“How much?” I ask Curly.
“Ten grand. This kid’s got big dreams.”
“Big dreams and a small brain.”
An easygoing smile curls his lips as he acknowledges Addie. “And who’s this pretty lady?” he asks, extending his hand to her. “Not seen you here before.”
“That’s Audrey,” I introduce her. “She’s with me.” My voice involuntarily hardens at the last bit, and my hand tightens around her waist.
It’s a subtle shift, but Curly catches the possessive gesture without an issue. His eyes skim over her again, protective and brotherly now. We’ve been friends since my first race. No way in hell he’ll get in my way.
“Gotcha.” He grins. “No worries, I’ll watch her while you’re out there.” He turns to the crowd. “Axel! Get me a cold one!”
Axel leaps up, offering Addie a beer. His smile is a little too wide, eyes wandering her body in a way that has me itching for a fight.
For the next week, she’s my girlfriend.Fakegirlfriend and not necessarily in this setting, but... technicalities.
“Get her a fresh one,” I tell the guy, spotting the open bottle in his hand. “Sealed.”
His smile fades, but with a nod, he quickly retreats, fetching another bottle.
“You good?” I use my index finger to tip Addie’s face toward me. Curly marches away to fetch the kid who wants to race. “You haven’t said a word since we arrived. That’s five minutes without a word. It’s concerning.”
She’s a little pale, but her eyes sparkle with a thrill that wasn’t there before. She feels it—the adrenaline, the excitement, the energy emanating from every person around.
“I’m processing.” She leans into me like she feels safer when I’m close.
“You’ll get used to the noise.”
Curly returns with a kid who can’t be older than twenty. He’s sporting a cocky smirk, far too confident for someone about to lose ten grand.
Addie’s almost glued to my side as Curly launches into the rules, his voice clear and firm over the thumping bass. The kid—Jace—grins away as Curly lays down the basics.
We race a mile. Half a mile one way, U-turn, then back. No veering, no braking, no bullshit. This is the same stretch of road where Otis bumped into the back of my car three years ago.
Five weeks in a hospital bed. Two major surgeries: one on my liver, the other on my heart. Seven fractured ribs, two broken bones in my left leg, and one in my right arm. Concussion, cuts, bruises, a collapsed lung...
I should’ve died that night.
My doctor said it’s a miracle I didn’t...
And I still came back to race again. I’m not the smartest bulb in the box, I admit.
Then again, shit happens. I could cross the street and get hit by a car or fall down the stairs and break my neck.
When it’s time to go, it’s time to go.
At least that’s how I see life and death since the accident. I won’t let that one night affect the rest of my days.
“Tip that back,” I tell Addie, tapping her beer. “I need to borrow your pretty head.” Before she has time to respond, I turn to the crowd and shout, “Helmet!”
A black and white one is passed from hand to hand until it lands in mine.
“What’s this for?” Addie asks, her voice small.
“You’re riding shotgun with me.”
Her eyes pop immediately. She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off, slipping the helmet on and adjusting the strap under her chin. I check it once, twice, three times.
