Austin

by Lauren Runow

  I bang my head against the seat and let out a deep breath. “It was my mother’s.”

  Her head pops up at my words.

  “It was her favorite ornament on our Christmas tree. I don’t race without it.”

  Jalynn takes a moment to reply. Her brows are pinched in as she stares at me. Makes me wonder if she plans on looking at me in astonishment the rest of the way to the race. She heard my speech in the conference room last week. She knows my mother died, and now, she knows I keep an ornament in my car in her memory.

  It can’t be that big of a deal.

  “How did she die?” she asks.

  And I immediately regret telling her anything.

  “Car accident. Don’t you remember me shouting the other day that she drove herself off a cliff? When I said that, I meant, literally.”

  She lets out a sad sigh at first only to be followed by an intake of breath at the punch line to my sad story. Serves her right for prying.

  “Surprised you didn’t Google our entire family,” I say.

  She looks down, and if it wasn’t so damn dark, I would swear, her cheeks turn red.

  “I did Google. First, Bryce because he’s my boss. And then … you.”

  I know I’m going to regret this, but I ask, “Learn anything interesting?”

  “Yeah. You were in the military. What division did you serve in?”

  “You ask too many questions.”

  “I could just look it up.”

  “If it were on the internet, you would have found it already. Stop looking for a story you don’t want to read.” That conversation is enough to break the boner I had in my pants. I grip the steering wheel tighter, praying we drive the rest of the way in silence.

  “Then, tell me this, why does a guy whose mother died in a car accident end up risking his own life, racing cars for fun?”

  “Jesus Christ! Are you trying to fuck with my head before a race? Do you understand how totally fucked up that question is?”

  “Wow. Sorry. I wasn’t planning on …” She goes back to sulking in her seat.

  Her face is looking in the opposite direction, so I can’t see her.

  I fix my eyes on the highway in front of me and try to get back into the zone. Weaving from one lane to the other, I drive us over the Bay Bridge and farther away from San Francisco.

  “Lights” by Journey comes on the radio, and I grunt to myself. This was always my mom’s favorite song, but it’s one that’s so played, especially living in San Francisco, and I can’t stand it. After rubbing my thumb over the angel, silently saying hello to my mom, I reach to change the channel.

  “Don’t you dare change that song!” Jalynn shouts out, pushing my hand away from the dial.

  I glance over to her. “You like this song?”

  The glare she gives me only proves I’ve hit yet another nerve with her. “Do you have something against people who like this song?”

  I take a deep breath. If she only knew.

  I turn my attention back to the road, feeling her anger hitting me straight on.

  I’ve never met a woman whose skin I can get under so easily. As fun as it is, there’s this tug in my gut that’s telling me, it’s not as much fun as I think it is. Her fingers are playing with the edge of her sweater, which is odd because she’s usually a confident, in your face type of woman.

  If I can piss her off this much, I wonder if I can soothe her just as fast.

  “Marines,” I say.

  Her head slowly turns around to face me with those large doe eyes.

  “I served in the Marines for two years before I was discharged.”

  Her lips part, as if to ask another question, but she must think better of it because she just nods and sits back. Her chest rises with a heavy breath as she lets out a sigh.

  We exit off the freeway and go onto a service road that is no longer in use as the city prepares to restructure the exit ramps. Cars are parked all along the lane. Tonight’s race is going to be faster than ever because we’re racing out in the open.

  I adjust my baseball cap, pull my hood over my head, and rub my thumb on the angel. “To the moon and back,” I whisper under my breath.

  Jalynn’s hand is on the door handle, but I pull her back.

  “We’re not getting out,” I tell her.

  Gregg walks toward us. I don’t miss the bug-eyed expression he’s giving me at the sight of Jalynn as he approaches.

  I roll down my window. “What’s the word?”

  “All’s agreed and with witnesses. I sprayed a blue line on the ground about fifty yards ahead. Pull up, I’ll give the signal, and you’re on.”

  Gregg puts his fist up, and I give him a pound.

  “Thanks, brother.”

  “Have a good race, man.” He taps the top of the Camaro and gives another look toward Jalynn.

  He and I will have a discussion about this later. Now is the time to race.

  I close the window and roll toward the race line. Jalynn looks around the car as I grab the helmet from the back seat and hold it out to her.

  She takes it with both hands and is about to put it on her head when Beckett’s car pulls up next to ours.

  “You’re racing Beckett again?” Her voice is loud and annoyed. “I said, let him race. Not to let him race you!”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.” I put my car in park and loudly rev the engine.

  This is not like the normal races we put on. This is just the two of us.

  Beckett sees Jalynn in the car, and while I can’t hear him, I can see him having a tantrum.

  Jalynn turns to me. Her nose is scrunched in the way she gets when she is pissed at me. I’ve seen this look a lot from her.

  “When Gregg said, ‘All’s agreed,’ what did he mean?” She is extra angry now.

  I give her a devilish grin. “We’re racing for pinks.”

  She drops her forehead and speaks in a low and controlled voice, “What. Are. Pinks?”

  I tap her on the nose. “Not what your dirty mind is thinking. Pinks. Pink slips. The winner keeps the opponent’s car.”

