by Bromberg, K.
I hear footsteps on the stairs behind me and know it must be Becks. Before I even have a chance to say anything to him, the sound of the car’s motor eases, and we both look toward it at the end of the vacant pit row. After a moment, the engine’s rumble revs again and the car moves slowly onto the track.
Beckett looks over to me quickly and hands me a headset. The look in his eyes tells me that he’s just as on edge and uneasy about this as I am, and a small part of me is relieved by this. He leans in close before I situate the headphones on my ears and says, “He doesn’t know you’re here.”
I just nod at him, eyes telling him thank you, lips telling him, “I think that’s for the best.”
He motions toward a chair at the front of the tower, but I just shake my head resolutely. There is no way in hell I can sit down right now. Nervous energy assaults my senses, and I shift back and forth on my feet while my soul remains anchored solid from my fear.
The engine purrs gently into the back end of turn one, and I twist so my eyes can track Colton, although I want to scream for him to stop, to get out, to come back to me. The car starts to accelerate into turn two.
“That’s it, Wood. Nice and easy,” Becks says to him in a gentle coaxing voice. All I hear on the open mic is the cadence of the engine and Colton’s harsh breathing, but no response from him. I bite my lip and glance over at Beckett, not liking the fact that he’s not speaking. I can only imagine what is running through Colton’s head.
“Goddammit, Becks!” It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in over a week and the sound in it—the fear woven through the anger—has me holding tight onto the ear pieces. “This car is shit! I thought you checked everything. It’s—”
“Nothing’s wrong with the car, Colton.” The evenness of Becks’ voice comes through loud and clear, and Beckett glances over to another crew member and subtly shakes his head no at something.
“Bullshit! It’s shuddering like a bitch and is gonna come apart once I open her up.” The vibration that’s normally in his voice from the force of the motor isn’t there, he’s not even going fast enough out of turn two to affect him.
“It’s a new car. I checked every inch of it.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Beckett! Goddammit!” he yells out into the car as it comes to a stop on the backstretch between turns two and three, frustration resonating over the radio.
“It’s a different car. No one’s on the track to hit you. Just take it nice and easy.”
There is no response. Nothing but the distant hum of an idling motor that I’m sure will die soon and then they’ll need to get a crank start out on the track to get it going again. More time for Colton to sit and think and remember and relive the crash that is incapacitating him.
And as time stretches, my concern for the man I love has my own anxiety escalating. Even though we’re all here supporting him, I know he’s over there feeling all alone, isolated in a metal casket on wheels. My heart lodges in my throat as the panic and helplessness I feel starts to strangle me.
Beckett paces back and forth, his hands shoving through his hair, uncertain how to coax his best friend off of the ledge when he’s not listening already. I shift again—Colton’s ragged breathing the only sound on the radio—and I can’t take it anymore.
I walk up to Beckett. “Get everyone off the radios.” He looks at me and tries to figure out what I’m doing. “Get them off,” I say, desperation tingeing the urgency in my request.
“Radios off everyone,” Beckett orders immediately as I move to the mic on the counter at the front of the box. I sit down in the seat and wait for the nod from Beckett once he realizes what I’m doing.
I fumble with the buttons on the mic and Davis leans over and pushes down on the one I need. “Colton?” My voice is shaky but I know he hears me because I hear the hitch in his breath when he does.
“Rylee?” It’s my name—a single word—but the break in his voice and the vulnerability in the way he says it causes tears to well in my eyes. He sounds like one of my boys right now when they wake from a terrifying dream, and I wish I could run out onto the track so that I can hold and reassure him. But I can’t, so I do the next closest thing.
“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going through your head. No one’s on the radio but you and me.” Silence stretches for a bit as my palms become sweaty with nerves and I fret that I’m not going to be able to help him through this.
“Ry,” he sighs in defeat, and I’m about to jump back on the mic when he continues. “I can’t … I don’t think I can …” His voice fades as I’m sure memories of the accident assault him, as they do me.
“You can do this,” I say with more resolve than I feel. “This is California, Colton, not Florida. There’s no traffic. No rookie drivers to make stupid mistakes. No smoke you can’t see through. No wreck to drive into. It’s just you and me, Colton. You and me.” I pause a moment and when he doesn’t respond, I say the one thing circling in my mind. “Nothing but sheets.”
I hear the sliver of a laugh, and I’m relieved that I got through to him. Used a good memory to break through the crippling fear. But when he speaks I can still hear the trepidation in his tone. “I just …” He stops and sighs, vulnerability a hard thing for a man to accept, especially in the face of a crew who idolizes and respects him.
“You can do this, Colton. We can do this together, okay? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” I give him a few seconds to let my words sink in. “Are your hands on the wheel?”
“Mmm-hmm … but my right hand—”
“Is perfectly okay. I’ve seen you use it,” I tell him, hoping to ease some of the tension. “Is your foot on the pedal?”
“Ry?” His voice wavers again.
“Pedal. Yes or no?” I know right now he needs me to take the reins and be the strong one, and for him, I’ll do anything.
