He scoffs. “Bullshit.”
I don’t stick around to hear whatever lecture he’s got lined up. I grab my helmet and stalk toward my truck, ignoring the voices, the people, and the empty congratulations from guys who don’t know or don’t care I lost a race I should’ve won.
By the time I get in my truck, the anger’s burned off, leaving nothing but exhaustion. But that’s the worst part because it’s when she comes back. Not in the crowd. Not in the moment, but in my fucking head.
I can still hear her voice, the way she used to lean against the window and give me shit about my driving.You drive like you’ve got a death wish, X.
Maybe I do.
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face, then unlock my phone. Izzy’s name is still there, along with the picture of the two of us in my contacts. Still right where I left it. I hover over the keyboard, fingers flexing. Three words. I miss you. I type them, then delete them. In the end, I don’t send anything at all.
I’m back in my garage, and the overhead light flickers once before holding steady, buzzing faintly like it knows I don’t want to be here. Like it’s warning me.
The smell of oil and metal clings to everything, a familiar scent that usually calms me. Not tonight. Tonight, it’s another reminder of her. Of Izzy perched on the workbench, swinging her legs, sipping from my pop like it were hers. Of the way she’d poke my ribs when I got too serious under the hood.
You overthink too much, X. Cars are simple. Gas, brake, go.
She loved being a smartass, even though she is the smartest mechanic around, other than me.
My jaw locks as I toss my keys onto the counter. The sound is too loud in the silence. I rip open the toolbox, though I’m not really looking for anything. I need my hands to move, to do something.
I grab a wrench and turn toward Izzy's race car, a Late Model UMP just like her dad’s. She was going to fix it up and show the racing world she was here to stay until I fucked it all up. I reach inside and pop the hood. I don’t need to fix anything, but I take the wrench to a bolt anyway, twisting harder than I should.
Tighter. Tighter. Too tight. The wrench slips, and my knuckles slam into the engine block. Pain flares hot and sharp, but I barely feel it.
I pull back and look at my hand, at the fresh scrape already welling with blood. Something inside me snaps.
With a growl, I launch the wrench across the garage. It clatters against the tool chest, knocking over a row of sockets. They scatter, tiny metallic echoes bouncing off the concrete. My breathing is ragged, my pulse pounding. And then I lose it.
I grab the nearest thing, a rusted old carburetor sitting on the bench, and hurl it at the wall. It smashes, pieces clattering to the floor. I don’t stop. A rag, a screwdriver, a fucking chair. Everything within reach gets thrown. The dull thud of impact isn’t enough. Nothing is.
I don’t stop until my chest is heaving, my hands are shaking, and my vision blurs with unshed tears. How did my life get so fucked up? How did I lose the one person who meant the world to me? Why did this happen?
My head drops, hands braced against the workbench, blood from my knuckles smearing against the wood.
A voice cuts through the chaos. “Feel better?”
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Nolan. I close my eyes, my shoulders rising and falling in a shaking motion.No.
The garage door creaks, then soft footsteps. A second presence. Mia. She doesn’t say a word, walks over, grabs a rag, and reaches for my hand. I jerk back on instinct, but she doesn’t let go.
“You’re bleeding, dumbass,” she gripes, tugging my wrist. “Sit.”
I don’t. But I don’t fight her, either. She presses the rag against my knuckles, the sting sharp and grounding.
Nolan leans against the workbench, arms crossed. “You want to talk aboutit?”
I huff a humorless laugh. “No.”
“Cool. Then shut up and let us fix you.”
I don’t have the energy to argue. So I let Mia clean the blood from my hands. Let Nolan sit there in silence, present without pushing. Let myself breathe.
And for the first time since I saw Izzy’s ghost on that track, I don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore.
Too bad it’s only temporary.
Chapter Twenty-Three