  Her mouth is pinched shut as her eyes grow big and wide. “That’s why you agreed to take me. You want to throw him off his game by having him see me in your car. Austin Sexton, that is the lowest thing you could do.”

  “You don’t have much faith. You’ve already deemed Beckett a loser.”

  She squints her eyes at me. “You think he could win?”

  “Not a chance. I just think it’s interesting that you don’t either.”

  Jalynn turns her body toward the door, but I drop the car into gear.

  “Too late, honey. Race is starting,” I say at the sight of Gregg standing in front of my and Beckett’s cars with the flashlight pointed down.

  “Get that thing on now!” I demand to her, making her place the helmet on her head just as Gregg raises the flashlight.

  He lights it up, and we’re off.

  The car roars to life like a bomb detonated and explodes down the straight and narrow. I drop the gear down to third as I relish in the feeling of my spine hitting the back of my seat. Beckett’s nose is in my peripheral vision as I pop it into fourth and rush past the finish line.

  There’s no time to stick around and revel in the victory because this race was a wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

  I turn onto a dirt road. Gregg said it would take me to an abandoned piece of interstate that wraps around to a straightaway and out of this part of town.

  Jalynn rips off the helmet and tosses it into the backseat. “You’re an asshole.”

  I wish she would stop calling me names.

  My words come out harsh. “You’re the one who demanded I let him race. Racing for pinks isn’t something new to the racing circuit. He’s a big boy. He knows what he bought into.”

  “You’re a millionaire, Austin. You don’t need to race guys for their cars. You do it for your pride.”

  “Fuck yeah. It’s a win.”

  �
�A win for you. And, if you lost, you could just go and buy another car. Ordinary people don’t have the means. That loss not only hurt his pride, but it also hurt his entire life. How is he supposed to go to work in the morning?”

  “Calm down, Debbie Downer. He can keep his car. It’s a heap of junk anyway.” I grip the steering wheel tight. Her desperate need to protect this asshole really boils my skin. “What is up with you and that jerk anyway? You act more like his mother than his girlfriend.”

  “I’m not his girlfriend, you prick. Do you really think I’d have let you kiss me if I were in a relationship? Beckett’s my brother.” She adjusts her position and slams back into the seat with a huff.

  His sister?

  “Why did you tell me you were his girlfriend?”

  She leans toward me with a glare. “You assumed. That’s what you do, Austin. You assumed I was his girlfriend, you assumed I was a rat, and now, I can see the wheels spinning in your head as you’re trying to assume something else about me. This is it. My name’s Jalynn Smith. I’m from Sacramento. My mom died when I was ten. My dad is a grade-A douche, and my brother is the only living family I have who doesn’t make me want to pull my hair out. I didn’t know who you were until I met you in Bryce’s office. I’d never heard of”—she raises her hands to make air quotes—“‘the Falcon,’ and up until last weekend, I hated street racing. This is me. So, stop trying to make me out to be some malicious force sent to ruin your life.”

  Just like that, for the first time in my twenty-six years on this planet, I’m rendered speechless. This girl, with her smart mouth and sassy attitude, just floored me with her words.

  We drive in silence. I don’t know what to say, and she doesn’t seem to want to say anything. Every so often, she raises a hand to the spot just under her eye. A whisper of a whimper can be heard. She doesn’t want me to know she’s crying. If she did, she’d face me. I met her less than a week ago, yet somehow, I know that about her.

  I turn onto the highway, and we cross the bridge. The bright lights of San Francisco are lit up around us.

  When I pull up in front of her building, she doesn’t say a word as she unbuckles her seat belt and closes the door behind her. I wait until she is safely through her front entrance. I know from looking up her file that she lives on the third floor. When a bedroom window illuminates, I can only assume it’s hers and that she is safe in her room.

  This is my cue to leave.

  8

  JALYNN

  “Beckett, not now,” I yell into the phone before I hang up.

  He called multiple times last night and again this morning. I’m not ready to deal with him yet. After everything our father put us through with his drinking and gambling, I can’t believe he raced for pink slips.

  How stupid can he be?

  I shake my head, trying to push everything about last night out of my mind. I’ve spent my entire life protecting him, my older brother, but I’m done. He got himself into this stupid mess. Now, he needs to lie in the bed he made.

  “Was that him again?” Eva asks, standing in my doorway.

  She knows something horrible happened last night with Beckett, but I’m not in the right frame of mind to talk about it, for fear I’ll explode and tell her every detail, right down to how I wound up in Falcon’s car. Even though I’m pissed at Austin, that damn angel on my shoulder is making me keep his secret.

  I nod, walking around my room with one shoe on, grabbing the last of my things so that I can leave for work.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, securing a large gold hoop in her ear and then moving on to the next.

  I look under my bed for my other heel. “I’m sorry. I … I just can’t right now,” I say, reaching along the carpet to pull my shoe from under the bed.

  “Okay.” Her tone is low and filled with defeat. “Just know, I’m here if you need me.”

