by Alexa Land
“Plus that,” Dare admitted. Skye sat on his husband’s lap and kissed him on the tip of his nose.
“It’s a good thing I like you two,” Haley told them as they smiled at each other. “Otherwise, I’d pretty much be going into a sugar coma over here. Speaking of which, I’m having serious doubts about this Valentine’s party tonight. The entire holiday is just this big, glaring reminder for us single people that we’re alone. If it wasn’t also a celebration of your wedding anniversary, I’d give it a skip and spend the rest of the weekend on my couch with a frozen pizza, a bottle of tequila, and reruns of the Golden Girls, in a show of solidarity with my single brothers and sisters everywhere.” Man, could I relate. I almost volunteered to be his date for the party, but I didn’t want him to feel like he had to say yes, just because I put him on the spot in front of our friends.
River stepped out the back door just then, and as he came toward us down the path, Skye called, “Hey, bro! Where’s Cole?” I glanced from one to the other. They were half-brothers, and looked nothing alike. Skye was fair-skinned with blue eyes, while River’s darker coloring reflected his father’s Latino heritage. They’d even grown up in different parts of the country, which meant only River spoke with a drawl. They were really close though, and I envied them. I missed my brothers and sister every day.
River sighed as he dropped onto the patio chair beside Dare’s and said, “I don’t want you to make a big deal out of it, which I totally know you’re going to, because you’re like that.”
“Make a big deal of what?” Skye asked.
River looked at the ground as he said, “Cole and I have been havin’ some problems. He’s sleepin’ on his friend Miranda’s couch these days.”
Skye exclaimed, “Oh my God! Are you two breaking up? I’ve never even seen you bicker!”
“Okay,” River said, drawing a circle in the air around his brother, “this is you making a big deal of it. And just because we never bickered in front of you doesn’t mean everythin’ was rosy. Cole’s a very private person. He barely even showed me what he was feeling, so he sure as hell wasn’t going to share our problems with you or the rest of our friends and family.”
“But how could he just move out?” Skye asked.
“He’s been really unhappy,” River said. “I knew something was bothering him, it was obvious for weeks. But instead of fixing it, I fucked it all up. I tried to get him to talk about it, but he wouldn’t. That was so frustrating. After a while, without even realizing what I was doing, I started picking fights with him about meaningless shit, like never replacing the empty toilet paper roll or forgetting to pay a bill, which was totally asinine of me. Eventually, it dawned on me why I was doing that shit. I was pissed off at him because he wouldn’t fucking talk to me, and that anger kept leaking out in these stupid little ways. As if a roll of toilet paper is ever reason enough to snap at someone.”
“I get why you were annoyed, though,” Skye told him.
River scrubbed his hands over his face, then leaned back in the chair as he said, “When I realized I’d been acting like a douche, I went to see Cole and tried to apologize, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. Meanwhile, I still don’t know what the fuck is going on with him or why he started withdrawing from me in the first place, because he still won’t fucking talk to me.”
Haley asked, “So, does this mean you two have broken up?”
River shrugged and told him, “I don’t know. Things are just up in the air at this point. I have no idea what’s going to happen.”
His brother said, “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. Is there anything I can do?”
“Just help run interference for me at this party. A lot of people we know are going to be here to celebrate your anniversary, and I really don’t want to have to tell each of them what I just told you. Cole would fucking hate it if everyone knew his personal business. So just, I don’t know, tell people he’s home with a cold or something. I realize I’m asking you to lie to our friends and that’s totally shitty, but if I have to tell fifty people my problems, I’m gonna fucking lose it.”
Skye said, “Alright, the official story is that your boyfriend’s home with a cold. That’s all anyone needs to know.”
I chimed in, “When you get ready to cook, I’ll help you. I’ll just have to pick Nana up when she’s done at the salon, but that won’t take long and then I can do whatever you need me to. I don’t want you to stress about this event when you already have so much on your mind.”
“Thanks, Jessie. I appreciate it,” he said.
