Quarter Mile Hearts(54)
“At least change the lineup. Go on the outside that way you won’t hit anyone when it pulls,” I rush out.
“You ready, Kyle?” A voice booms behind us, and I spin on my heel to meet the wide, leering smile of Zach Anderson.
“Leigh Storm. Long time, no see. And Max. You’re not racing?”
“Not tonight,” Max says simply, his voice tight.
Zach dismisses him and concentrates on me instead. Great. “How’s your dad? Recovered yet?” My eyes snap to meet his, and I don’t like his tone. Something in his words have the hairs on the back of my neck tingling.
“Fine,” I ground out.
“Can we change the lineup and let me drive on the outside?” Kyle asks, wide-eyed, and he looks a little worried now.
“Nah, we need you in the middle, Dillon’s on your left. Catch you later, Leigh, Max.” And he walks away. I release the breath I was holding; that little interaction with Zach has freaked me out. Even though he was talking to Kyle, his eyes didn’t leave me the whole time.
“If he looks at you like that again, I’ll fucking throttle him.” Max’s hands fist at his side as he stares at Zach’s retreating back. I tug on his hand, bringing him back; we’ve got more important things to worry about. Kyle looks panicked, and I don’t want to freak him out anymore.
“I’ll race for you,” I hear myself say. Max turns to me with eyes blazing.
“No you will fucking not.”
“Max,” I burst out exasperated.
“No way in hell are you racing that car.”
“But Kyle can’t.”
“Well, Kyle will just have to drop out.”
“But…” I try to piece together a plausible argument.
“No, you’re not. Not in a car that isn’t 100 % safe.” Kyle is watching us argue back and forth, and we’re not doing much to calm him down.
“You worried about me?” I turn and take a step toward Max, wrapping my arms around his waist and he gathers me into his embrace.
“Hell yes, I am.” His mouth seals over mine and with the stroke of his tongue, I forget we are standing in the middle of the quarter mile.
“Will you two fucking cut it out. What am I going to do?” Kyle wails, and we drop our arms from around each other.
“How much did you put in?” Max asks.
“Not much, $200 for the first race. I didn’t know Zach was racing, or I wouldn’t have bothered.” Kyle looks miserable at the thought of the imminent race, but not as bad as he’ll feel if he totals his Camaro.
“Okay, when the race starts, don’t floor it, that way you can control the pull. Once the other car is clear then speed up. It doesn’t matter if you lose, you don’t want to wreck your car,” Max explains, and Kyle nods in agreement.
“Just say you were having mechanical issues, and we can vouch for that,” I add and pat Kyle on the arm. He still looks worried but has lost that deer in the headlight look now that he has a plan.
“It’s time.” Max claps him on the back and holds the door while Kyle climbs in, offering him a few more words of encouragement before he backs off and Kyle drives to the start line. I catch Zach Anderson watching us, and there is something in his stare that I don’t like. He nods when I meet his eyes, but I don’t trust him one little bit.
A girl with red hair, that I’m assuming is Zach’s girlfriend, starts the race. Kyle is the only racer from town, and I wonder why they have to race here. Don’t they have a straight road they can race on?
The cap drops and they all pull away from the start line. Sure enough, Kyle’s car starts to pull to the left, but he manages to control it. As Max suggested, he didn’t floor it and was slower off the line. Dillon was quick off the mark and was clear of Kyle by the time the pull became too much. Once he is clear, Kyle speeds up but nowhere near as fast as the Camaro can go. He is last over the line, and while I feel for Kyle, it is better that than to wreck his car and do himself some real damage.
Max and I wait until everyone else leaves. Kyle promises to bring his car in on Monday for us to fix. He didn’t seem bothered in the end about losing, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he avoided any races against Zach Anderson again.
We sit on the hood of Max’s car and enjoy the silence now that the truck with blaring rap music has left.
“It’s not the same,” Max says cryptically and leans back.
“What’s not the same?”
“Coming up here. There’s something missing.”
I sit up and turn to look at him. “Like what?”
“A spark.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re beginning to sound like Aaron.”