  My eyes meet hers, and I sag. It’s not like me to not tell her what’s going on in my life. From bad breakups to my mother’s death and my father’s abuse, Eva has been along for the ride from the beginning. I think the reason I’m more secure in my life than Beckett is because, unlike him, I can talk about my life, and Eva’s always been there to listen.

  I’m an open book, having learned a long time ago that secrets never provide happiness to anyone.

  When will Austin learn that?

  I rise from the floor. With outstretched arms and a shoe in one hand, I tell her the one part of the story that is mine to tell. “Beckett raced last night and lost his car in a wager.”

  She sways her head to the side and looks out the window, giving a disappointed shake. “Is this another one of his messes you’ll have to clean up?”

  I tug on my shoe a little too firmly at the thought. “Yes.”

  “He’s a big boy, Jalynn. If you don’t start letting him pick up the pieces to his own life, he’ll never learn.”

  “Too late for that.”

  Her hand rests on my shoulder as she looks me straight in the eye. “I’ve known you since we were teenagers and watched you plan your life around Beckett. You were supposed to move to Boston and go to Emerson. Instead, you stayed here and studied at Davis.”

  “It’s a good school.”

  “It’s not what you wanted. It’s what you decided was your destiny.” She narrows her eyes. “At twenty-three, you’re supposed to be reckless and making bad decisions. Instead, you’re playing mother to your brother. What happens when you fall? Who’s gonna pick you up?”

  I raise my brows and give a sarcastic answer, “You, obviously.”

  “Then, fall. Let Beckett fall, too. You won’t know how strong you are unless you risk cracking a bit.” Her ethereal Erykah Badu tone makes me feel like I can do just that. “And maybe, just maybe, you’ll let a handsome young Sexton catch you on the way down.”

  “This has nothing to do with Austin.”

  She looks at me with a knowing grin. “Honey, this has everything to do with Austin.”

  I leave our apartment and head down the long staircase to the main entrance. When I open the door, Beckett’s standing out front, leaning against a pole. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. Obviously, he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep.

  “Not right now. I’m running late for work.” I shoulder past him.

  He steps in front of me. His tone is accusatory. “Why were you there last night?”

  I look at his hand that is now on my bicep, and rage fills me. “Why was I there? I got you that damn race, and you went and did something so stupid.” With force, I pull my arm from him.

  “You what? You got me that race?” I watch as his arms cross in front of his body, his feet parting in a protective stance, proving he’s not letting me leave without answers. “How?”

  Shit. This is exactly why I didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. My brain and emotions are not in the right place.

  “I said, not now. You need to leave.” I step around him, my eyes shooting to the street and the row of cars lining the block, and I realize I don’t see his anywhere. “Please tell me, you still have your car.”

  The exchange tilts in my favor. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks down. He doesn’t need to say anything more. My anger—both for him and Austin—just hit DEFCON Five, and I need to leave before I say or do something I regret.

  “You go and lose the one thing you actually own, and you’re here to yell at me for being at the race? Put the blame where it belongs, Beckett. You’re mad at yourself. Not me.”

  “You know who he is. Help me get it back.”

  “I can’t always be there to pick up the pieces. You got yourself in this predicament. Leave me out of it.” I turn to leave, needing out of this conversation.

  “I’ll fix this,” Beckett yells after me. “I’ll find out who that fucker is myself. I’ll get it back. I promise you that. You know I don’t stop until I get what I want.”

  My body freezes. I know Beckett. If there’s one thing abou
t him, it’s that he’s persistent.

  I get up close to him, pushing my finger into his chest. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully. You will not go after him. You will not try to find him. You will take your loss and move on. You hear me?”

  To my surprise, he lets me storm off down the street. I’m sure I just surprised the hell out of him, as I did myself. I’ve never raised my voice to my brother, and I’m not sure what came over me, but it felt so good to finally say exactly what was on my mind.

  My entire bus ride to work, I focus on bringing down my emotions that have gone from anger to guilt and are now morphing into a sad kind of hurt.

  I was ten years old when my mom died of cancer. The day of her funeral, Beckett went out and set fire to our tree house. It was a dilapidated old thing, but it was our safe haven. I still don’t understand why he chose to take his anger out on it. Was it the memory of happy times he wanted to destroy, or did he secretly hope to get burned in the flames?

  The fire was put out quickly, but the aftereffects lasted for years. My father gave Beckett his first beating that night. I can still hear his cries and the slap of leather on his bare skin. You’d think that’d have been enough to make Beckett run the straight and narrow. It had the opposite effect. It was almost like he wanted to be punished.

  For thirteen years, I’ve been following in his shadow, trailing behind to make sure he doesn’t veer too far off course of what I think is the right path he needs to be on. That’s why I begged him to take me to the race that first night. He didn’t want me to go, but I stole his keys and bullied my way into the passenger seat. I had to see with my own eyes just how he was going to self-destruct next.

  Him losing his car is not a surprise. Hell, I half-expected it. I can’t blame Austin for something Beckett did willingly. If it wasn’t Austin, it would have been some other driver.

  As I enter the lobby of Sexton Media, I pray Austin keeps his distance from me today. I’m still mad at him. I’m still hurt. I’m still … I don’t know.