“We’ll all help you cook,” Skye said. “I’ll just have to get cleaned up first.” He was wearing denim overalls and a blue thermal shirt with the sleeves pushed back, and was definitely on the grubby side after a day of wrangling pieces of rusted metal.
“Great. Trevor’s also going to help out, so we’ve got the catering gig covered. Now everyone stop staring at me, please,” River said, shifting uncomfortably. “Talk amongst yourselves. Here’s a topic: Jessie racing his teensy car tonight. Is that really happening?”
I raised an eyebrow at Skye and said, “Way to keep a lid on that.”
“I just told my brother, but don’t worry, we all made sure it didn’t get back to Nana.” Dare and Haley knew too, since I’d let it slip while I was talking to the three of them.
“I don’t think Nana would disapprove of you going back to street racing,” River said. “I don’t think she disapproves of much at all.”
I said, “No, but she might want to join in and I wouldn’t want her to get hurt. Nana’s the kind of person who’ll try anything once. Anything.”
Haley looked skeptical. “There’s no way she’d want to race. She has to be, what, eighty years old?”
“Yeah, but that makes no difference. All of life is one huge bucket list to Nana,” Skye told him. “It’s kind of great, actually, but that list probably shouldn’t include drag racing.”
While Haley mulled that over, I turned to River and said, “That ‘teensy car’ is going to shred the competition tonight.”
“You’re not going to the party?” Haley asked.
“I won’t be gone long. I’m just going to slip out, destroy my competitor, and come right back.”
“Dude, it’s like, a thirty-year-old Honda Civic. How’s that going to outrace anything?” River asked.
“She was a thirty-year-old Civic,” I told him. “Now Sharona’s a race car. Every single system in that car has been replaced, rebuilt, and upgraded. She can’t lose.”
“You sound pretty confident,” Haley said.
“She’s ready. I am, too. I’ve been away from racing for over a year and I’m dying to get back to it.”
Skye winced at that. “Unfortunate choice of words, Jess, since your last race ended in a crash.”
Haley asked, “What happened?”
“Another driver happened. My tire blew just as I was coming off the line, which would have been alright. I wasn’t going that fast yet, so I could have held it together. But this asshole named Trigger clipped my fender right in the middle of that and my car rolled. I was thrown clear, so I was basically okay except for a limp that took two months to go away, but my car was totaled. I loved that car,” I said, shaking my head. “I spent over three years and a small fortune perfecting her and had just gotten her to the top of her game.”
“Not to trivialize the rest of that, but Trigger? Really?” River asked.
“Most people don’t use their real name on the street circuit,” I told him, “since it’s not exactly legal.”
“So, what’s your racing name?”
“Rocket.” I pointed a finger at him and said, “Don’t laugh.”
River grinned at me. “As in the Marvel Comics raccoon?”
“Maybe.”
Skye said, “I’m curious about street racing. Can Dare and I come along?”
His brother shot him a look. “Is the part you’re curious about the twisted metal after th
ey wreck and the sculptures you could make out of it? Because aside from that, I can’t imagine that it would be very interesting to you.” When River realized what he’d said, he turned to me with wide eyes. “Not that you’re gonna crash this time. I’m sure it’s going to be fine. I didn’t mean to, like, get all morbid or anything.”
I just shrugged. “Crashes happen. That’s something every racer accepts. And now that you mention it, I wish I’d known Skye back when I wrecked. It would have been awesome if Gloria had gotten to live on in a sculpture, instead of just rusting away in some junkyard.”
“Why are your cars always girls?” Dare asked.
“I dunno, they just are. And you’re welcome to watch me race sometime, but tonight’s probably not a good idea. Nana would notice if the guests of honor snuck out. Besides, all I’m doing is going head-to-head against Trigger in a grudge match, assuming the cops don’t show up and end it before it even begins. The whole thing will be over in a few seconds, and for that you have to drive an hour each way to the middle of nowhere,” I pointed out.
