Revved (A Standalone Romance) (A Savery Brother Book)

by Naomi Niles

  “If you know her well, I’d say it’s fairly simple. She has habits and rituals and routines that she uses to make sense of her life. As long as you know what those are and don’t try to disrupt them, I think you’ll be fine. The trick is getting close enough to learn what her routines are.”

  This resonated with my own experience. I grabbed a handful of nachos and shoved the rest of the tray toward Nic. “See, ever since we started dating, I thought I would be a good boyfriend once I figured out what all the rules are. The way she organizes her life is very different from most girls. Like, I’ve had to learn not to text ‘LOL’ unless I’m actually laughing out loud because it annoys her. And she doesn’t like swearing, and she doesn’t like songs with swearing in them.”

  “Yeah. I remember one time I was going through her bookshelf and I picked up a book at random. And she knocked it out of my hand and said, ‘Don’t read that book. It’s from Iowa.’ She, it turns out, has a visceral hatred of Iowa. But she never explained why.”

  “Yeah, things like that!” I pointed a finger at Nic. “Things that would never come up in any other relationship, but are very important to Penny. You defy them at your own peril.”

  “Exactly. But the upside is that she so loves and treasures those few who invest in her and take the time to understand her quirks. Once she’s allowed you into her circle and deemed you worthy of knowing her secrets, she will love you forever.”

  “I want to get there,” I said. “I’m still not sure I’m there yet.”

  “You’ll get there,” said Nic. “Like I said, being her friend is easy in some ways because you just have to be sensitive and attentive. It’s not a job everyone is cut out for, but I think you’ll do fine because you’re devoted and loving and patient.”

  By now, Nic had downed two pints of Blue Moon, and the drink seemed to have loosened her tongue. Never before had she spoken so highly of me. I wondered if maybe it was just the beer talking and if tomorrow we would go back to being annoyed with each other.

  She leaned over and placed an arm on my shoulder. “Listen,” she said in a low voice. “I know I’ve been making it sound like dating Penny is just a matter of knowing the right buttons to push, as if the relationship is a computer program whose instructions you could follow on the way to romantic bliss. It would be great if you knew everything about her, and knew what to do and not to do, and what to say and not to say. But what she really needs is just someone who will treat her with kindness. Penny is a very loving, sometimes very needy person who hasn’t always been treated rightly, even by me. But if you go into the relationship with the attitude of ‘I’m just going to love her, no matter what happens,’ you’ll be on your way.”

  “That’s what I want for us.” I clutched my pint-glass miserably. “I just wish I was better at giving it.”

  “I know, but you’re moving in the right direction. I wouldn’t be too hard on myself if I were you.”

  I continued to mull over our conversation over the next few days as I prepared for the race on Saturday. By now, I had given up hope that Penny was going to call or text. I just wished I knew the secret code or password that would make things right between us.

  But if what Nic had said was true, then maybe I was showing patience by waiting for her to call me instead of running after her. She had made it abundantly clear that she needed some time to herself, and I was determined to honor that.

  On Saturday morning before the race, Dickie and I took the Mustang out for a couple test runs. It had been raining on and off throughout the week, and the roads were still slippery. Dickie had to warn me repeatedly to watch the curves, and it became obvious about midway through our first trip that I wasn’t paying attention.

  “Are you okay?” he asked as I pulled into the Kroger parking lot. “I’ve never seen you less interested in a race. Does the lure of two hundred grand do nothing for you, my friend?”

  “Dickie, I’ve won a bunch of money,” I said with a shrug. “After a certain point, you don’t need anymore.”

  This admission, coming from someone who had once sped down the highway blasting Pink Floyd’s “Money” at full volume, must have alarmed Dickie. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked warily.

  “Yeah, lately I’ve just realized there’s more to life than winning all the time. I think I’m getting to that age where I’m about ready to settle down and have a family. It’s funny because I promised myself I would never be that guy, but I’m rapidly becoming that guy.”

  “Yikes.” Dickie raised his brows in alarm. “I mean, I can’t really argue. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that racing is more important than marrying and starting a family. It obviously is, even if I prefer racing.”

  “Even if you don’t want a family, I think most people would agree that they’re good and important,” I replied. “And lately all my brothers are dating and starting to get engaged, and I don’t want to be left behind.”

  “It makes sense. You come from a family that places a huge amount of importance on the family unit. I’d think growing up and seeing how in love your parents were with each other would’ve had an effect on you.”

  “It definitely had an effect. And I’ll tell you what had even more of an effect, is having a girlfriend I love and who cares about me.”

  “Yeah, that must be nice.” Dickie pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lit it. “But I would’ve thought that would be incentive to try harder and make as much bling as you could.”

  “You’d think, but it hasn’t worked out that way. I’m in that weird, puppy love stage of the relationship where she’s all I can think about. Sometimes I forget to eat.”

  “That doesn’t sound very healthy,” said Dickie, rolling down the window and flicking the ashes out.

  I smiled paternally. “Someday you’ll have a girl of your own, and you’ll understand.”

