“I will.”
When we walk over to the car, Aaron is loading spare tires, first aid kit, plus other safety equipment onto the back of his truck. My eyes flick up to meet his, and he offers me a half smile and a shrug. I resist saying anything but seeing the safety gear hasn’t settled my nerves. If anything, it’s made them worse.
“We all set?” Max asks, his tone brusque and all business.
“See you there,” Beth says and huddles into Aaron’s side. We stand and look at each other, knowing that we’ve done all we can and things might be very different after the race.
“Group hug?” Aaron breaks the silence, holding his arms wide.
“For fuck’s sake,” I grumble but let him pull me in for one. Amusement dances in Max’s eyes at my reluctance, but once I’m drawn into it, I close my eyes and relax. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for what they have done for me. This is what it feels like to know that someone has your back. Someone who you can rely on and trust. I’ve missed that since I’ve been away, and the years spent away from them have been pretty lonely. I had a life here, and I left it behind so easily, without a second thought.
“Right; that’s enough of the sappy stuff. We’ve got a race to get to.” I duck out from the jumble of arms and stalk over to the Camaro, discreetly wiping away my tears with the heel of my hand.
Aaron and Beth leave while I’m wrestling with the harness and Max climbs in. Slamming the door, he leans over with a chuckle and patiently puts the pieces together so it all clicks it into place.
“You know you love it.” The closeness of his hands to my body sends chills through me. My head fills with inappropriate thoughts when I should be concentrating on the upcoming race.
“Love what?” For a second, I think he means him touching me. Which I do.
“Aaron’s group hugs.”
“Whatever.” I can’t manage the eye roll, and I laugh at him.
“You do. Beneath that tough exterior, you’re a softie.”
“I’ll show you what a softie I am, Max Morgan, when I knee you in the balls.” But, of course, I don’t mean it.
“You missed them; more than you’ll ever admit.” He watches me, waiting for a reaction. I turn to him, cupping his stubbled jaw, and brush my lips against his.
“I missed you, too.” His eyes widen in surprise; his mouth parts, and I seize my opportunity to swipe my tongue over his. “Let's go.” I pull back and laugh at the stunned expression on his face. He still hasn’t moved when I start the engine and pull out of the lot heading for the track.
• • •
For the duration of the drive to the track, my body swings between feeling excited about the race and beating Zach Anderson to waves of panic that wash over me and make me want to vomit. What I’m doing is crazy; almost as crazy as my dad getting us into this mess. This is why I left town, to get away from it, but I was wrong about a lot of things then. I was wrong about Max; he’s not just another racer, who would put racing cars and crazy bets before me. Nothing he’s done since I’ve come back shows that. He’s not the player I thought he was and he’s been there for me this whole time. If anything, I’ve hurt him by going out of my way to avoid him every time I came home. All he’s asking for is for me to take a chance on him, on us. To stay and see where this goes.
“What are you smiling about?” He interrupts my train of thought.
“Nothing. I’m happy.” I smile because, I could get used to this feeling.
His forehead wrinkles with confusion. “Because you’re going to race?”
“No. I’m happy because you’re here with me.” I reach over and lace my fingers through his. He smiles widely and squeezes my hand. Looking down, he turns my hand so that my knuckles face upwards.
“You’re wearing the ring,” he states, but his eyes light up when he looks at me.
“Of course, I am.”
“Does that mean you’re staying?”
“Let’s just get this race over with.” I smile at him but his jaw tightens, and he nods.
A few miles later, we arrive at the gates to the drag strip and spot Tate. I roll down the window and he bends down.
“Down there, on the right, you’ll see them. Zach is waiting.” I nod and follow the road he’s indicated. It takes us to the racetrack and the starting line. Right away, I spot Zach and his chosen car, a black 1970 Dodge Challenger, with the hood up. Aaron has his head stuck under it.
“He’s checking for modifications,” Max mutters, talking more to himself, and I manage a nod. The nerves are growing. This is real; I’m really going up against Zach Anderson. Beth was right; he’s mean. What the fuck was I thinking? Whatever made me think that I could do this? Someone should have stopped me, although I can’t blame anyone; this was all me.