“Is it going to be hard to get behind the wheel after crashing last time?” River asked. “If it was me, I think I’d be nervous, but you don’t seem to be.”
“I was rattled right after it happened, but I’ve gotten over it and I’m looking forward to racing again. For the past couple months, it’s just been me and a stopwatch while I fine-tuned Sharona, but it’s so different when you’re up against another driver.”
Haley took a sip of water, then said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look like a street racer.”
“Sure I do. They aren’t these big, tough, alpha dudes like in the movies. Mostly, they’re seventeen- to twenty-four-year-olds who spend all their time under the hoods of cars, not in the gym bulking up.”
Dare asked, “How’d you start racing, anyway?”
“I began when I was seven with go-kart racing. It sounds hokey, but believe it or not, a lot of pro racers start out that way. When I got older and found I had a knack for fixing up engines, it just dovetailed with my love of racing. It’s been a big part of my life since I was a kid, apart from this last year when I needed to start from scratch with a new car.”
“Do you think you’ll ever try to race professionally, like Formula One or something?” River asked.
I stood up and stretched my arms over my head. “Nah. This is enough for me.” I turned to River and changed the subject by saying, “I think I’ll go in and start washing all that produce you brought, unless you want me to start somewhere else with prepping the food for the party.”
“That’s as good a place to start as any,” he said, and our little group headed into the house.
Chapter Two
A quarter mile. One thousand, three hundred and twenty feet. That was the distance I needed to cover, as fast as I possibly could.
I whispered to my car, “You can do it, Sharona. I believe in you.”
My last race more than a year ago had ended violently and dramatically with my car rolling half a dozen times. The asshole who’d caused the wreck was just a few feet away, behind the wheel of a twin turbo Mustang Mach 1. Five hundred dollars was on the line, but I didn’t give a damn about the money. This was a grudge match, plain and simple. We were finishing what we started all those months ago.
I revved my engine and took a couple deep breaths. My heart was pounding and I fidgeted a bit, tugging at my seatbelt and adjusting the ball cap I wore backwards to hold my blond hair out of my eyes. Then I glanced at the car to my right.
The black Mustang’s V-8 engine was deep and throaty compared to my Civic’s. It had originally been built in the seventies, not my favorite era for Mustangs. But then, what a car started out as didn’t matter nearly as much as what it had been transformed into. My competitor had turned his car into a brutish lion. I’d turned mine into a cheetah.
I caught the other driver’s eye and stared him down. I knew him only as Trigger. He held my gaze unflinchingly, a muscle working in his jaw as he ground his teeth. I scowled at him before turning my attention back to the quarter-mile of asphalt ahead of me.
We were in a part of the South Bay forgotten by development, on an empty road at the foot of some scrubby hills. A heavy-set guy named Julio stepped out onto the road, a little less than halfway down the course. Only in movies and video games were races started by hot women in skimpy outfits. Julio was holding his phone and waiting for each spotter to check in. Half a dozen guys were watching for the police all around the raceway.
Any moment now. I adjusted my grip on the gearshift as adrenaline shot through me. God I’d missed this. When I revved my engine again, the purr was so sweet.
Julio signaled the start of the race by shining a flashlight at us, then booked it off the road. My heart leapt as I threw the Civic into gear and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. Sharona’s tires and the Mustang’s squealed as a cloud of smoke billowed behind us. Both cars found traction in the same instant and lunged forward. The Stang fishtailed coming off the line. I did too, but I regained control quickly.
Trigger swerved toward me sharply as our odometers shot past a hundred. He narrowly missed sideswiping my car, and I drew in my breath and eased off the gas as I jogged to the left, away from him. In the next instant, I regained my focus and floored it, but it was already too late. The other driver had pulled ahead. A couple seconds after that, it was all over.