  We rode together to the dragstrip while the rain tapped against the windows. On our way, we passed abandoned strip centers with boarded-up windows and parking lots filled with plastic bags and rusted shopping carts. A stray dog sniffed curiously at an open bag of potato chips in a drainage ditch. It was one of those days that make you question the purpose of everything.

  When we pulled up to the strip, Adam was already standing there waiting for us. He wore a red single-layer speedway uniform that somehow perfectly matched the color of his hair and beard. The moment I brought the car to a stop, he ran over and tapped on the rain-fogged window, beaming proudly.

  “You ready for the ass-whoopin’ of your life?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’m ready,” I said with a slight shake of my head. “I don’t know if you’re ready.”

  Adam must have noticed the circles under my eyes, for he said, “Were you up all night? You look exhausted. No way you spent all that time practicing, not someone like you who’s won so many races, I think you must be getting tired of winning.”

  Adam had a way of owning himself even when he was trying to badmouth me that made our conversations consistently entertaining. I opened the door and stepped out, rising to my full height. “I dunno, Adam. Winning still looks pretty good when there’s two hundred thousand dollars at stake.”

  “Too bad you’ll never see it,” Adam said with a smirk.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Seems to me you’ve said that about the last three races we competed in, and I ended up taking home the cash prize in all of them.”

  “I can hear the exhaustion in your voice,” he said with an air of feigned sympathy. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard. By the end of the day, you won’t have to worry about being the greatest.”

  “Didn’t say I was worried.”

  But before I could respond, Nic came running up to us. At first, I thought she was here to wish me luck, and I wondered why she hadn’t brought Penny with her. But as she came closer I saw the urgent look in her eyes, and I knew something was wrong.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” I asked. “Are you okay?”


  Nic shook her head vigorously. “It’s Penny—I’m so sorry you had to find out this way. Her dad just passed away. She’s up at the hospital now with his brothers.”

  “You think I ought to go check on her?”

  “I think that would be good, yeah,” she said weakly.

  I turned to Dickie, who was coming around behind us. “Dickie, I hate to do this to you, but you’re gonna have to race for me.”

  Dickie balked at the suggestion. “Darren, you’ve spent weeks prepping for this. You have a much better chance at winning that money than I do.”

  I placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I think you know what you’re doing. Anyway, right now some other things have taken precedence. I’d never forgive myself if I went ahead and raced while she’s over there crying her little heart out.”

  “Well, if you’re not going to do it, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

  I reached into the car and pulled out my red crash helmet, which I handed to him. “You’ll do fine. Just think of how mad Adam’ll be when you win that two hundred grand.”

  “Oh, he’ll be indignant,” said Dickie, already smiling in triumph.

  Nic was already heading out across the parking lot. I gave him a final reassuring nod and followed after her. By the time we reached her car, the announcer was already calling the contestants into their positions, while in the stands a crowd of several hundred waved and cheered above the ceaseless roar of the rain.

  Chapter Thirty

  Penny

  He never returned my call.

  I really thought after I called him four times on Monday morning he would know something was wrong and call me back. And I’d waited three days, four days, five days with no response. Not even so much as a text message or an email. Sometimes when I heard footsteps in the hospital hallway, I tensed up for a moment, thinking maybe he had come to see us. But I was always disappointed, and eventually, I gave up hope.

  As the week wore on and I watched Dad growing frail and seeming to fade away before my eyes, I tried to shove Darren out of my mind. If he didn’t want to be a part of my life, there was no reason to force him. And the constant vigil I was keeping at my dad’s bedside was sapping up all my remaining energy and focus.

  On Thursday, I spoke with one of the hospital’s grief counselors, a woman named Delia Sherwin. She sat down across from me in her private office and spoke in a gently reassuring voice like a grade-school teacher, all warmth and empathy. She said the death of a loved one is a hard thing to deal with and everyone reacts in their own way. She said I was likely to experience feelings of grief, guilt, helplessness, and frustration. “You may wonder what your father did to deserve this. You may try to tell yourself there’s still a chance of a breakthrough. These are all normal and understandable reactions.”

  “I do, I feel some of those things,” I said. “Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m feeling; it just feels overwhelming. I want all our friends to be here, but at the same time, I feel this urge to push everyone away. I haven’t even phoned his brothers yet because they live out of state, and I know they would drop everything and rush over here.”

  “Well, I’m not here to tell you what to do,” she said, “I’m just here to listen. How is your father handling things?”

  I laughed a perverse laugh. “He’s actually holding up quite a bit better than I am. I think he’s lived with the cancer for so long that by now he’s accepting it. He keeps making the most morbid jokes, trying to make me feel better.”

  “Quite possibly. He may also be trying to make himself feel better. Facing the end of one’s life is a hard, hard thing and we bring to the challenge all the strategies we’ve learned over a lifetime. It is, in a lot of ways, our final test.”

  “I just wish I knew what comes after that,” I said sadly. “It’s the only test where even if you ace the exam, you still die. He always raised me to believe there would be some reward for good souls. And I want to believe that. I really do.”

  “Well, what’s important right now is that your father believes it,” said Delia. “He can face death with serenity in part because he has confident hope of a life after this one. Whether or not his confidence is misplaced, it’s not for us to say.”

