There was a certain level of nervous excitement that sent chills up my spine each time one of our crew raced. It crept up through my center and stole my breath. I gripped Breanna’s hand, crossed the fingers of my free hand, and rolled back on my heels. Racers and their inner circles were a superstitious bunch, us included. For Devin to step out on his own, race on his own, and not stay quietly back in the shadows the others cast, was a big deal.
Breanna gave my hand a tight squeeze. For the first time in years, she was motionless. Nerves had dissipated her usual restless energy.
“Who are you pulling for?”
There was a flash of white teeth when she smiled in the dark. “Devin, of course.”
Just as I’d always pulled for Jordan, even if I snuck off with Hunter after the race.
The two cars tore up the street before I could think much about it. For such quick events, the races always happened in slow motion for me. My brain processed the motion through an adrenaline filter. The few seconds as the cars sped toward us stretched on forever.
I was too busy screaming when they crossed the line to cover my ears against the deafening roar. Breanna grabbed me and shook me, no longer nervously still. We’d won. Devin had won.
“D-Boy by a car!” Rascal spoke into the two-way before throwing his arms up in the air with a shout.
As Devin idled back toward us, we continued our celebration. The win was exhilarating and invigorating. For just a moment with that win, I forgot all about Jordan and life’s complications. The smile on Devin’s face as he rolled past us, made my heart swell.
I relaxed after that and enjoyed the rest of the races with my sister. Between races, we turned on the radio and danced. Breanna immensely enjoyed Rascal’s remark about how distracting we were. She gave voice to that enjoyment by shimmying with renewed vigor.
Eventually, Rascal called us over to where he stood near the edge of the street. “It’s time for the big show, ladies!”
If I was nervous before Devin’s race, this time I was standing on an edge so sharp it could make someone bleed. A race shouldn’t be this important for me. I dropped into a squat and crossed both fingers behind my head anyway.
Beside me, Breanna took on the same stoic pose she’d had when Devin raced.
My pulse raced at the roar from the burnouts. When Jordan’s headlights flicked on, the Malibu took on an angry, menacing look. I held my breath as Vic jogged back and lifted his arms with the flashlight in his hand.
From my vantage point, I couldn’t see the light, but I knew the exact moment he hit it. Jordan’s dark, intimidating car shot like a bullet. He left the line barely a breath before Hunter’s truck, but that breath would be enough. Jordan didn’t lift the throttle, and the car stayed glued to the concrete. I hadn’t seen a pass that clean in a very long time.
I held my breath as they careened toward us on the cusp of losing control. The engines were so loud the sound shuddered in my chest and the telltale smell of alcohol laden fuel burned my nose. By a hundred feet Jordan was a fender out on Hunter and the same at six hundred feet. Jordan crossed the line first. That breath of an advantage at the start, his immediate reaction to the flashlight, had won that race. For those of us who had watched him race for years, it wasn’t a surprise.
“We got the Malibu by a fender!” Rascal called down the line, before joining us with celebratory hugs. At the start line, a raucous round of cheering echoed through the night.
Hunter blew by us, heading in the opposite direction.
“Someone’s not happy with that loss.” Brianna laughed and wiggled her hips.
My face was drawn to the sound of an approaching motor. The steady thump-thump increased to a loud whine as Jordan revved the engine, and the car broke sideways in celebration. Proof that my thrill of victory was mild in comparison to his.
Rascal hopped onto the lowered passenger window edge and gestured for us to do the same. Breanna made like she would move to go with them, but turned back to her truck.
“Go! I’ll bring the truck down.” I pushed her toward Jordan and the celebratory hijinks.
I caught Jordan’s eyes as she ran over, his face illuminated red by the gauges in his dash. More emotions passed between the two of us than I thought possible. I knew him, better than most people. I’d made a study of Jordan Slater for many years. Even chased after him like a lost puppy. His excitement for the victory was obvious, but so was a healthy dose of anger.
The anger thrilled me.
Abashed, I turned away quickly and all but ran to the truck. His anger shouldn’t have triggered a lusty tingle. It was that very tingle, that jolt of excitement that had caused me so many problems. That his anger with me lit a fuse of lust in my system, only proved I’d deserved every amount of pain I had caused myself. I wasn’t afraid of Jordan’s anger, I was excited by it. He wouldn’t hurt me. I’d figured out all too late, that not all angry men were as forgiving as Jordan was.
It took some doing to weave through the exiting traffic to the start line. When I finally did, the first person I saw was my brother’s wife. I’d done my best to avoid Wendy since being back. We’d never been friends and no amount of time nor distance would change that. She was still easily recognizable. Too much makeup and too much hair paired with far too little clothing. She stood on the outside of a group of women that looked like half a dozen Wendy clones.
She took a long drag of a cigarette, looking less pleased with her life than I was with mine. Silent, brooding anger pushed at my chest. My brother was a great guy, and she had a great life. Nothing would ever be good enough for a woman like Wendy.
Jordan’s sheer size made him easy to spot. I pulled to a stop just beside his trailer. He celebrated his win with fist bumps and bro hugs.
“When I heard you were back, I wondered if I’d see you here.” A familiar voice brought a smile to my face.