What I do with Alex? That’s the biggest lie of all.
I haven’t won a race since the Phoenix Series that got me on the circuit on my own. I’ve come close—second, third, fifth, seventh. Multiple times. But I don’t win. I’m not allowed. Not until the man sitting across from me in an office I’ve come to despise tells me I can. For now, he makes a far better profit when I lose. Or so he says. I think he’s simply punishing me.
“The money moving on you for Texas is huge, brutha.” I hate that Alex calls me that, in that voice, using that tone, like we’re . . . friends. We aren’t. Not even close. I’m his fucking prisoner.
“Probably because people know betting against me is a sure bet. Maybe we should change things up.” I shrug, knowing he’ll turn down the idea of me winning. He pretends to mull the idea over, but his rejection is coming.
Right.
Now.
“Nah, let’s let her ride a little longer, shall we?” His eyes settle on mine with that wicked flare. He hates me. He hates me the way I wish I could hate Hannah. And he sees right through me to the truth, to the fact I would still do anything to keep her safe. Including lose every fucking race for the rest of my goddamned life.
“Suit yourself,” I say, standing from the tufted leather chair that faces his desk. I round it and meander to the wet bar, pulling out the whiskey and pouring myself a glass.
I like the burn the whiskey provides. It’s a pleasant reprieve, but it only last seconds as it goes down my throat and into the pit of my stomach.
It’s hard to be the best at what you do knowing you’re holding back. I wonder if Hannah watches the races. I wonder if she can tell. I wonder if anyone suspects. I’m pretty sure Tommy knows. I see it in his eyes after every race, the way he stares at me with question. I suppose I see disappointment, but maybe I’m only reflecting what I see in myself.
“Maybe you should stay awhile this time, hang out with us, party a little. You know, you make a lot of money for a lot of my friends. It’s the least I can do to show you a good time.”
Alex knows I won’t stay. I never do. Not here with him, anyhow. I’ve found a second home just outside Henderson, an old airstrip where people meet up and hold drag races, and if I have to endure these little one-on-ones with Alex, then I am going to indulge in this little window to my past when I can. I will never tell him about it because he’ll only find a way to ruin it, as he has everything that’s good in my life.
“I should get back. It’s Thanksgiving, and people I know are cooking actual food.” I shrug as though it’s no big deal. I know better than to share many details about my private life with him. He knows enough. And he doesn’t need to know Hannah’s in town.
“That rich uncle of yours cooking?” There’s an edge to his voice anytime he brings up my uncle.
I breathe in deeply, hating every minute of this.
“He’s actually working at the church back home in Tulsa. He feeds a lot of people, and without his support, they wouldn’t have much of a Thanksgiving.” I should probably join Uncle Jeff out there. My soul could use the cleansing, and I don’t really want to be in Arizona while Hannah’s there.
“How saintly of him. You know what I give my staff for Thanksgiving?” He pauses and settles his elbows on his massive desk, toying with the empty tumbler in his hand. He drank his whiskey the minute I walked in.
“Tips on how to bet the next series race?” I joke. He fakes a laugh then shifts his expression to an intense stare over his flat mouth and perfectly trimmed mustache.
“No, Dustin. I give them lap dances in the titty bar. Ha ha!” He pounds a fist on his desk as he laughs at his sexist, unfunny joke. His bellow echoes in his frosted glass office and I wonder how many people are rolling their eyes, used to his bullshit, on the other side of this wall.
“You’re quite the giver,” I retort. I down my whiskey in one gulp and set the empty glass back on the cart. “So let’s do this. What’s the plan for Texas?”
Alex chews at something invisible inside his mouth. It’s an affectation he likes to display to keep people on edge. It works. It makes me think he might shoot me. I find myself staring intensely at his mustache and watching for a sign of what’s to come next.
“I think you’re due for a top five.” He kicks his feet up and threads his hands behind his neck.
His eyes are amused. He’s toying with me because I didn’t laugh at his joke. Or because he’s an evil son-of-a-bitch who knows how much this kills me. I’m in my third year of the circuit. The world is questioning my staying power. People are of two camps: Team Dustin is About to be King and Team Dustin is a Fluke.
“Lots of numbers in that top five. Are you thinking maybe third or . . .” I’m flirting with danger here. I know what he means, but fuck if I’m not gonna push some boundaries.
“Did I say top three? I don’t think so. I think I said top eight.”
“Actually, you said—” I stop myself. I know better than to engage. I swallow hard before I get myself in a worse position. “Eight. Got it.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
He pulls his feet from his desk, and it’s as if I’m invisible. He’s done with me, with our business.
“Maybe next time we can call this in?” I drop my hands in my pockets while I hover by the door. He’s focused on his keys and wallet and phone, slipping on his jacket and fixing the clasp on his watch. I flick my wrist in my pocket as a reminder to myself where I came from. I’m still wearing my uncle’s watch. Only splurge I indulged in was to get it fixed.
“Ah, wish we could, Dustin. Wish we could.” He walks over to me and I tighten my muscles, ready for the sucker punch. Instead, he looks down but steps in close. “Thing is, I can’t trust you, now, can I? Because you’re a fucking liar, aren’t you?”
His question is rhetorical. I don’t have to answer. I do anyway.
“That’s me. One big fucking liar.”
Alex’s mouth ticks up. He’s amused. His palm lands on my shoulder and his fingers dig in with ominous pressure, his brand of warning.
“See ya in two weeks.” He points at my face, his finger so close I could bite it off.
“Yes, sir,” I say once his back is to me. I let the glass door close between us and indulge in a frustrated growl before straightening my shirt and preparing my expression to exude the confidence of a man who belongs here.
I schedule my next appointment with Drina, Alex’s secretary, on my way out. She flirts with me, as she usually does, and I tell her I like her hair. It’s white-blonde today. Last time it was red. She’s a beautiful woman but she’s also a shark. Alex’s shark. She would hang anything that happens between us over my head until the day I die. I’m not interested in accumulating any more debts in this life.
I did myself a favor today and parked in the garage below ground so I don’t have to look at the facade of this building until it’s well in my rearview mirror. If I truly had discipline, I wouldn’t look at all, but it’s impossible not to indulge in old memories. See those balconies hanging over the strip, the sun glinting off the glass, the shimmer of water features and lights—only one of those things takes me back to that night with Hannah. All of them, though? It makes the memory feel real and present. I can taste her. Smell her honey vanilla lotion. My hands move around the steering wheel, imagining the silk of her skin and hair.