By the time I'm pulling up to the track a few hours later, my head has finally stopped spinning. Judging by the empty bottle of Jack I found in my kitchen this morning, I’m lucky my hangover isn’t worse. I definitely got off lightly.
“You pissed Rylee off last night.” I’m running on the treadmill in the gym, waiting for my track time when Colton finds me.
“I already sent her flowers to apologize,” I tell him, not slowing my pace.
“You think that will be enough?” he laughs. “Do you not know my wife at all?”
Did I ever think I'd be here? Living my dream, getting to work with my idol, driving race cars every day?
Never.
I wanted it, and I worked damned hard to get it, but it was still a dream I never really thought would come true.
I also never thought there would be a day I was tempted to tell Colton to fuck off and leave me alone, yet here we are. I don’t want to talk to him or anyone else about last night. I want to pretend it never happened. That I wasn't flayed alive by the sight of Brooke fucking Nash standing in front of me, looking like a damn goddess draped in gold silk.
“Can we not do this today?” I ask. Or any other day, I add on mentally. I slow the machine to a walk and grab a towel from the handrail.
“I’m not pushing you to talk about anything, just so long as you know our door is always open, day or night, Tuck,” he says, dropping a hand to my shoulder and giving a quick squeeze before he leaves.
I don’t feel the relief I expected when the door slams shut behind him. As much as I wanted him to leave, a part of me kind of wishes he’d come back. I’m not ready to be alone. The silence isn’t good for my fucked-up head. There are too many thoughts running riot up there today.
***
The rest of my day has sucked. So much so that I find myself picking up another bottle of Jack on my way home. I need to get a better handle on my feelings, but until I work out how to do that, getting too drunk to think is going to have to be my go-to coping mechanism.
It doesn’t take long to realize my plan appears to have been a failure, because the more I drink, the more she invades my thoughts. Her pretty as fuck face is front and center, no matter what I do.
The day she left me and all the reasons why are burned into my brain. I was a kid, a stupid kid who thought I was invincible. The first time I went to a street race, I was fifteen-years-old and thought all my dreams had come true. I was already a huge fan after years of watching the races on TV, but seeing it right there in front of me made me realize that was what I was meant to do with my life. The loud revving engines was music to my ears, the smell of gasoline and motor oil was intoxicating. I hadn’t done it, but I could imagine how it would feel to have my hands wrapped around that steering wheel as I pushed a car to its limits. I craved to feel that power, that control.
After that, I started saving all the money I could, and by the time I hit seventeen I was able to buy my first car. It was a piece of shit old Camaro that Brooke’s stepdad, Duke, helped me find then rebuild on the weekends. My own father was too drunk to give a shit what I was doing. I could have been stealing the cars for all he cared.
Brooke was terrified the first time I raced, but she pushed it down for me, and as time went on, she even started to come along. She knew what it meant to me. That doesn’t mean she didn’t try to talk me out of going on more than one occasion. I should have known how much she hated it. Looking back now, I know she was right. It was reckless and stupid. But what kid doesn’t feel invincible at that age?
But never, not for one-minute would I have thought she was serious when she told me she was done with me. When she told me it was her or the race, I was too cocky to think I wouldn’t be able to drive to her house the very next day, acting like nothing was wrong.
“Don’t think you’ll be welcome in there right now, Tuck.” Duke’s rough voice sounds from the garage at the side of the house where he’s working on a car. “You need to give her some time to cool off.”
“She’s that mad?”
“She’s hurt, son, not mad,” he grumbles. Duke has always been a man of few words. The first time I’d seen him I was about five-years-old and scared as fuck of the guy. It was the twins’ birthday party, and our whole class was there. I never lost that fear of him, not in all the years I was here as a friend, and definitely not when I came here as Brooke’s date.
He’s a badass ex-Army Ranger who is covered in muscles and tattoos, and he uses that to its full intimidating advantage at all times. He did nothing but glare at me until I was coming here regularly for at least six months. It took almost another six months after that before he begrudgingly let me work on a car with him. We’ve become close since then, and
