My brother storms away from the table and mutters “excuse me” before Dustin has a chance to respond. He’s almost out of the room when Dustin pulls everything into focus and stands from his seat.
“I don’t have a choice, Tommy. It was either this or let that asshole kill me. Or hurt Hannah. Or one of you.”
My brother stops at the archway by the kitchen, his arms stretched out and spanning the opening. His head bows, and the silence in our house becomes so intense I can hear the tiny wheezing sound from Bristol’s nose.
I feel like throwing up, and I have to cover my mouth with my hand because it’s the only thing stopping me from crying or screaming in frustration. How did this man get so much power over my family? Over Dustin?
“He’s Russian mob, Tommy. His dad is, at least. And he’s a dangerous man, like you always said. I ignored the signs and walked right along the edge, but I finally fell into the deep end. I’ve tried to find a way out, believe me. Any other way. But this is literally the only thing I can justify that won’t put anyone else in danger. Yeah, Tommy. I fucking lose on purpose. I’m so good at losing I can tell you the exact position I’m going to finish. Want a sure bet for next Saturday? Guess who’s coming in eighth.”
Dustin holds out his hands, his eyes red from a mix of anger and sheer pain, and lets out a guttural laugh to punctuate his own frustration. A tear forms and slides down his cheek, and I find myself wanting to stop it. I’m paralyzed by the truth and sick that I’m still protecting my own. I’m as ensnared by Alex as he is.
“Dustin,” I breathe out, my heart breaking all over again for the boy I fell in love with when I was a girl. The man in front of me so stuck I fear he may die here, like this, never getting to live his purpose.
“It’s fine. I’m . . . I’m just gonna go,” he says, his eyes darting wildly around the ruined meal. His muscles twitch like a feral animal trapped and desperate to flee. He looks up, meeting my mother’s gaze.
“I’m really sorry,” he says, to her and nobody else. My chest squeezes because I want to hear him say that to me. To my brother. To all of us. But then, I have so much to apologize for too. Dustin may have set the trap for himself, but I’m the one who triggered it. I pushed him in. Unfortunately, nobody has the key.
He’s out the door and the sound of the Supra revving dissipates into the distance just as Tommy leaves to follow him. Seconds later, my brother’s car squeals from the driveway. My dad heads out to the garage just as Bailey’s parents leave, probably shocked by the mess their daughter is marrying into. My mom and Jorge take Bristol into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Bailey. I haven’t a goddamn clue what to say. I’m not even sure how to exist. The one thing I’m certain of, though, is that I need my friend.
It takes almost a full minute to find the courage to speak out loud, and even then, the only eye contact I can muster is short glances to my side.
“How did we get here?”
Bailey doesn’t look my direction at all, her gaze fixed out the window overlooking the driveway where her fiancé just pulled away, angry and confused. Almost an entire minute passes without a word from her, and my need to hear that voice—and mend this strained bridge between me and my friend—prompts me to try again.
“Should we go find Tommy?”
Bailey shakes with a silent laugh and lowers her head, blinking at her half-eaten meal that’s long ago gotten cold.
“When are you going to deal with your shit, Hannah?” She shifts her head and her gaze flickers up to meet my face. She stares at me expectantly while my mouth hangs open.
“Bailey, it’s complicated.”
She breathes out another laugh, this one audible. I open my mouth to explain but she stops me with an open palm.
“Don’t. Unless you’re going to tell me the truth and be honest with yourself for once, just . . . don’t. Life is complicated, Hannah. What Dustin just said? His situation? It’s complicated. And I’m sure yours is, too. I’m sure it’s the same stupid fucking complications at work. It always is with you two. And I’m tired, Han. I’m tired of the whirlwind that is your love life. I’m tired of waiting on the sidelines while the Dustin and Hannah show takes center stage. I got engaged, Han! To your brother! And nobody in this whole damn house has had a minute to celebrate that. Thanks to you. So, unless you’re ready to give it to me straight, I don’t want to hear it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find my fiancé. By myself.”
My eyes glaze, stuck in their wide-open position as Bailey leaves her seat and marches out the front door on her mission. My daughter’s laughter a room away sounds as though it’s underwater, or in another dimension. Her carefree world feels so separate from the one I’m in. Eventually, I’m going to have to sync those worlds together.
Bailey’s right. Me and Dustin? Our challenges share the same root cause. But while I’ve been so focused on the idea that Alex Offerman is the nexus of our troubles, it turns out the real threat is our lack of faith in each other.
Somehow, I need to be able to trust Dustin again, and he needs to be able to trust me. That’s the only hope we have of ever being a family. Of course, that’s news I’m going to have to break thoughtfully, and that alone may make trust an absolute impossibility.
8
The problem with a small town is there aren’t many places to go when you want to run away. I think that’s the reason a lot of people leave. It’s not that they want to leave home; they simply need somewhere to run off to for a while, to be pissed and confused and in their feelings.
Since the Straights aren’t a thing anymore, I came to the only place that still holds some of those memories—Earl’s. I still have my key from when Earl and Ava let me use their back office as a temporary headquarters as the track was being renovated, so I let myself in through the back and let the heavy metal door slam closed behind me.
There’s something about the smell of this place. It’s not pristine like the shop at the track. These bays have seen years of tire tread and oil leaks. I used to think that if I could make myself seem put together enough, maybe Earl would hire me on as a mechanic or a tire specialist. As much as racing is in my blood, I always had doubts that any of it would pan out, at least when I was younger. The idea of a steady job messing around with shit I liked felt comforting. There are times when I think maybe I should have stuck with that plan.
I unlock the door to my old temporary office, having to give the door extra oomph to slide the boxes stacked on the inside out of the way. I don’t think anyone’s worked in here since the last day I used this place, and it looks as though Earl is back to his record-keeping routine of stuffing receipts in old parts boxes and piling them in here. I’ve got no head for business and even I cringed when I first saw that.
“Forty-two years and zero audits,” he’d said. Guess I can’t mock him with that kind of record. We’ve already gone through two mini audits on the track, probably because while the public might not know about the early plans to go into business with Alex on this thing, the government does. That’s based on nothing but a hunch and Tommy’s paranoia.