“I know, Tom. Thanks.” I hope he believes it, because I sure as hell don’t.
The following day, I’m packing up my truck-bed RV for the trip up to Watkins Glen. It’s one of the farthest places we travel to. I wanted to leave earlier, but I got caught up in other things and it just didn’t happen.
I’m finally packed and ready to go, and I try to start my tuck, but it won’t turn over. I try again. All it does is click until I hear a loud clunk-like noise.
Well, that can’t be good.
I open the hood, and a bunch of black smoke pours out of it.
Fuck. Now how am I supposed to get there?
I dig out my phone and start calling everyone I can thinkof. Due to my later start, everyone is on the road, too far away to let me ride with them.
There is one other person that I can think of to ask. I don’t think they will agree, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
I don’t have their number, so I decided to message them on Instagram and hope they see it. In a few moments, my phone pings with a response.
Regan
Here’s my number. Call me.
I blink at my phone in shock. She answered and gave me her number. I dial and she quickly picks up.
“Hey, what do you mean you need a ride to the track?” she asks, skipping all the pleasantries.
“My truck just broke down and everyone else has left. You haven’t left yet, have you?” I sound so fucking desperate—because I am, but I never thought it would be in front of Brady.
“I’m about to leave now. Where are you?”
“At the shop. I’ll text you the address.”
“Be there soon.”
The call ends and I quickly text her the address. This is a new low. Having to rely on Brady to get me to the track after I made this whole deal about not needing help, specifically her help. I grab everything I’ll need for the weekend and wait for Brady to come pick me up.
This is going to be super awkward.
Brady pulls up in her truck. I open the passenger door and climb in with my duffle bag. I take in the truck’s cabin.There’s not a lot of trash or anything, so clearly she takes care of her vehicles.
“You can put your bag in the back.” I do as I’m told, and as soon as my seatbelt is clicked in, we are headed toward the highway.
“I appreciate the ride, Brady. You’re a lifesaver," I say as we merge onto the highway.
“It’s not a big deal.” She switches lanes and takes off. A speed demon on and off the track, it seems. “Just one rule. I control the music. Got that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a salute. She just rolls her eyes at me, but a small smile quirks at the side of her mouth.
At cruising speed, she leans forward to her phone that sits in a dashboard mount and opens her music app. She selects a playlist, hits play, and without any warning, heavy metal begins to play through the speakers. I turn to her, and I guess the shock on my face is clear. She does a double take of my reaction before focusing again on the road.
“What?” she exclaims.
I stifle a laugh. “I never pegged you for a metal fan is all.”
“You into pegging, Dixon?” That gets my attention, but she just laughs harder. “I’m full of surprises. You don’t like Slipknot?” she asks sarcastically.
“Like?” I pause for dramatic effect. “Love them.”
Who would have guessed that Regan and I like the same music? Now it’s her turn to be surprised.
