All that to say, tonight is perfect.
The sidelines are full of lawn chairs and coolers. The streets are blocked off with scouts to let us know if Muncy is on his way to break up the show.
And I fully plan on giving a show.
Ten thousand is on the line tonight, and I have every intention of pocketing the money and using it.
Mind you, I have no house payment, thanks to my silent and confusing-as-fuck husband. Nonetheless, there are bills, Marshall’s damage to his Roadrunner, and my goal has always been for the girls to have everything they need.
“You want her by that lanky little fuck, Peter, or no?”
My eyebrows clench at the sound of Hot Rod’s voice near my car door. This is the last moment to have a conversation about anything because if we don’t start this race soon, my tires are going to cool, and my block is only getting hotter by the second.
“Are you new here?” I lightly chide, staring straight out my windshield. “I’m about to start a race.”
“Yes or no.”
God.
“Yes,” I clip out, steering my irritated glower toward him. “Leave her alone.”
“I don’t like him.”
“Then watch him.”
“Do you think I have a guy to waste on that little prick?”
“Then don’t worry about it.”
Hot Rod begins to lean his forearm along the edge of my door, but I swat at it before he can land it. “Absolutely not.Move.”
“We’re talkin’ about this when you’re done.”
Whatever.
He steps away, and I heard him, I did. If he has an inkling Peter is compromised, then I’ll hear him out. The last thing I need is for him to use my sister in any capacity, which would lead to me getting involved.
We all have enough on our plates to last a bit. And I’ll be damned if some teenager gives me another one.
The redhead Juice is mildly obsessed with steps between my Nova and the Supra that’s looking to dust my ass. She lifts her flashlight, glances at both of us, and doesn’t make a huge show of it like Nessa used to. It used to drive me crazy how she’d purposely wait to start a race when both the other driver and I already had surges of adrenaline pumping through our veins.
The new girl flicks the light, almost at the same time I hit the trans brake, and Dad’s car comes alive in the night with vengeance.
I wish he were here.
It’s the first thing I think of when the classic vehicle engages and does exactly what she’s supposed to do.
The Nova roars, and it sounds like a distress signal of emotion, of loss. Everything I have yet to manage and sort out because when has there been the time?
Not that I believe time will heal those wounds. It’ll be an emptiness I’ll feel for the rest of my life; I just need to deal with it somehow.
From the corner of my eye, the Supra’s bright orange front end catches my attention as I shift into my next gear.
Then it’s bye-bye.
I cross the line, winning the race, and expect all hell to break loose at any given minute.
It doesn’t.
