Wreck (Fuel Series Book 2)

by Ginger Scott

22

  The closer we get to race day, the lonelier this place becomes. Dustin crawls into my tiny bed, sometimes at two in the morning, his body drained from the day. He still manages to keep himself awake long enough to appreciate me. I’m always kissed. My hair stroked. My skin tickled with the gentle sway of his fingertips along my arm. He puts himself to sleep taking care of me. I lay awake and wait for it.

  Sometimes, he’s strangely quiet, almost a bit lost. I mentioned the contract two nights ago, thinking maybe he would be open to talking to my dad or having him draft up a counter proposal. He dismissed it quickly, and it seemed to make him angry that I would suggest it. “I have it handled. I’m not stupid,” he said. He apologized for snapping. He blamed the stress and said he wants to do this on his own, but I get the sense he’s avoiding the red flags because they pick away at the fantasy. I won’t push him again until after the race, though. He can’t afford to lose focus.

  My family is coming in today, though, and we’re moving to the raceway. I’ll be staying with them in the much nicer RV my dad rented for the occasion. Dustin will be pretty much eating, living, and breathing the raceway. His time trial is in the morning, and as expected, he isn’t nervous about it all.

  “You may be the only person I know who can spend a week with her boyfriend at a dumpy race track and leave with more stuff than you came with.” Dustin hefts my heavy suitcase down the steps of the RV.

  I pat my hand against the side of the rig.

  “I’m going to miss this place—kinda.”

  He laughs out once, and hard.

  “Well, I have every intention of using my free pass for a Judge shower whenever I want. I saw that thing your dad rented. Man’s travelling in luxury all of a sudden.”

  Dustin’s right. My dad did splurge; I think he’s pretty excited. He’s been dreaming of this for Dustin almost as long as Dustin has for himself. Those two have shared a lot of fumes and burned through a lot of kart motors to get here. The RV he’s bringing to the track is a far cry from the pickup truck shell we camped in for all those trips to Tucson and Nevada.

  Nevada.

  I can’t quit thinking about Alex and that contract. I don’t want to bring it up to my dad because it’s so important to Dustin that he sort this out on his own. He feels he has something to prove, even though he doesn’t need to prove anything. I have to trust him on his word. He promised. And I need to let go of those last few vestiges of bitterness from him leaving four years ago. I understand why he did. I know what Colt was into, the people who were out to hurt him. Dustin didn’t want me to have any part of that.

  “I think I see them,” Dustin says, drawing my attention back to the present. I twist to face the same direction and shade my eyes from the sun. My dad is maneuvering a tank of an RV down the winding dirt road alongside the track.

  “He’s never gonna make it out of here,” I groan.

  Dustin’s hand runs along my back and he leans over to kiss the top of my head.

  “Nah, your dad’s got this. I once saw that man thread a kart on a hitch backward over a bridge made out of particle board to cross a canal.”

  He leaves me with a grin and wheels my bag toward the oncoming RV. I give him a moment alone with my dad, who hops out of the RV when he decides he’s driven it in deep enough. They talk excitedly after they shake hands. Soon, they’re hugging. They’re finding their way back, and I couldn’t be happier. Why my chest hurts so much, I don’t know.

  “I know that bed is better, but you’re going to have to live with Mom in four hundred square feet. You let me know if you want to trade.”

  I pat my brother’s chest and turn to walk backward.

  “That’s two hundred for her, and two hundred for me. I think I’ll manage.” Really, I might not.

  My mom and I have a lot of shit to overcome. I know the bulk of it is on my plate. I blamed her for a lot of things, for Dustin leaving after her terrible reaction to us. I still blame her for the constant pressure over school, for pushing me to follow her footsteps instead of treading my own. But she loves me fiercely. I see that now. I’m not sure if Dustin made me realize it or if it happened organically. Knowing his life as I do, it’s hard to take actual parents—present and loving parents—for granted, despite how fucking crazy they might make you.

  “You ready for this?” my dad says, slinging an arm around my shoulder as he guides me into my new temporary home.

