My heart races as I stare inside the car. Driving the GTO was one thing. I’m sure I’ve driven it before. But this car…would Lennon have let London drive it? Could London handle it? This car has a lot of horsepower and torque. It’s built for speed with the purpose of winning.
I slide in the driver’s seat and find Lennon’s gloves and helmet on the passenger side like they were waiting for her return.
I glance at them all while fastening the six-point harness. It would probably be smart to wear the helmet considering my TBI. I slide it onto my head and feel soreness above my left ear and across my forehead, then I reach for the gloves and pull them on one at a time.
My head starts to ache, more like a headache than just soreness. Almost the way it did when I remembered something while looking at Lennon’s totaled Hellcat.
I push through it and study the gauges and switches in front of me and say a silent prayer I do this right. I flip a main switch and make sure I’m in neutral before pushing the start button. The engine sparks to life, and I hear a loud roaring sound as it catches and transitions into a steady, powerful rumble. The machine vibrates all around me as it waits for my command.
A quick glance in the rearview has me ready to go. I shift into first and pull out of the garage bay and onto the same track I recently drove on.
I test the waters by tapping the gas and it lurches forward. I work up to a steady pace and make two laps before feeling comfortable enough to give it all I’ve got. I close my eyes for a split second before shifting gears again and accelerating. The adrenaline in my body takes over and I drive around this track like I own it…which I kind of do, I suppose.
But this feeling is more. It’s like getting reacquainted with an old friend. One who fuels every hidden fire you’ve tried to smother. It feels like a dream realized.
By the fifth lap at this speed, I hear a voice in the comm.
“There’s my Valkyrie. Are you turning laps into memories? Or remembering you were born to race?”
“What are you doing here, Dash?” I ask in the microphone, both startled and soothed by his voice.
“Dillan called me and said you were ruffling some feathers down here.”
“Of course he did,” I mutter.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were taking names and making lists,” he says.
“Something like that,” I say as I shift down to come in.
“Don’t stop on my account. Watching you drive is a beautiful sight.”
“Dash.”
“Lennon.”
I pull back in the garage and park Lennon’s car exactly the way I found it before shutting everything down and leaving the helmet and gloves on the seat.
Sliding out proves to be a little more difficult than sliding in, and it comes as no surprise that Dash is there to give me a helping hand.
Once I’m upright again, he’s still holding me.
“Seeing you drive again was almost as beautiful as seeing your face. Almost,” he says with a crooked grin on his lips.
“It’s time to go, Dash,” Jackson hollers from across the garage as he watches us with his arms crossed.
“We’ll lock up. You can go on,” Dash answers.
I glance over Dash’s shoulder to where Jackson, Dillan, and Troy stand. Troy throws something in the air and catches it in his mouth as he starts for the exit. Dillan is quick to follow, but not without shaking his head and huffing out a small laugh.
Jackson remains still for a minute more and then leaves behind them.
“What’s his problem?” I ask.
“He’s a good friend who doesn’t know you might be Lennon. He’s thrown by having you here. Trust me, he’s one of the good guys. We all deal with stuff in our own way,” he explains.
“I don’t think he likes me being here. Any of them.”
“Cut them some slack. They just care, Valkyrie. Being an identical twin gives you a wonderful but unique load to carry, even without what you’ve been through.”
