Page 96 of Austin

“To the moon and back,” I sigh, nuzzling into the crook of his arm.

“To the moon and back, baby. To the moon and back.”

24

JALYNN

I stopped by the office before heading to the hospital today. Bryce gave me time off so I could be by Austin’s side, but I had to pick up something before heading to see Austin.

On my first day of work with Sexton Media, I stupidly volunteered to write a story that I knew nothing about. For some reason, I felt the need to protect the man sitting next to me who caused such a stir in my life and body. Bryce and I put it off for as long as we could, telling Missy we were almost finished with it but it’s finally here.

I know it’s nothing like what Missy had in mind but I’m proud of the anonymous exposé we published in today’s paper.

Missy wanted to dig into the bad things of racing—the supposed fights, gambling and drugs happening on the track. But after Tyler’s tribute, I knew exactly what the article should be about.

The expose is my personal story. Starting from the first night I created a false start and wound up in the car of San Francisco’s most wanted street racer. Me, a girl who shies away from the wild side found a love for the adrenaline rush of a car being pushed to the max. That night, the stranger opened the door for me to understand the amazing community of racing.

These races are so much more than fast cars. They’re about the love of speed and that’s not a bad thing. In a city like San Francisco that’s riddled with heroin, where safety injection sites are being opened so addicts can get their release, the races have become an outlet for those who can’t find a way to express their feelings. These men and women don’t turn to needles. Speed is their drug of choice. It’s a safer choice.

I tell the story of a Marine who not only has his own battle scars, but lives with the heavy heart of being a survivor. Where society couldn’t give him an outlet for his hurt, racing gave him a way to breathe again. He orchestrates the events, finds the safest tracks and makes sure only the best drivers partake in the races. There are strict rules, and if you break the rules, you’re out.

My exposé was about the good in racing. The good in the people who come out and interact with one another rather than hiding behind devices and television screens. It’s a community of misfits, although who’s to say they’re the outcasts? Maybe we have it wrong. Maybe we’re the ones missing out.

I wrote about a young man who gave up on a college career to work so his mother could pay her mortgage. Tyler raced at night for fun and freedom from his day-to-day responsibilities. Three weeks ago, this young man died, not while street racing, but from speeding away from the cops. I was able to tell the story of the community who created a beautiful memorial for him, paid for his funeral and paid off his mother’s mortgage.

Austin doesn’t know I knew what he did for Tyler’s family. It’s just one more reason I’ve fallen for him. He did it because he felt it was the right thing to do. Nothing more.

I also touched on a third man who lost his confidence at the hands of his father. When he felt he had no control, the track gave it back to him.

Don’t get me wrong; street racing is dangerous and illegal. I included statistics on people who have been injured in street races versus those in everyday accidents. I included every danger these events impose. I interviewed the Mayor and all of his concerns are valid. These races disrupt the city and endanger the people—when conducted poorly. That’s why he has agreed to look into a way to allow these races to form in certain areas of the city.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I hope the people reading the article can see the beauty in the community and not demonize them to prison for their vice.

Sometimes things happen out of our control and we have to deal with them as they come. For now, I’m just thankful Austin is okay, and this assignment is off my plate while providing something I can be proud of.

I just hope Austin feels the same way.

I open the door to his hospital room and see him staring down at his phone. “Hey, doctor said no working,” I yell playfully.

“My favorite girl,” he says as his face lights up.

It’s the most gratifying thing seeing the love you have for someone reflecting back at you with it written all over their expression.

“I have something for you.” I hand him today’s paper.

He eyes me. “I thought you said no work?”

“This is different. Just look.”

I sit down next to him, nervously tapping my foot on the ground as he reads.

His eyebrows crease when he sees what the article is about, but as he reads his face softens, and the more he makes his way into the article the happier his expression gets.

“I love it. You nailed every aspect of why we do this. Missy’s going to hate it.” He laughs.

I shrug. “Bryce has been helping me. I had some help from an editor, too.”

“You’re brilliant. Don’t let anyone else take the credit when you are a star.” He reaches his hand out to me and I stand up, taking it in mine before leaning down to kiss his lips. “Thank you. Thank you for stepping up and offering to do this. Thank you for being by my side and saving me the other night. But most of all, thank you for being you.”