“Yes …”
“Okay, clear your head. It’s just you and the track, Ace. You can do this. You need this. It’s your freedom, remember?” I hear the engine rev once or twice, and I see relief mixed with pride in Beckett’s eye before I focus back on Colton. “You know this like the back of your hand … push down on the gas. Flick the paddle and press down.” The engine’s pitch purrs a little higher and I continue. “Okay … see? You’ve got this. You don’t have to go fast. It’s a new car, it’s going to feel different. Becks will be pissed if you burn up the engine anyway so take it slow.”
I turn to watch the car with bated breath as Colton starts slowly into turn three. He’s nowhere near even practice speeds, but he’s going and that’s all that matters. We’re facing our fear of him getting back into the car again together. I just never figured it would be me coaxing him to drive that would lessen my own.
The motor guns again, the reverberation hitting my chest as he nears turn four and I hear him cuss. “You okay?” There is nothing but silence around me and the roar of the approaching engine. “Talk to me, Colton. I’m right here.”
“My hands won’t stop shaking.” I don’t respond because I’m holding my breath as he picks up the pace and enters into turn one. “Becks is gonna be pissed because my head’s fucked up.”
I glance over at Becks again and see the smile flash on his face, and I know he’s listening in, making sure his best friend is okay. “It’s okay … watching you out there? Mine is fucked up too … but you’re ready, you can do this.”
“Aren’t we a fucking pair?” He snorts into the radio and I can sense a little of his anxiety and fear dissipating with each passing second. I see the guys around me relax some as they notice the smile widen on Beckett’s face.
“We are indeed,” I laugh before releasing an exhale in relief. God, I love you, I want to say, but refrain. The rumble increases down the backstretch and I can’t fight the grin on my face at the sound of success. “Hey, Ace, can I bring the guys back on?”
“Yeah,” he says followed quickly by, “Ry … I …”
/> My heart swells at the emotion in his voice. I can hear the apology, feel the absolute sincerity behind it. “I know, Colton. Me too.”
I fight the tears of happiness that well up, and when I look up at Beckett he has a soft smile on his face. He shakes his head ever so subtly and mouths the word lifeline to me.
FEAR IS A BRUTAL BITCH to face.
It squeezes your lungs so you can’t breathe, locks your jaw to bear the brunt of your stress, and cinches your heart so your blood rushes through your body.
The guys are at my back pretending to be busy. Ignoring the fact that I’m standing in front of my car, staring at the cause of my biggest fucking fear right now and my greatest goddamn salvation. I need it more than ever between the bullshit Tawny hit me with and not having the one person I want most but don’t want to taint any further around.
Rylee.
She said she’d be here when I got in the car for the first time. I need her here, need to know she’s here to come back to at the end of the run. The salve to my stained soul. But how in the fuck could I call her and ask her when I’ve pushed her so far away?
So here I stand, surrounded by my crew but battling the shit in my head all alone. And of course my mind veers to the vultures at the gates that shoved cameras in my face and spewed Tawny’s bullshit lies about Rylee when I left the house earlier. Then it slides back to Rylee and how much I want her here right now.
Fuck this, Donavan. Quit being such a pussy and get in the goddamn car. You’ve faced shit ten times worse than this. You’ve got this. Man the fuck up and get in the car.
I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut momentarily as I lift my helmet and push it down on my head. My silent acknowledgement to the guys that I’m ready to tackle this.
It takes me a minute to buckle my helmet; my hands tremble like a motherfucker. Becks steps forward to help and I glare at him to back the fuck off. If I can’t fasten this then I don’t deserve to get behind the wheel.
I slide my hand up the nose toward the cockpit. I knock softly out of habit to ease my superstitious mind.
Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.
Four knocks, one for each of the superheroes that the little boy in me still thinks will help protect him. They pulled me through the last crash, I know they’re good for it.
I take a deep breath and try not to think as I lift one leg and then the other so I can drop into the driver’s seat. I sit there, try to make myself numb so I can’t feel the fear coursing through me and trickling down the line of my spine in rivulets of sweat.
Becks steps up and locks the steering wheel in place and thank fuck for that because now I have somewhere I can put my hands and grip so that they stop shaking. I feel his hand pat the top of my helmet like he usually does, but before he clicks my HANS device he pulls my helmet up so I’m forced to look at him.
I see the fear flicker in his eyes but I also see resolve. “All you, Wood. Take your time. Ease into her.” He nods at me. “Just like riding a bike.”
A bike my ass. But I nod at him because I have a feeling I could argue the point just to cause a distraction from actually having to do this. I focus on the wheel in front of me as he studies me, gauging whether I really am okay being here.
“I’m good,” I lie. And he stands there for a minute more before the guys bring the crank out and we fire the engine.
The reverberation through my body and sound in my ears of the engine’s rumble is like coming home and making me question myself all at once. Kind of like Rylee.
I hold onto that thought—to the idea of her being here when she’s not—as I rev the motor a few times. It sounds the same and yet so very different from the memory still hit and miss in my mind from the wreck.
The crew gets over the wall and it’s just Becks and me. He leans over and pulls on my harness, the same way he has for the past fourteen years. It’s comforting in a sense because he doesn’t act like anything is different, knows that this is what I need. Routine. The sense that everything is the same when it’s a clusterfuck in my head.