I crossed the finish line right behind the Stang and cut the engine before launching myself from my car. Trigger got out too and glared at me as I ran at him. I didn’t care that he had a good four or five inches and fifty pounds of muscle on me, I was furious. “You did that on purpose,” I yelled. “You knew I’d flinch if you came at me, after wrecking me the last time! What’s the matter, too afraid of losing to run a clean race?”
“I did run a clean race,” he growled. “It’s not my fault if you can’t keep your shit together when you’re behind the wheel! And newsflash, I didn’t wreck you last time! You lost control when your tire blew, and you swerved into me! Quit blaming me for your own fucking mistake!”
“The race had just started when I had that blowout! I wasn’t going that fast, and no fucking way would I have spun out of control if you hadn’t tagged my bumper!”
He pushed his dark hair back from his eyes and exclaimed, “Are you high? It was a miracle you didn’t kill both of us!”
I tried to get in his face, which would have been easier if I wasn’t so much shorter than he was, and told him, “I know what happened. Lunging at me was a dick move! You have no business racing, since apparently you can only win by intimidation, and on top of that, you’re barely holding it together every time you get behind the wheel!”
Trigger yelled, “You don’t know shit! And why don’t you accept some fucking responsibility? The wreck last year wasn’t my fault, and I didn’t purposely come at you this time either! If you’re that skittish, maybe you shouldn’t be racing!”
My friend Zachary, who’d snuck out of the party with me, had reached us by then. He pulled me back as the four dozen guys who’d watched the race clustered around us, and said, “Come on, Jessie, let’s just go.”
I turned and walked away from the crowd, taking a deep breath and shaking out my hands. Adrenaline still flooded my system and was making me jittery. Zachary went with me, and my friend Kenji jogged to catch up with us. Since the last time I’d seen him, he’d bleached and colored his spiky hair a silvery white and looked a bit like a comic book character. “Dude, I thought you were going to punch that guy,” Kenji exclaimed.
“I don’t normally go around punching people,” I said, still trying to calm down, “but I almost made an exception back there. He really pissed me off.”
“He’s a dick. It’s like he thinks he’s too good for the rest of us,” Kenji said. “He never talks to anyone. He just shows up every week, wins a couple races and leaves with the money.”
“He wins?”
“Yeah, pretty much every race.”
I’d randomly started climbing one of the low hills beside the track, wanting to put some distance between myself and Trigger. As I replayed the race over and over in my mind, a bit of doubt began to creep in. After a while, I stopped walking and turned to my friends. “Kenji, you know what goes on out there. Am I totally off base here? He came at me, right? That’s what it felt like to me, but what did it look like from your perspective?”
He hesitated, chewing his lower lip before saying, “Honestly? I don’t know, Jessie. I mean, yeah, the Mustang totally swerved at your Civic, but he was fishtailing the whole time. One thing you’re right about for sure is that he’s barely in control of all that horsepower every time he races. He’s got a beast under that hood. It’d be tough for any of us to control it.”
I thought about that for a while, then asked, “What do you think, Zachary? What did you see?”
“To me, it looked like he was swerving all over the place. Did he come at you intentionally to try to rattle you? I have no clue. Only he could tell you that.”
I looked at the makeshift track below us as I mulled that over. It was bathed in an oddly yellow glow from the row of streetlights along the asphalt. Trigger’s Mustang was gone, and two other cars were getting in position to race. Kenji’s older brother had pulled Sharona off to the side, out of harm’s way. Her iridescent purple-to-green paint job shone even in that weird lighting. I took off my baseball cap and ran my fingers through my hair to push it back from my face, then put the cap on the right way around. Finally, I said, “I guess I really don’t know if he spooked me on purpose today, but that wreck a year ago was definitely his fault.”
“I always thought so, too,” Kenji told me. “Trigger’s probably the most aggressive driver out there right now. I’ve seen him bump other drivers plenty of times when he’s racing, and I’m pretty sure he does it just to intimidate them. It’s always at the start of the race, so it usually doesn’t do much damage, besides pissing off the other racer. You’re the only one who crashed as a result of it, since he tagged your fender just as your tire blew out.”
