Qualify: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by TL Mayhew

  Picking up my phone, I see a group text asking if I’ve heard anything yet. I’m about to tap out a reply when I notice the time. “Eight o’clock! Shit I’m going to be late!”

  With no time to shower, I throw on a pair of sweatpants. The ones with the head of a big cat on the hip and the word cougar printed down the leg. I realize a pair of cougar pants is not ideal for a woman, especially one in her twenties, but wearing them to class is more than acceptable. It shows my team spirit because it’s also the school mascot.

  I yank a T-shirt off a hanger, push my arms through the holes, then swipe a toothbrush over my teeth, before quickly lifting my hair up into a messy bun. A glance in the mirror on the way out the door has me stalling in my tracks. My eyes are puffy and bloodshot.

  That single reflection causes everything from the day before to come rushing back. Tears pool in my eyes and for a moment my mind begins drifting. His arm on my back. His breath at the shell of my ear.

  A couple of tears escape down my cheek, but I stand taller, take in a breath, and swipe them away. I’ve got to be strong.

  I don’t have time for a breakdown, not right now. I’ve only got two more weeks before finals and if I can ace Professor Riley’s class, the one I’ll be late for, then the F I’m expecting to get in that bastard’s class won’t matter.

  Stopping at the door, I tap out a quick reply to the family, letting them know I’m running late, and I’ll catch up with them later.

  The traffic has thinned from an earlier rush hour and I’m able to make it to the school in record time. I run down the hall, nearly leaving a trail of books in my wake as they bounce around in my arms.

  Luckily, I don’t drop any and have everything I need when I step through the door, almost running into the same chest of the hazel-eyed man from yesterday, two minutes late.

  What is he doing here? I hadn’t seen him before yesterday and now he’s suddenly everywhere.

  He takes in my unkempt state but that doesn’t bother me. It’s when his eyes land on the giant head of our school mascot on my hip, and he reads the word stretched down my leg, my cheeks heat.

  That boyish smirk is back. “Nice pants,” he says, lifting a humored stare to my annoyed glare. I don’t miss the wink he adds either.

  I open my mouth, prepared to deliver my best comeback ever but I’m interrupted.

  “Nice of you to join us, Berkleigh,” Professor Riley says, her comment followed by the shuffle of almost every student turning in their chairs to stare at me.

  “My apologies, Professor Riley,” I tell her, taking the closest seat to me, suddenly realizing Mr. Hazel Eyes is taking the seat directly behind me.

  As Riley is going through her first ten minutes of lecture, I’m taking notes, but I doubt any of them make sense. Every word I write is coming out a jumbled mess because of the stare I can feel bearing down on the back of my head.

  There certainly isn’t much to look at other than my unwashed hair and a large scar on the left side of my neck from a brother prank gone wrong.

  “….so today we have a surprise guest,” Professor Riley says.

  Wait, what did I miss?

  “Someone who is well on his way to racing stardom.” She waves her hand in my direction and all the breath expels from my lungs.

  I turn and glance behind me, but he’s the only one there.

  With a shrug he gives me a now you know expression before rising from his seat.

  “A man who needs no introduction, Mr. Kye Kingston,” Professor Riley calls out.

  As he begins his descent down the stairs, he flashes that smirk on his way by. The scent of spicy cologne trailing close behind.

  “Kye Kingston…. Kye Kingston…” I repeat his name under my breath, trying to remember where I’d heard it before. Then it hits me. The Indy car racing circuit.

  We hadn’t frequented those races because my brothers are stock car drivers, but now I remember.

  My dad had taken me once, when he’d introduced me to a few of his pit crew manager friends, before we’d sat and watched a young racer take the track by storm. Winning by several laps was Kye.

  Normally the day would’ve been forgettable, I mean I’d already seen my brothers race hundreds of times but because my dad—at the time—was a pit crew chief for Sullivan racing, we were VIP guests and seated on a balcony just above the pits.