He raps the hood twice as is his habit and walks away. I don’t follow him because if I do, I know I’ll see the falter in his step. And his hesitancy will reaffirm my fear that I’m not ready.
I give it some gas, let the car rumble all around me to clear my head, and psych myself to do this. And I sit here long enough that I know I look like a pussy who shouldn’t be in the car so I put the car in gear and begin to ease out onto pit row. My heart is in my throat and my body vibrates from more than just the car. Nerves and anxiety collide with the need to be here, to do this, to be able to outrun my demons and find the freedom-laced solace I’ve always been able to find on the track.
I exit pit row and squeeze the wheel, frustrated that my fucking grandmother can drive faster than I am.
“That’s it, Wood. Nice and easy,” Becks says, and it takes everything I have to shut him out, to listen to the car like I always do and try and hear what she’s telling me. But I can’t drown out the bullshit in my head so I close my eyes momentarily and tell myself to just push the gas and go.
And I do. I push it, flick the paddle as I change gears, and enter the high line into turn two because I’m not going fast enough to have to worry about drifting into the wall.
But the more I accelerate, the less I hear. She’s not talking to me. The noises aren’t the same. “Goddammit, Becks! This car is shit! I thought you checked everything. It’s—”
“Nothing’s wrong with the car, Colton.”
“Bullshit! It’s shuddering like a bitch and is gonna come apart once I open her up,” I grate out, pissed at that placating tone in his voice. I’m the one in the fucking car—the one that can possibly slam headfirst into the wall—not him.
“It’s a new car. I checked every inch of it.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Beckett! Goddammit!” I pound my fist against the steering wheel, completely backing off the gas.
I know he says something about taking it nice and easy but I don’t really hear it because the flashback hits me so hard I suffocate in the open air.
The car stops but dizziness spirals through me.
My body slams to a stop but my head hasn’t.
A breath shocks into me as I realize what just happened. That I survived that tumbling pirouette into the catch fence. That I escaped the shredded fucking mass of metal on the track at my back.
Pain radiates around me like a motherfucking freight train. My head splinters into a million damn pieces, hands grabbing and groping and pushing and prodding. That familiar pang twists in my gut because I don’t want anyone’s hands on me, can’t handle the feeling. I don’t want to be reminded of the little boy I used to be and the fear that used to course through me when I was touched by others. By him.
Medical jargon flies at a rapid pace and it’s so technical I can’t catch the gist. Just tell me if I’m going to be fucking all right. Just tell me if I’m dead or alive, because I swear to God my life really did just flash before my eyes and what I thought was going to be … what I thought I wanted out of life … just got twisted and turned more than the aluminum of my car.
How could I have been so wrong? How could I have thought change would be the catalyst when it ended up being my fucking epiphany? Shows me to try and change the road fate’s already set for me.
I writhe to get away from the hands that touch, twisting and turning to find her. To go back and tell her that I was so wrong. Everything I put her through. Each rejection and rebuff was my fault. Was a huge mistake.
How do I make it right again?
Pain grapples again and mixes with the fear that ripples under the surface. My head feels like it is going to explode. Lazy clouds of haze float in and out and eat the memories away. Take them with them as they leave and fade. Darkness overcomes the edges until I can’t take it anymore. Voices shout and hands assess my injuries, but I fade.
My thoughts.
&nb
sp; My past.
My life.
Bit by bit.
Piece by piece.
Until I am cloaked in the cover of darkness.
“Colton?” It’s her voice that shocks me from my memory like a drowning man finally breaking the surface for air. I gasp in a breath just as hungrily.
I shake my head and look around. I’m all alone on the backstretch of the track, sweat soaking through my fire suit. Did I really hear Ry or was that part of my flashback?
“Rylee?” I call her name. I don’t care that there are guys on the mics that probably think I’m losing it because she’s not here … because they’re right. I am losing it.
“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going through your head. No one’s on the radio but you and me.”
She’s here. It’s her. I don’t even know what to do because I feel like I’m hit with a wave of emotions. Relief, fear, anxiety, need.
“Ry … I can’t … I don’t think I can …” I’m such a fucking head case that I can’t string my thoughts together to finish a thought.
“You can do this,” she tells me like she actually believes it, because I sure as fuck don’t. “This is California, Colton, not Florida. There’s no traffic. No rookie drivers to make stupid mistakes. No smoke you can’t see through. No wreck to drive into. It’s just you and me, Colton. You and me, nothing but sheets.”
Those words. I know they don’t belong right here in this moment but fuck if they don’t draw a sliver of a laugh from my mouth but that’s all I can manage because they also make me think of everything I’ve put her through. How nothing but sheets between us has led to her having to deal with the fallout of Tawny and all of that bullshit.
And yet somehow she’s here. She came for me. Does she have any fucking clue what that means to me especially when I’m the last one on earth that deserves her right now?
I pushed and now she’s pulling.
“I just …” Can’t do this anymore. Push you away and hurt you. Push the gas and drive the car. Not have you near me.
