“I know. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t.”
I place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Trust me, I get it.”
Chase gives me a small smile and heads in the direction that Taylor took off in. I’m finishing up when another voice announces their presence. I really can’t catch a break today.
“Dixon!” Ian shouts, sporting two black eyes and a busted lip. I stifle a laugh at the sight. He’s lucky he’s even walking with what he did to Regan.
“Nice face, Hicks,” I say, glaring at him.
“You’re going down, Dixon,” he hisses. “The series won’t let you race these last two races now that this,” he points to his face, “is public now.”
I look at him, confused, as I get a notification that I’ve been tagged in an Instagram post. I pull my phone out of my pocket and open it, and my stomach drops into the center of the Earth.
Oh, no, this is not good. This is very, very bad. I don’t know who this is going to be worse for in the end. My eye twitches as rage sizzles to the top of my skin. If I could breathe fire, you’d see steam coming out of my nose and ears with how angry at Ian I am. God, the urge to hit him again is strong.
“I’ll just tell them what actually happened. That you had Regan cornered.”
Ian instantly laughs. “So, it’s Regan now? I knew something was happening between you two, but didn’t have proof. I get a two for one deal with this takedown. The series will never believeyouovermeon this, Dixon. Be prepared to never make it to Cup or even race again. My parents’ lawyer will see to that.”
I drop my gaze from him; he has a point. I’m not known for following the rules or keeping my reputation squeaky clean.
I never thought that would come back to haunt me, but here it is, looming over my shoulder like a dark storm cloud, waiting to unleash a downpour over my head.
“You can kiss that Cup seat goodbye, and it’s as good as mine. You can start calling this your final season now.”
There has to be a way out of this. Even if it means I loseeverything and Regan can get that Cup seat, I’ll be okay with it.
I hop into my truck to make my way back to Charlotte, trying to come up with something of a game plan.
FORTY-SIX
REGAN
“There you are,”Dad says. “Where did you end up last night?”
“I crashed at Leslie’s,” I lie. I make a mental note to text her so that she can back me up in case Dad asks her. Not that I think he will, but I’ve been lying to Dad a lot lately, and need to be sure that they check out.
“I figured as much. Let’s go home.” I follow Dad into the bus and settle into the front seat. I usually have my truck, but it’s still in the shop getting brakes and tires, and it wasn’t ready before this trip.
I’m scrolling through apps when I decide to check the points, and I’m sorry I did. I’m only eight points ahead of Dean. Hicks is five behind Dean. This season could come down to being a nailbiter instead of a runaway for us like we had planned.
As I’m scrolling through some TikTok videos, my phone starts blowing up with notifications from Instagram. It’s nonstop, and somehow, I catch the text that Leslie has sent amongst the chaos.
Leslie
Did you see this? What happened? *link to an Instagram post*
With shaky hands, I click the link, not knowing what I’m going to find once it’s loaded.
Username IanHicksRacing:
*an image of Hicks’ bloodied face*
@DeanDixonRacing punched me in the face last night for stealing his girl @ReganBradyofficial
#fight#punchedintheface#didmisterstealyourgirl
How could Hicks post something like this? Throwing both Dean and I under the bus to do what? To try and steal the championship from either one of us? I’d take Dean winning the championship than Ian. Ramon has to have seen this already, or will soon. The likes and comments are continuing to climb as I sit here staring at my phone, willing it to go away. My thumbs fly over my keyboard as I respond to Leslie.