  “I suppose not. I’d like to have that same confidence when my time comes, but I don’t know if I do.”

  “Well, we can deal with that later. For now, you’re young, and you don’t have to worry as much about your own death. It’s enough that you’re helping your father prepare for his. I don’t think you realize how calm and steady and brave you’ve been over the past week.”

  “I don’t feel very brave,” I said, scoffing. “I feel weak and miserable and exhausted.”

  “Yes, and you’ve continued to look after him, and you’ve continued to put his needs before your own, despite your exhaustion. And maybe you don’t know it, but that’s true bravery. Penny, you are a brave and selfless woman. And if you’re not able to see that, it’s because your heart is so devoted to others that you barely have time for yourself.”

  She reached across the desk and handed me a box of tissues. I didn’t even know why I was crying.

  After we finished talking, I went into the hall and called his brothers—Mike, Trenton, and Kilgore. I explained to the three of them that Dad had only a few days to live and that he would dearly love to see them and say bye to them. Trent was organizing hurricane relief in Louisiana and couldn’t take the weekend off, but he promised to call him. Mike and Kilgore both said they would be flying to Dallas on the next plane out.

  Dad slept much during those next two days, and we only spoke during the rare moments when he was awake. On Saturday morning while he was napping, I ran home for a shower and a fresh change of clothes. I hadn’t been home since Wednesday, and I was beginning to smell musty. As I passed my room, I gazed longingly at my bed, wishing I could sink down into the hard mattress and stay there for the rest of the weekend, but both of my uncles were on their way to the hospital—Mike had just texted me to let me know he was catching a cab from the airport—and I wasn’t going to sleep through their visit.

  When I returned to Medical City an hour later, I was met with a nasty shock: Dad was being rolled out of his room on a stretcher by a couple nurses.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Where are you taking him?”

  Neither of the nurses answered. But at that moment, the broad form of Uncle Kilgore appeared in the doorway, bearded and hatted and wearing a silk shirt and bandana, holding a black hat in both hands.

  “Hey,” he said. “Sorry you had to find out like this.”

  My mouth went so dry I could hardly speak. “Find out what?”

  Just then, Uncle Mike came running up from the end of the hallway. Shorter and slightly stockier than Kilgore, he was dressed in black jeans and a crisply ironed black button-down. “Oh man, did I already miss him?”

  Kilgore nodded sadly. “I stayed with him for about the last half-hour. He opened his eyes just once and squeezed my hand. Then they closed as if he was nodding off—and he never opened them again.”

  Anticipating my collapse, Mike threw his arm around me. I buried my head in his shoulder and sobbed and sobbed.

  Together, they guided me back into the room and sat me down in the chair in which I had been sleeping for much of the last week. Over the next twenty minutes, words were spoken, but I barely heard them, and reassurances were given that I scarcely noticed. My stomach tightened into knots as though a boa constrictor had grabbed me around the middle, wondering if he had noticed my absence and whether he had felt betrayed as he breathed his last few breaths.

  “Well, shoot,” said Mike, removing his hat and scratching his tawny hair. “I really thought we would at least get to talk before he—” His voice drifted off, and he shook his head with a dazed expression as if baffled by death.

  “I’m glad I flew out of Pittsburgh when I did,” said Kilgore. “Trent really wanted to be here; he’s pissed that his job wouldn’t
let him off.”

  Mike rose with a resolute air and turned to face us. “I don’t know about you, but I could really go for a drink right about now. You two wanna come?”

  ***

  We spent the next couple hours sitting in a booth at The Old Monk reminiscing over Dad’s life. Mike told a story of a time when they were boys, and Trent had placed poppers all along the rim of the toilet, causing him to shoot up in terror the moment he sat down. Kilgore had some fond memories of his relationship with my mom. “They were one of those annoying couples who seem to live in a world of their own. You read about couples who can’t stand to be apart for even a few minutes, and it seemed like a fairy-tale until I met them.”

  “Well, wherever he is, I think he must be happy now,” said Mike. “He and Alicia are together again.”

  Kilgore stared sadly down at the amber liquid circling the bottom of his glass. “I suppose that’s my one consolation in all this. He was never in his life as happy as he was when he and Allie were together. He really died twice, once when he lost her and once this morning. I got the sense he was happy to go.”

  “I guess I can’t feel too bad for him,” said Mike. “It’s always a shame when someone dies so young—he had at least twenty good years left in him—but he had finished raising you, and that was the one great work of his life. He was satisfied.”

  “He really loved you,” said Kilgore. “I don’t know if he ever told you how much you reminded him of Allie. Both brilliant but slightly scatterbrained, in love with the written word, high aspirations. He was so proud of what you had become.”

  “I feel like I haven’t amounted to much,” I said in a gloomy tone. “I write books that no one is ever going to read, and I sell mufflers for a living.”

  “Well, give yourself time.” Kilgore took a sip of his ale and sat back with a distant look. “Your mom never got to be the professor she wanted to be, but she was well on her way when she died. Given enough time, you’ll get there. You have your whole life to become the woman you want to be.”