  It was my first up-close view of how the Indy crews did things. I hadn’t seen those hazel eyes or his hard chest that day, only a helmet and his fire suit, but I remember hearing his name called and thinking it was… unique.

  “I don’t know about you, but there are better places I can think of being than in a classroom on a gorgeous Kansas day. No offense, Professor Riley,” he says into the microphone positioned in front of a bunch of college kids.

  The class laughs and it draws my attention away from my memories of the past and toward the front. His eyes flit to mine briefly before he scans the room.

  “Well, since we’re here, let’s make the best of it. I’ll try not to bore you too much.” A few laughs rumble through the class once again, until he describes he’s here to talk track and driver safety then those laughs turn to boos.

  “Ahh, lucky me, I’m giving a safety lecture to a classroom full of reckless college kids. I’ll need a drink for this.” The class erupts in shouts and whistles as he pulls out a bottle of water and takes a swig. “PSA, don’t drink and drive. Now let’s get started.”

  His ability to take a subject so dry and make it interesting, lighthearted even, is a gift many of the professors here could learn from. I feel I’ve learned more in the single hour of his lecture than I have in all my four years at this school.

  Not only do I hang on every word, but I also can’t take my eyes off him. Sure, he’s hot and all, but it’s more than that. There’s a confidence in the way he carries himself as he paces in front, and the gestures he makes with his hands are mesmerizing. Both to me and the thirty other people in the room.

  Unfortunately, it’s over too quickly and I’m soon tucking my books in my bag. I have two more, albeit less interesting, classes to sit through then I’ll be heading home.

  I don’t hear him approach.

  “How are you doing?” he asks, squatting down in the aisle next to my seat. “I mean, after yesterday I’m surprised to see you here today.”

  I shrug and go back to tucking away the last of my things.

  He places his hand gently on mine. I suspect it’s to get my attention, instead his touch ignites the nerves beneath my skin. I pull back in haste, my eyes darting to his.

  Something flits across his face, as though he felt it too, but it disappears just as quickly. “Here take this,” he says, dropping a small white card on my desk. “Call anytime, day or night.”

  I should tell him no. I don’t want his number or his lame attempt at something more, but both would be a lie. Instead, I don’t say anything, I just nod.

  It must be enough because he rises to his feet, and after pausing briefly, he’s up the stairs. I watch as he exits through the door at the top and wonder if I should’ve dismissed him so quickly.

  Chapter 3

  Standing atop the stage in my cap and gown, in line behind Mariane Shafer, I nervously await my name to be called. It’s been a long four years, but worth it. I’ve learned a lot. Even if I did go into each class thinking I knew everything there was to know about cars.

  The professors didn’t hold back on setting me straight though. Making sure I knew it didn’t matter how much I’d learned from my racing family in the past. Getting through their classes—using books and lectures—is what I’d need to get the degree about to be placed in my hand.

  While I did end up passing most of my classes with almost perfect scores, only one lecture resonated in my mind.

  I never saw Kye again after that day nor did I call him. I didn’t feel there was any sense in dumping my problems on to someone else, especially a driver.

  Focus is im
perative when flying around a track at two hundred plus miles per hour. Not that he would’ve given my issues a second thought, but I wasn’t willing to take that chance.

  Anyway, after that day, I’d pushed the incident deep down in the back of my mind. The only people who know what happened in the professor’s office that day are me and him. I haven’t told another living soul, not even my family. And I surely hadn’t planned on discussing it with someone I barely knew.

  My hands shake both at the memory I’ve dredged up and the fact my name will be called soon.

  “Daniel Rikers.” Rings through the temporary speakers set up in each of the four corners around the crowd.

  Only one more name before mine. I exhale a long breath but it does nothing to calm me.

  Thinking the distraction of the crowd might help, I turn my head and instantly lock eyes with my dad. It’s a mistake, considering I’ve been on the brink of tears all morning, and his proud expression right now expands my heart to double its size.

