I don’t correct it right away. I let the chaos breathe. A split second of weightlessness. Of pure fucking recklessness.
I push the car harder, tires digging into the packed dirt, the engine screaming as I take the inside of turn three too sharp. The rear fishtails, and I let it, flirting with disaster, with the edge of control and chaos. Maybe if I push hard enough, I’ll feel something again.
One more lap, and I push my car harder. The guy next to me tries to slide into the space I left open, thinking he can take me. He’s wrong.
At the last possible moment, I yank the wheel, kicking up a thick spray of dirt as I straighten out and maintain my lead. He overcorrects, his car wobbling and losing momentum.
The crowd’s a blur beyond the fences, a wash of headlights and motion. I know they’re yelling, but I don’t hear them. I don’t hear anything but the engine roaring, the tires devouring the track, my pulse pounding in my skull.
Last lap.
I press the gas harder, pushing toward the finish line, but then,she’s there.
Not really. Just a ghost. But for a split second, IswearI see Izzy standing by our spot at turn two, hands stuffed in the pockets of that oversized hoodie she always stole from me, watching me like she used to. My chest seizes. It’s not her. It’s some random girl standing in Izzy’s spot.
I let the momentum slip, my foot hesitating enough to cost me everything.
The car I’ve been battling all night on my right surges forward, taking the inside and cutting me off before the line. I’m too late to correct it. And just like that, I lose.
The second I cross the line, I slam the brakes harder than I should, sending up a thick cloud of dirt. The other guy coasts through his victory lap, engine roaring, crowd cheering, but it barely registers.
I killed my own race. Because ofher. Because no matter how hard I try to burn her out of me, she’s still fucking there.
I cut the engine and rip off my helmet, taking deep breaths that don’t seem to help. My pulse is still hammering. My hands are still shaking, not from fear but from the hollow fucking nothing gnawing at me from the inside out.
The guy who won pulls up beside me, all swagger and smugness, his helmet dangling from one hand. I recognize him as some asshole named Devlin, the kind of racer who thinks luck is skill and doesn’t know when to shut up.
He grins, tapping the roof of my car like we’re buddies. “Didn’t think you were the type to choke, Xavier.”
I stare at him, something dark curling in my chest.
He shrugs. “Guess I was wrong.”
“Didn’t think you were the type to win,” I shoot back, voice flat.
His smirk widens. “Guess you’re slipping.”
I climb out of my car and take a step forward, and before I even realize it, my fists are tightening. The world narrows to the urge to knock that smug fucking smile off his face.
Nolan steps in front of me before I can, a hand on my chest, shoving me back. “Not here, man,” he warns. His voice is low, serious.
I grit my teeth, the blood in my veins screaming for a fight, but I force myself to step back. My gaze remains locked on Devlin, who’s still grinning, still poking the bear.
“I don’t mind a fight,” Devlin says, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Might be the only thing you can win tonight.”
I lurch forward, but Nolan forces me back.
“Walk it off, Xavier.” His voice drops, sharp enough to cut.
It takes everything in me to step back, to tear my eyes away from Devlin and turn toward my car instead. I plant both hands on the roof, breathing deep, my muscles locked so tight it hurts. The world feels too fucking small.
Devlin laughs like he won twice tonight. “That’s what I thought.”
I don’t turn around. If I do, I won’t stop.
Nolan waits until Devlin walks off before he lets go of me. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”
I shake my head, shoving past him. “Nothing.”
