars here, right? Not women?”

  “Ha,” Nick laughs, “When Nash looks at a girl the way he looks at his cars you let me know so I can let my daddy know his home’s about to freeze over.”

  I can’t help but screw up my face at Nash’s dad. What the hell kind of weird idiom was that?

  “Hell,” he tells me. “Pretty sure my daddy’s living in hell – he was one mean son of a bitch.”

  “No, I mean… yep. I got that. I mean, I understood what you were saying there…” Jesus Christ. I’m not gonna be able to hang with these back woods country folks. “And I get the Nash part too. I watched him work on her the other day and I’ve never seen him so serious. Makes sense now… he’s tending to the love of his life. It’s really sweet, Mr. Carter – you raised him right.”


  He laughs at me again. Because I sound like a complete blabbering idiot. “I can see why Nash likes you so much.”

  “Oh, no, Nash doesn’t like me. I mean, we’ve come to an understanding and all, but he doesn’t actually like me. I mean, just so you know.”

  He cocks his head at me. “You’re a strange bird, Presley. Everyone in California as weird as you?”

  I kind of bobble my head around and tell him. “I think so, I mean the boys there fall in love with girls, not cars. And, for the most part, people believe their dead parents are living in some sort of utopia, not heaven necessarily, but you know, some sort of nice after life. And I’m pretty sure that car racing involves an oval type track, although I’m not really up to date on racing of any kind, so what do I know, right?”

  “Don’t be nervous Presley. Kid’s gonna be alright,” he tells me with one more forceful slap to my back, before walking away.

  God, is he right? I do tend to babble like an idiot when I’m stressed out. Am I worried about Nash? I look at the car again, at how big, clunky and ancient it looks. Then I look at Nash who has his fingers interlocked behind his head, his black T-shirt straining against his flexed muscles. His face looking tense and way too serious. And like a man, not like a damn five-year-old. Of course I’m nervous.

  I realize as I stare at him that I care about him. I’m not just running through the motions, pretending that he is now my friend. He really is my friend. And I care about him a lot.

  Tentatively, I make my way towards Nash, suddenly needing to be near him. He’s busy with his gang of guys but when he catches site of me he reaches out and pulls me tightly into his side and I know in that moment that he’s nervous too.

  “Presley, these are the guys. Guys, this is Presley.”

  I wave, scared that if I open my mouth incoherent nothingness will fall out. They nod at me but quickly return to their car talk. Nash keeps me tucked under his arm, close to him. Which is weird and I think about pushing away but he seems completely unaware of my presence as they go over what seems like a check list of things that were done to the car.

  Now I’m the one who feels like a five-year-old; unable to follow the conversation, scared out of my gourd about what I’m going to witness tonight and feeling utterly tiny pressed up against Nash’s massive, hard body.

  Fifteen minutes later, Nick joins the circle telling everyone, “They’re ready for us.”

  Who they are, I don’t know, but it sets in motion a lineup of the guys as they all give Nate, Nash and Nick bro hugs. I try to move out of the way, but it only causes Nash to hold me closer, so I hunker down and wait for the man wave to subside.

  “You ready?” Nash asks me.

  And since I’m not the one that should be nervous because I’m not the one getting into Ruby, I force a huge smile and tell him, “Yep. Can’t wait.”

  He huffs out a laugh, staring at me with confusion like he often does and says, “Let’s go.”

  He leads me to the cab of the truck where most of the space is already being taken up by Nick and Nate.

  “Get the hell out,” Nash tells his brother.

  “What? You get the hell in,” he tells him with a dismissive laugh.

  “Nate,” he says more sternly. “Get the hell out.”

  “Put your girl on your damn lap and let’s go.”

  “It’s fine,” I mutter in Nash’s direction. Seems like everyone’s on edge and I’m sure a brotherly fight won’t help the situation.

  He looks at me for a moment before hoisting himself up, then flinging me on top of him. I am curious what, exactly, Nash looks like under his shirt for one reason – the ease in which he can maneuver me around with zero effort.

  He slings his right arm around my waist and shifts my body so that I’m leaned on his chest in the cradle of his arm. His massive legs are spread apart and mine are resting between them. I shift around a little, not sure how to work this so it doesn’t seem intimate.

  The beginning of the ride is uncomfortable, not only because of the position I’m in but also because everyone is dead silent. The radio’s not even on. But eventually I relax into him and take long, deep breaths, hoping my zen-ness will rub off on the men in the car. And it works because eventually Nash’s deep breaths are in sync with mine. And his thumb is rubbing a lazy path back and forth across my stomach. Normally, I would tell him to take his hand off me, but I don’t think he realizes what he’s doing and I’m not about to make a scene in this truck.

  The ride is taking so long I wonder if this was just an elaborate scheme to kidnap me. The sun has now set and the road we’re driving down is pitch-black. The good news is, it seems to be easing the tension in the car.