  He offers me a soft, knowing smile and a single tear slips down my cheek.

  “Mariane Shafer,” the announcer calls out, breaking our connection.

  I quickly glance from my dad to my brothers. They’re out of their seats, standing rigid and quiet, waiting patiently to make asses of themselves once my name is called.

  Growing up with five brothers hasn’t been easy. I was consistently the butt of their jokes or the unsuspecting victim of their never-ending pranks. We fought, a lot. Being the youngest, I’ll admit I didn’t get as much of Dad’s wrath as they did, but I wasn’t immune from it.

  They didn’t see it that way though. At least not at home. Outside our family was an entirely different story.

  On the rare occasion someone dared bully me or talk smack about me behind my back, my brothers would be there defending me, as though their lives depended on it, but never expecting anything in return. It’s one of the many reasons I still love them—despite the pranks—and wouldn’t trade them for the world.

  Daine flashes a quick thumbs-up before I turn back and face the podium.

  “Berkleigh Shaw”

  My name filters through the speakers like the lyrics of my favorite song, and it sets off a wave of whistles, shouts, and a “You got this, sister,” from one side of the crowd.

  A grin spreads across my face so wide my cheeks ache. I step flawlessly toward the dean of the school, who in one hand has a neatly rounded roll of paper tied with a ribbon while shaking mine with the other.

  We turn and look out into the crowd for a photo op before shaking hands once again and I head off the stage.

  I barely make it to the first row of chairs before the group of excitable men rush toward me and I’m assaulted by so many arms wrapped around me, squeezing the very breath from my lungs.

  “We’re so proud of you, Berkleigh,” Dante whispers in my ear, as he leans down to kiss me on the top of the head.

  “Yeah, way to go, sister,” Daine chimes in, while Dru’s less supportive comment follows quickly behind, “Great, now that you have that piece of paper, you’re gonna think you know more than us.”

  “Nice, Dru, real fucking nice,” Daine goads his younger brother.

  It leads to them shoving one another until they’re rolling around in the grass. Dante tries to step in, intent on wrangling them up and avoiding any further embarrassment, but he ends up following their rolling bodies across the small patch of greenery, unable to catch them.

  I say, let them have their fun. I’ve graduated and won’t see these people again. Boys will be boys, right? Although with my family, that’s an understatement of the year.

  Elliot and Dex have flanked either side of me as we stand and watch the show. After a beat, Dex cups the opposite side of my head and pulls me toward him, placing a kiss in my hair. “Congrats, Sis,” is all he says before joining in on the pile of brothers, leaving me and Elliot alone.

  I lift my eyes and meet the pools of azure staring back at me. Elliot cups my chin with authority. Holding my stare as he says his piece, “I’m glad you stuck it out, Berkleigh. It was clear you didn’t want this in the beginning, but one day you’ll look back and realize how many more opportunities that piece of paper…” He glances toward my hand and then back. “… will bring you. You’re a step ahead of us, even though it doesn’t seem like it now.”

  I offer him a smile and he leans in, dropping a kiss to my forehead before pulling me in for a hug.

  “Thanks, Elliot, for leaving nothing left unsaid.” The deep timbre of our dad’s voice has Elliot cringing in my embrace. He pulls away but doesn’t leave my side.

  “Sorry, Dad, I guess I got carried away, but hey, I learned from the best.”

  His flippant comment is rewarded with a deep chuckle that eventually morphs into a narrowed stare. “I’d like a few minutes with my daughter, if you don’t mind,” Dad says, encouraging Elliot to give us some space.

  “Oh,” Elliot chuckles stepping from my side. “She’s all yours.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.” Dad glances over to the boys wrestling around, before shaking his head and closing the gap between us. Pulling me in for a hug. “Sweetheart, I’m so proud of you. I know you’ll do great things.”

