I should say no. I should walk away. I shouldn’t give in to childish, dangerous shit like this.
Jesus, Ransome. It’s not drugs. It’s a car. A car built to fly.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
Maverick lets out a whoop before putting the car in park and getting out.
We switch spots. I tuck myself inside the driver’s seat, adjusting everything the way I like. Then I place one hand on the wheel and one on the shifter.
Immediately, I feel the first hit, smooth and satisfying.
Am I a clown if I admit I missed this? Am I a shitty brother if I say I’ve kept thinking about getting behind the wheel for years?
“He loved it,” Mav says, and it’s like he can read my goddamned mind. It’s like he knows that I am thinking of Nik, wondering if getting behind this wheel is a tribute or a betrayal.
“And it killed him,” I say.
“We both know that’s not what happened.”
“Then what did happen?” I snap.
Mav looks forward casually. He puts his whole heart in everything he does. But in the same breath, he doesn’t let it near anyone he could be in danger of loving. “It’s a car, Ransome. Nothing more,” he tells me. “And a car he would have given his left nut to drive.” Mav gives me a sideways smile and fuck him, I know he’s right.
With that, I shift into drive and we roll.
It’s been a long time since I’ve driven a car like this. A car that can hit 60, 90, 120 without even trying. Even around the corners, she’s smooth. Built for speed. Built to be pushed.
God, it feels fucking good. Cars like this get it. They’re built to be pushed, built to succeed, built to be better than the rest.
And that, I get.
As I weave in and around other cars, taking corners with little to no effort, I can’t help but feel high for the first time in I don’t know how fucking long. There’s a flash of red in my rearview that quickly pulls around me and falls into stride with me.
“Baron?” I ask, and Mav grins. “Don’t tell me he’s got the same fucking car.”
“What can I say? They were buy one get one for free.”
“Corvettes were buy one get one?” I fall into a race with my cousin and his red twin of the car I’m driving.
“Yeah. I bought one and then he got one for free.”
“Well, he’s about to get his ass handed to him.” I charge around him. For another lap we are neck and neck, shifting, cutting each other off, and making a real blood sport of it.
At the end, I push it. There’s a final stretch that ends on the edge of a pier. Below that edge is a hundred feet of cold, North East saltwater. Call it a very expensive game of chicken.
But right now, I don’t care how stupid it is. The shifter is in my hand, the engine is in my palm, and I have no intention of letting my cousin win.
I speed in front of him and he does the same to me seconds later. We braid our way up the pier and Mav is on fire, unbothered bythe fact that this could end with both of us under water. Nose to nose, the engines screaming, we approach the edge. Both of us break just in time not to go flying over it…
And just in time not to hit the car parked horizontally at the end.
“Who the fuck—” I say after my seatbelt locks, nearly giving me whiplash as we screech from 110 to a halt. But I know who.
Tristan is standing outside of the parked Lambo. I swear I can see the toothpick between his teeth.
“This motherfucker, I swear to fucking God.” Mav rips his seatbelt off and slams the door open as if that eighth of the car doesn’t cost twenty five grand on its own.
I’m about to tell him to cool it. That fighting with Tristan Chadovich is the last thing we need. But he’s out the door before I can do anything about it.
