“Hell yeah, I do,” Dale says, moving to the passenger side.
Tommy turns to face Dustin, his mouth a hard line that reeks of all kinds of fuck yous, but he hands Dustin the keys. The three of us step back as Dustin works the car out onto the road. I wave down Ava and when our eyes meet, point to the car so she sees Tommy is no longer behind the wheel. She gives me a thumbs up, and when I see Dustin’s favorite Dodge rumble out of the lineup, I climb on top of my car so I have a good view. Jimmy’s always been a formidable foe, and he’ll make this a good experience for Dale. He’ll help make the story. But in about seven minutes, he’s going to be crawling back to his parking spot as the loser. A nice guy, but still . . . a loser.
While Dustin and Jimmy square up, I send Bailey to cut through the crowd and let Ava know about Dustin’s special guest. She may as well put on a bit of a show too. The guy will also need to know what he can and can’t put in his story. Names have to be changed, and locations are definitely vague. This place is a lot like Fight Club, and it has survived by those rules.
Bailey rushes back and I note the amount of time Ava spends talking to Dustin’s passenger, probably reviewing the details I expect. After a few minutes, she sashays around the car and runs her hands along the frames of the Supra and the Dodge, cutting between until she’s lit up by both sets of headlights. Their engines kick in, the sound reverberating in my chest, and my smile slides into place.
Home.
I help Bailey up to the roof and Tommy climbs up to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders because even though he knows the outcome, he can’t help but get nervous. I chuckle quietly to myself, glad he didn’t try to race. He would have been embarrassed.
We’re too far to hear Ava’s words, but we all know her actions by heart. Her hands go up and she pulls the bandana from her hair, her hair falling free. The cloth whips in the wind as her gaze moves from one driver to the other and then it’s down, and the cars are off.
“I swear our exhaust smells like banana. I’ve always thought that,” Tommy claims. Bailey and I laugh, but now that he mentions it, there is a faint note of banana bread in the air.
I visualize everything Dustin is doing inside that car right now, my hand twitching with each shift, my palms sweating as they fight to grip an invisible wheel. I shift my weight from one hip to the other when I know the flip is coming, and I count as the headlights coming toward us grow bigger, brighter. All told, the race lasts less than a minute, but it feels like slow motion in my world. I made it last, wished I was inside that car, and wondered at the boy I fell for. I never stood a chance.
Without caution or care, I leap from the roof of my car and jog to the Supra as Dustin rolls up, his passenger a bit shell-shocked and definitely wide-eyed. He pushes his precious set of wheels into park and saunters out of the driver’s seat, and suddenly, every word he said to Dale for his story—how this is a whole new Dustin, and things are going to be different now—comes into view.
This is an unparalleled level of confidence. This is a man ready to take on the world.
“I fucking love you,” he says when our bodies meet, and in the next breath, his lips are on mine and Ava’s whistle lets the gods know that Dustin and Hannah are back, and devils be warned. We’re coming.
20
I’m used to making the trip to the track alone. Most of the guys on the circuit fly in with their entire family in tow, or they have some tricked-out RV that gets to live right next to the hauler all week. I’ve got a hotel room I’ll share with Tommy waiting for me on the other end of this flight, which I am boarding alone.
I tried to say our goodbyes at home, but Hannah insisted on coming with me. Bristol made me a gift and Hannah said our daughter wanted to give it to me in person and watch me get on the plane. I’m not so sure how much of that was Bristol’s insistence rather than Hannah’s, but I find it increasingly hard to resist the demands of either of them. Hannah had their escort passes ready to go by the time I checked in.
Terminal three isn’t as massive as four, but I still feel we’re too exposed. I’m shocked security hasn’t already flagged me and hauled me into some back room for questioning by the way I’m constantly scanning and memorizing faces in the crowd. It terrifies me. What could I do? In Alex’s world, I am powerless.
“He has no reason,” Hannah says, sliding her hand in mine and stepping up on her toes to whisper in my ear.
I relax, a little. She’s right. As long as I’m delivering on my promise and Alex is getting what’s his, he has no reason to send someone to an airport to hurt any of us. But the man does like theatrics and intimidation, and the thought of someone scaring Bristol fuels me with protective papa wrath.
Truly, though, it’s what happens after the race that has me knotted and sick. I’m done paying for doing the right thing. Hannah kept me out of a bad business marriage with a criminal, and he turned around and took me hostage instead. No more. Texas will be the race where everything changes.
“You have the key for the house?” I’ve asked her this maybe forty times since we left for the airport. Bailey’s parents have a cabin near the New Mexico border and if I’m able to pull off a win—when I win—Hannah, Bristol, Bailey and Tom are heading there to wait until it feels safe. It might never feel safe. She pulls the key from her pocket and flashes it to me, grimacing.
I exhale and run my hand through my hair before plopping in one of the seats by my gate. Bristol runs to the nearby window and plasters her palms and nose on the glass to watch the planes take off and land.
“If you let us come with you we’d always be nearby, you know.” Hannah leans her head to the side and I lift my gaze to look in her eyes. I breathe out a laugh and shake my head.
“I will literally not sleep if you come. I’ll put toothpicks in my eyes like those cartoons we used to watch and will sit around and simply stare at you.”
Her lips curl in an impish grin.
“That doesn’t sound awful.” She snuggles into the chair next to me, resting her head on my arm, and Bristol turns around, catching us.
“My turn,” she says, skipping toward us and leaping into my free arm.
“How’s my girl?” I ask.
“I’m fine.” That’s a new word for her. She learned it from her grandma. Hannah’s mom is always saying things are fine, that it’s fine if we wait for dinner, or fine, have it your way. I started testing out calling her my girl this morning. She smiled the first time, so I’ve used it twice more. I like it. Maybe it will ease her into understanding who I am.
Now boarding flight one-four-eight to Dallas.
I breathe in deeply, but the air doesn’t stretch my lungs completely. I’m anxious. I hate feeling this way, and I’ve been so good throughout my life at putting my stress to the side and simply winning. Everything feels too closely tied together, as if one part of my life is impossibly dependent on the other. It’s a lot to balance with my integrity.
“You ready to give him his present?” Hannah leans across my chest and touches Bristol’s nose. Our daughter nods vigorously and climbs down from my side, her tiny palm gripping my knee while she nervously kicks at my shoe. Hannah reaches into her purse and slips out a folded paper, handing it to our daughter, who quickly hands it over to me.