  With no further words between us. We embrace for a beat longer, then he finally pulls back, tipping my head up—just as Elliot had done—and says so only I can hear, “The world of racing will soon gain the best damn mechanic I know. Now let’s get you out there so you can give them hell.”

  He’s right, and I’m ready.

  The excitement of knowing everything I’ve ever wanted is just within my grasp has my heart pounding in my chest. I know it’s not going to be a walk in the park. But I’m strong, I’ve had to be.

  Living in a house filled with so much testosterone will leave a girl a little rough around the edges and I’m proud to say that girl is me.

  “I can do this,” I mutter under my breath.

  Chapter 4

  A year has passed since I graduated and moved to California. Although I’ve applied for many jobs in the racing industry, the answer is consistently the same, “We’re looking for someone with a little more experience.”

  It’s been frustrating, to say the least, and I’ve said as such on the calls with my dad and brothers. They’ve all offered to help in some form or another, but I always refuse. Insisting I want to do this on my own.

  “You’re being hardheaded,” Dante’s told me on many occasions. My response is usually something sarcastic and I’ll change the subject. Which works… fifty percent of the time.

  The distance between us gives me that option. Otherwise, if I were back home, one of them would’ve convinced me by now to give in and I’d be working on one of their teams, instead of where I work now, a full-time mechanic at a small lube shop just a short distance from where I live.

  It’s not so bad. The income is decent enough for saving, and a little extra spending money, in addition to the rent money paid monthly by my father. Which I realize contradicts the whole standing my ground about making it on my own perspective, but hey, I’m not stupid.

  My time will come. For now, I’ll just keep on doing what I’m doing and hope that one day soon the stars will align for me.

  Today, I’m working on my car. As I tighten the last bolt, I let out a breath and wipe the sweat from my brow just in time to find Josh, my boss, strolling through the glass door separating his office from the garage.

  “Berkleigh, since it seems yours is the only car breaking down today. When you’re finished, why don’t you head on home?”

  I scoff dramatically at his comment, as though offended by his teasing about my car not running, even though I’m not. It’s a welcome change from the serious side I’d seen from him when I first started.

  Going home doesn’t sound all that appealing though when there’s no one to go home to.

  In that moment, a memory of those hazel eyes resurfaces from the back of my mind. It’s b
een a little over a year since I’ve seen Kye, in person, anyway. Sometimes I’ll catch one of his races on the sports channel, just to see his face plastered across the screen. It’s those times I find myself wondering what could’ve been had we met under different circumstances.

  Sure, I could’ve called him, but I’d had no interest in reliving what happened in Professor Donnelly’s office then or now, and I’m sure that’s where the conversation would’ve gone.

  “It’s all right, I’ll stay. With Andre out, there’s no telling when you’ll need an extra set of hands.”

  No sooner do the words leave my mouth, than the familiar whine of a power steering system about to go bad makes its way around the corner. It’s not much of a job but should keep me busy for the next hour.

  The horrid sound is coming from a sleek black Cadillac rolling into service bay six. I’m guessing it’s not more than three years old. Which is odd, I wouldn’t expect a vehicle that new to be experiencing any major issues already.

  I’m curious why it’s here and not at a Cadillac dealership being worked on. Especially after seeing the well-dressed woman, who I’d guess is in her sixties by the subtle lines on her face and perfectly coiffed silver hair, exit the car.

  I take a step toward her eager to find out, but Josh brushes past me, closing the distance with an outstretched hand. “Mrs. Kincaid, it’s been a while.”

  “It sure has, Josh. How’ve you been?” she asks, placing her hand in his and offering an air kiss on each of his cheeks.

  It’s a European gesture, giving me the impression she’s from another country, but from the few words I’ve heard her speak I didn’t notice any heavy foreign accent. Although I’m not surprised, there’s a lot of actresses in our neck of the woods and it could be she’s one. Maybe she’s learning to hide what is familiar to her or maybe she’s practicing greetings from other nations for an upcoming part. Either way, it’s weird.