Page 26 of Fueled Hate

Damn it. I’m nowhere near that oversized mouse, but I’ll gladly take some time to bring her to meet the rodent if that will make her happy. “That sounds fun. Is Mom there?”

“Yeah. She’s getting ready for Aunt Edita’s party, so she told me I could call you while I wait on her. Are you coming to the party?”

“No, I’m too far away to make it there in time.”

“Just take the plane.”

That would be an option, but it would bring up too many questions. “I’ll try to visit soon.”

“Okay. Can you bring Mom a present?”

“Sure. Do you want a present too?”

“No.” Her voice trails off, and I have a sinking feeling of what she’s about to say. “I just want Mom to feel better.”

I already know the answer but I have to ask. “Has Mom been sick?”

“No. She said she had allergies but she keeps crying for Noah. I still cry for him too, when Mom isn’t here.”

I swallow down my own grief, hating how much my little sister is still struggling. I hate that she’s holding in her own grief so as not to upset Mom. “I’ll be home as soon as I can. And I’m bringing both of y’all ginormous presents.”

“Yay!” she says, perking up. I hear my mom in the background, telling Emma it’s time for them to head to the wedding shower. “Gotta go. Bye, love you.”

“I love you too.”

Emma yells that she’s going to get in the car as the line goes silent. Why is the silence the hardest?

My hand aches as I grip the steering wheel, my eyes flitting to the shiny skin trailing over my knuckles and hand. Scars all reminiscent of the moment when I disconnected the call that told me my brother was dead.

Driving down the dirt road leading to the Dome, I don’t slow as I round the corner, the car sliding from the dirt onto the beaten pavement. Hitting the gas, the car drifts slightly before correcting as I accelerate down the runway. Jerking the wheel slightly to the left, I hit the hole in the broken pavement, waiting to roll. Instead, the car spins out, coming to an abrupt stop beside the track, dirt filling the air in a cloud around the Subaru.

Bailing out, I slam the door shut, pounding my fists against the roof.

“What the hell was that about?” Bryce asks from behind me.

“Why are you here?” I lower my head, fists pressed against the roof of the car.

“Because I knew you would be. You can’t drive this track and pretend like it didn’t get in your head. Now tell me, what was that supposed to prove?”

“It wasn’t an accident.” The words burn as I say them. I wanted to find out differently. I wanted to prove my crazy theory wrong, but I’m not wrong.

“Yes, it was,” Bryce says bluntly.

Raising my hands, I slam them against the roof before shoving off the car and turning to face my best friend. “No. It wasn’t. I’ve barreled down the track, hitting that pothole every which way, and not once did my car flip and roll across the field. It was not an accident.”

“Dylan …”

“Noah wasn’t the risk-taker. He played the races safe. He focused. He kept his eyes on the prize. He made sure he crossed the finish line even if he didn’t come in first. And you know damn well that there’s no way he got behind the wheel and didn’t have his seat belt hooked.”

“The report said—”

“The report said exactly what Kyle said, but that’s not what happened.”

“I get it. You need someone to blame, but we don’t know what happened that night. No one knows. Even the few witnesses present said the track was so dark they couldn’t tell what went on. Maybe he forgot to latch it. Maybe the seat belt was faulty. Or maybe he was just ejected from the car because of the speed.”

“You don’t believe any of that shit any more than I do. We both knew him. He preached to us about wearing a fucking seat belt when we were just driving in a parking lot. Someone didn’t want him walking away from that race, and I will find out who.”

“We are here for Noah. To win his race, defeat his opponent in his honor. We aren’t here to avenge his death and get yourself killed in the process.”