  “Sleeping in a bed larger than a shoebox, or race day?” I’m definitely ready for the bed. I step into my parents’ RV and instantly feel a million degrees cooler.

  “Both, I guess,” he laughs out.

  “I put your bag in the back,” Dustin says, stepping back into the main room.

  “Where’s Mom?” I mean, this rig is big, but it’s not that big. I don’t see any sign of her in this thing.

  “She’s doing some press business or something. She promised to drive up tonight. You know Bailey’s dad was planning to run against her?”

  I act shocked at my dad’s revelation while Dustin walks away so he doesn’t have to bluff.

  “Wow, really? He would be a terrible mayor.” That’s not a lie. Mr. Tingle would be about as strict as the mayor-slash-dad in Footloose who banned the town from dancing. In fact, I bet he would try to forbid it in Camp Verde his first day on the job.

  “Well, I’m going to shower as soon as we hook up. And if she misses out on the hot water, too bad so sad.” My dad laughs at the imaginary gauntlet I throw down.

  Dustin takes him out to introduce him to the crew, and before long, everyone is huddled around the number forty-nine car. I take advantage of their distraction and nose around the space, checking out all the bells and whistles this thing has. The kitchen is pretty stacked, which means my mom is probably going to serve up some amazing food. She might know how to push my buttons, but her culinary skills are beyond the imagination. I swear, the woman can throw any random five things into a pot and somehow create something gourmet.

  I head back to my room next. This thing has two of them. Mine is the first one, with a shared wall to the bathroom. It’s half the size of my parents’ but it’s all mine. I sit on the velvety bedspread and run my fingers along the soft fur. I woke up an hour ago, but being in here could put me right back to sleep. I’m not sure whether it’s the temperature finally being tolerable or the quiet this tiny space somehow provides.

  I lean forward to peek out down the hall and out the door, and when no one is in sight, I fall back and put my feet up. As much as I’d love to rest, something is nagging at me.

  My mom doing press is weird. We have one paper. Hardly anyone reads it unless it’s to see their kid’s picture from some sports award in the community section. I can’t imagine a Camp Verde mayoral election race about to kick off is news enough for the Valley or bigger outlets. And my dad said that Mr. Tingle backed out, so there isn’t even a race to hype.

  I turn to social media and run a few searches, but the only big news I seem to come up with is the story about Kyle. He’s coming home soon. Maybe that’s what my mom is handling. I’m sure there are questions about his accident, people focusing on the Straights. I could see that story getting some legs.

  Excited to share the news about Kyle with Dustin, I head back out of the RV and join the male pissing contest underway over the hood of Dustin’s car. My dad is quickly winning over Douglas with tales from his drag racing days and all the dangerous illegal shit he used to do to his engine.

  “You could have caught fire, man!” Douglas slaps a hand on his forehead and stares in wonder at my dad, who simply nods and agrees.

  “I could have. But”—he points to Douglas—“I didn’t.”

  “This all kinda makes those big safety lectures you used to give me and Tommy feel empty,” Dustin adds, shifting slightly and catching a glimpse of me. His smile is instant and warms me from the inside.

  “Excuse me, boys,” he says, leaving the crew and my brother and father as he rushes me,
lifting me over his shoulder and carrying me out of the garage. I laugh so loud it echoes against the walls as we leave.

  He sets me down just outside, turning my back to the wall in the shade and stepping into me until I’m flat against the brick. His nose runs along my jaw as he grabs my hands and lifts them above my head, cuffing them to the wall in his hold as he kisses me hard and deep. I whimper against his lips and tug his hips toward me so I can feel how hard he is one last time. It’s a stolen moment, and it doesn’t last long, but it’s enough to last me for the day.

  When our kiss breaks, he leaves his forehead against mine and drops my hands so he can stroke my cheeks with his fingers.

  “Why are you not staying with me again?” he asks.

  “Because you won’t be around at all, and if you are, you need to rest. And focus. And win.”

  “Ah, that,” he laughs out quietly, dusting his lips against mine one last time before pushing away from the wall and sinking his hands in his pockets.