  Nash shifts me, lifting me up and turning me further into him, folding my legs on top of his lap. “You’re bony little butt is killing my thigh,” he says in a deep, quiet voice.

  In my new positon, my mouth is about an inch from his ear so I say quietly, “My butt is anything but bony.”

  “Fine. The shelf of your luscious ass is killing my thigh.”

  Nate snickers next to us and I discreetly pinch Nash’s stomach, but it’s rock hard so all I get is some skin.

  “Ouch,” he says, pulling my hand away but not letting go of it. He turns his head so that I can feel his lips on my ear and says quietly, “Don’t get defensive. You know how much I love your ass.”

  I’m not stupid, I know that his breath on my ear -that’s now wet from his mouth- is the reason why, but his words send a shiver though my body. I pull my hand out of his and try to ignore the smell of his soap, or aftershave, or whatever it is because it smells good. So good that I’m tempted to lick it off his skin. Because it smells so good. Not because I want to lick his skin.

  “Relax, Presley, you’re making me nervous.” He grabs my hand again, the one that is now hanging out in front of us, loudly cracking its own knuckles. This time he interlocks our fingers and rests them on his stomach. He uses his ginormous hand to grab the back of my thighs and pull me up tighter to him.

  This is too weird. And producing a nervous energy in my body that I’ve never felt. Oh, hell, where the crap are we going and how long until we get there?

  I rest my head in the crook of his neck and close my eyes. It’s been years since I’ve felt as petite as I do wrapped up in Nash’s big body.

  Eventually the vibration from the road, the dead silence and Nash’s warm body, that is literally encasing me, has me practically melting into him. I listen to the sound of his heartbeat and the steady rhythm of his breathing and say a little prayer that everything will be okay tonight.

  Ten minutes later, Nick starts running through another check list – this one regarding the rapidness in which the evening’s festivities will need to take place. And I suddenly realize that I’m involved in some illegal activities. My stomach tightens into a hard ball and my hand that’s still in Nash’s clamps down on him. “You okay?” he asks.

  “I think so. A little prepping on your part may have been helpful,” I tell him.

  “Sometimes I forget you didn’t grow up around here. I just assume everyone knows what it’s all about.”

  “I’m pretty sure I have no idea what any of this is about,” I tell him.

  “When we get there, we’ll unload the car and the guys and I will double check everything to make sure nothing got out of line during the drive. We have five guys in our crew that will be there with their cars, and another crew of guys that are racing us. It gets a little chaotic and I’m gonna be distracted but just stay by me, no matter what, okay?”

  “Yeah… okay.”

  “It’s gonna be fine, Presley.”

  “I know,” I tell him, but the shakiness of my voice betrays my words.

  “This is the first race of the season so everyone‘ll be jacked up and talking shit. Especially to us. At the end of last season my dad was number one and I was number two so people are gunning for us. Nate will take care of the shit talking, so j
ust try to ignore it. The races go quick. Most likely, I’ll be racing last and then everything gets packed up pretty fast and we’ll be back on the road heading home, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “You’re gonna like it.”

  “Uh, huh,” I mutter, voluntarily cowering into him now. This is not anything like what I expected it to be and all the unknowns are freaking me out.

  A couple minutes later, Nick makes a turn and eventually a lit road comes into site. Cars are parked everywhere – regular cars, not street cars. Nick pulls up into the middle of the action and immediately the crew of guys that were at the Carter house are surrounding us.

  We get out and all I can really do is try to stay out the way as the guys get the car unloaded. Nash is obviously preoccupied but looks over at me every few minutes, I think to make sure I’m still here. There are other crews doing the same thing and behind the vehicles is a pretty large crowd of people, I know Brandon and other people from school are there but I don’t consider going to them, I need to stay by Nash.

  They shut the hood on Nash’s car and he nods his head, telling me to come to him. I walk over then follow him to the circle where the drivers and their crews are gathered. I’m in the center of the fray now and the shit talking is in full force. It seems like they’re calling each other out between insults and then agreeing on the amount of money they’ll be putting up.

  I feel out of place but no one seems to pay me any attention and Nash has his arm protectively around me again. It’s strange, but I’ll be his security blanket if that’s what he needs. It seems like all the guys who are doing the racing have security blankets of their own by their side or under their arms.

  For some reason, once I understood what was happening tonight, I just assumed that it would be a bunch of stupid high school kids with their egos and balls out acting recklessly. But Nash seems to be the youngest guy here and most of the men look closer to Nick’s age and the women they have their arms around are probably their wives. I wonder who’s usually standing by Nash.

  The guy who calls Nash out is big and bald and covered in tattoos. “I’m gonna whoop your ass and next time your daddy better be man enough to bring his sorry excuse for a car because I’m gonna whoop his ass too,” he says and I’m immediately offended, but I’m obviously not gonna voice my opinion.