I love my family. I’m happy they’re happy, but I’m also incredibly aware I’m alone.
No big news.
No small news.
No news at all.
It’s tough being the last single Hayes. Even our three-years-younger sister Rose is in a two-year-long relationship. She’ll be dropping engagement news soon, I bet.
Seeing how happy my siblings are, I’m jealous. That’s all. I want what they have... I just can’t fucking find it.
So here I am... racing. Chasing my own brand of high. Chasing the only thrill that makes me feel remotely happy.
Shaking off the depressing thoughts, I focus on the stretch of tarmac ahead. I’m twenty-four, for fuck’s sake. There’s still time to find my happy ever after.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Too bad it’s harder to believe as the days pass. I didn’t even think about a wife and kids until Conor fell in love with Vivienne. It got worse when, against all odds, Cody went with Blair.
Now that I’m the last man standing, I feel like an outcast in my own family.
In my chaotic, unpredictable life, racing is the constant that keeps me grounded and relatively patient.
The engine roars beneath me, marshaling my thoughts. Not even flying a hundred and thirty miles an hour down the straight keeps my head in the game these days.
Still, I try.
I started racing for fun, but as the years went by, fifteen seconds of adrenaline rush turned into my escape from reality. Something to keep me centered, focused, and sane.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. Every nerve in my body tenses like a drawn string. It’s the good kind of nerves, exciting, freeing... until everything changes.
In the side mirror, I catch a flash of the Supra gaining unnatural speed. He’s on my tail within a second, not a feat he could pull off without a nitrous boost.
Looks like he didn’t get the memo. Curly doesn’t allow this shit here. It’s fucking dangerous.
This will be Otis’s first and last race.
I’m in a losing position, waiting until the fucker leaps ahead, but before I can fully register it, there’s a sudden jolt as the Supra’s front end clips my rear bumper, sending my Challenger into a spin.
Not good. At this speed, spins arenevergood. My mind fucking soars as I try to regain control. The world blurs. Neon colors and sharp lights from the sidelines whip past. Tires scream against the beaten tarmac so loud I can’t hear anything else. My heart jackhammers in my chest as I grip the steering wheel with all I’ve got, fighting against the violent swing of my car. But it’s too fast, too sudden.
And then I notice where I’m heading. Directly at the neatly parked cars ahead. Time slows, each millisecond dragging like I’m underwater, every movement slow, exaggerated. The front of a Dodge RAM flashes before my eyes, and the realization hits like a punch to the gut.
This might be it.
The end.
Game over.
The distance between my Challenger and the RAM evaporates and no matter what I do... nothing works. The steering wheel has no effect. Slamming the brake doesn’t change a thing.
The only way to stop is to crash.
Memories whip through my mind. The infamouslife-flashing. My brothers, my parents, my friends. Countless laughs and fights. Endless family dinners filled with pregnancy, engagement, and wedding announcements. The happiness surrounding me daily but is never my own.
My life doesn’t have the same sweet taste my brothers get to savor, and in this slow-motion descent into death, I realize I haven’t truly lived.
Regret gushes through me. The thought of dying before I found my purpose terrifies me more than the impending crash. Amid the noise of screeching tires and distorted shouts, a haunting quiet fills my head.
I haven’t found my meaning yet.