  The wind tousles his hair and his eyes squint in the sun, which has left his cheeks red like his forearms. He needs to hydrate, and he needs rest, but I’ve lectured him enough about all that. If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that Dustin will do what Dustin is going to do.

  “Kyle’s coming home.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Dustin’s head falls to the side as his smile widens. “When? Today? Is he okay to travel? Should I call them?”

  I laugh at how fast his mind works. I love how taken he is with the kid. He’s said a few things that make me believe he has a connection to Kyle, a common bond of kids with shitty fathers. I haven’t probed. It’s not necessary.

  “I don’t think he’s home yet, but he’s awake and alert. I read an article that said he’s doing well. I don’t know that a race track is in his immediate future, but maybe you can give him a call?” Dustin smiles at my suggestion.

  “Yeah, I think I will.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and holds it in his palm, I think as a reminder.

  “You ready, Han?” My dad steps out of the garage and eyes how close Dustin and I are standing to one another. Dustin takes several automatic steps back, but my dad grumbles and looks away.

  “This was easier when I could ground you,” he jokes. At least, I think that was a joke.

  “I’m ready. Co-captain’s seat is mine since Mom isn’t here!” I skip toward the RV as my dad gives Dustin a final shake of the hand and squeeze of the arm before race day. I blow him a kiss and take off to beat my dad inside. His phone is resting in my seat so I grab it to move it to the captain’s chair cup holder, but I notice dozens of messages from my mom noted on the screen.

  I lift myself to peer out for my dad and see he’s still caught up near the garage, talking to Dustin about something. I open his screen to make sure my mom isn’t in an emergency, and the first thing that hits me is a photo of her shaking Alex Offerman’s hand in front of the old Carney Raceway. A jolt of panic cascades down my throat, ripping through my chest, and flattening me to my seat.

  I flip through photo after photo of what seems to be a press conference announcing Alex’s new ownership. He cut Dustin out. Completely. All of the major stations in Arizona are out there. This is the biggest press conference to land in Camp Verde since the mountain to the north caught fire from lightning seven years ago. It’s major news happening because of Dustin, and he’s nowhere in the middle of it.

  I’m sick, and I can’t fathom that my mom is aware of how this man stepped in and took over. She’s too excited to share the photos and update my dad on the news. They wouldn’t be able to look Dustin in the eyes this weekend. They wouldn’t be here to support him. My dad isn’t that great a liar.

  “You ready, Han?” My dad slips into the seat next to me and I twist my palm to show him his screen.

  “Oh, hey. She sent photos? Pretty cool, huh?” My dad flips through the same scenario I did, while I look on with my mouth hung open, at a complete loss for words.

  “This is going to be a complete game changer. I just hope we can keep that small-town feel. Sometimes things like this have a way of moving in and changing a community for the worse. Dustin swears that won’t happen, but I mean, that kid swears a lot of things.”

  My dad tosses his phone into the cup holder and fishes the key for the RV out of his pocket, pressing a button on the fob that fires up the motor.

  “Pretty cool, huh? I can start this thing with a remote. I can even cool it down before we get back in after we’re down at the track. I could get used to this. Who knows, maybe your mom and I become those people who wander the country seeing national parks and all that junk.”

  He looks at me, smile bright, heart full of plans and not a worry in his periphery.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty cool alright.” I swallow my pride and grin right back, choking out my response.

  My parents have one half of a story, and I have the other. And if I put them together, I don’t know that the tale will be good for any of us. More than anyone, I don’t think it will be good for Dustin. For us.

  I’ll bite my tongue for now. I’ll keep my ears open and listen for any clue that proves my gut instincts wrong. I won’t ruin Dustin’s shot. I won’t bring this up before the race. Because something tells me even the great Dustin Bridges won’t be able to drive his way through this.

  23

  It’s just the desert.

  Two lanes at dusk.

  I’m only racing the car next to me.

  I’ve been mentally preparing myself for the last twenty-four hours. It’s not like me to get nervous, but there’s more riding this than ever before. It’s too late to undo what I’ve started. If I don’t perform today, I’ll never be able to keep up my end of the bargain with Alex, and he’ll assume full control. I won’t have the leverage to hold on to Carney’s when Alex goes down. I won’t have Hannah. I’ll have nothing.

  She’s not going to be happy that I signed, but I couldn’t make that a distraction before the race. She’ll understand, especially when she knows that I plan to push Alex out. Sell him out. One wrong move and he’s done. If he brings in construction crews and pays them even a ten-spot over what a normal bid is, I’ll have him investigated. Our money runs clean. I run clean.

  I am not Colt Bridges.

  “Ready, killer?” Tommy squeezes my shoulders as he stands behind me and I kick feeling into my legs.

  “Always.” My real answer is closer to “normally.” I’m not ready the way I should be. I feel it. Things are off.

  “All you have to do is take top ten,” he reminds me over my shoulder.

  I nod, scanning pit row. These are the drivers I’ve grown up idolizing. Most of them have a dozen years on me. Most of them are millionaires. There are definitely at least ten who are better than me—on paper.

  I pull my helmet on and fill my chest with air before blowing out hard and turning to look my best friend in the eyes.

  “You’ve got this,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders. I do the same to him and continue to nod as we both look down and feel the moment. It’s kind of like our own little prayer. We did this before every kart race when I was a kid. It never failed me. Not once.

  I bring my head up and meet Tommy’s certain eyes, his smile confident, not a hint of worry in his expression. And with his faith in me, suddenly everything feels right.

  “I’m going to win. See you in three hundred laps.”

  Tommy’s lip ticks up at my arrogance and he lightly slaps the side of my helmet.

  “There he is,” he says.

  We pound fists and I turn to climb into the car. Douglas is in my ear first, followed by Ernie at spot. They argue over something I’m not going to pay attention to anyway, so I busy myself with the harness so I can meld my body with the car. That’s the only way this works. Me and the car are one.

  One focus.

  One force.

  Other than the constant auditory assault, which now includes Chad, Gorman’s team manag
er, I am completely alone. This is the first time I’ve been by myself in days, since I walked myself out to the berm on that track, thought long and hard about my flaws and decided to turn them into assets. It’s time to block everything out—Alex, my goals, the Judges . . . Hannah. She’s the last thought I shut out and it’s nearly impossible, but if she’s anywhere near my thoughts for the next two hours and fifteen minutes, I won’t be able to let my other side consume my soul.

  I take in my environment and overlay everything I see with the familiar. Those cars in front of me, behind me, and the one next to me are trucks. They’re all guys like me trying to prove themselves. They have weaknesses. They can’t beat me.

  This track is like any other track. The sky is dark, the infield desert, the roadway straight and two lanes. I’m in the Supra. Nobody beats Dustin Bridges.

  Nobody.

  “You’re going to have to break out of that pack early. You’re in the middle of the field,” Douglas says in my ear.

  “No shit,” I swipe back.

  “Alright, alright,” he laughs back.

  Douglas and I have found a good groove over the last week. I trust him, more than I trust Chad who is supposed to be calling the shots. Douglas has to listen to him, but I’m only listening to Douglas. Everyone else in my ear is noise. Well, besides Ernie. I guess I’ll let the guy who warns me about crashes ahead into my space.

  “Pace car is going to get you up to one-ten, maybe a little more. When he peels off and that flag waves—”

  “Punch this fucker through the floor,” I finish for him.

  “Ha ha! Exactly!”

  Tommy coined that term for us. It’s what he yelled into the headset on my best timed lap. It cracked me up but it did the job. Now, it’s my mantra.

  I let the voices in my helmet drum on and after a few minutes, I barely hear them. I’ll pay attention when I must. For now, I need to find my rage. I brought two things into the car with me, and I unzip my suit enough to pull them out to tuck them under a strap on the chassis. The first thing is Hannah’s picture, the same one that got me through four years of hell. I want her with me even if I have to shut her out. She’s my anchor, what brings me back after the darkness. But I can’t see her until they wave that checkered flag, so her picture is covered by the folded-up paper that has to become my truth for the duration of this race. I slide the birth certificate over Hannah’s worn image, the paper folded with the words facing me, a stranger’s name staring me in the face. Alysha Solerno, the woman who didn’t want me.