Jem

I’M RARELY THIS LEVEL of annoyed. It’s like every muscle in my body is taught, drawn back, and I can’t see anything—can’t focus straight on anything other than the exact moment he put his hands on her. In front of me. That fucker knew exactly what he was doing. And some part of me was made at her, too, for letting him. For going back to him so quickly.

Except I can’t be. I’ve known Indigo for, what? Two days and a few hours at most? I have no right to be feeling this way. But I do. And I fucking hate it. Because maybe, maybe if I hadn’t said those two stupid fucking words, things wouldn’t be the way they are now. Use me. Really? What the fuck had I been thinking?

I’m not built for this kind of shit. I’m the person who sits on the opposite end on a table of the drama. The theatrics. This shit is fucked up, and way out of my pay scale. I should just throw in the fucking towel. I mean, a road trip? It’s bad news. She’s with someone else, and I’m not into cheating.

But I can’t sit back and watch her be used. I’ve already done it once—been a passive spectator—and it ruined the best parts of my life. I have to try. Once. Just one shot at convincing her she deserves better, or at least try to understand her reasons for staying with someone like that, and if it doesn’t work, I’m out.

Then I realize.

I don’t have her fucking number.

“J?”

I lift my head to glance up at Eli, who’s staring at me as I tighten the bolt to the on the piece I’m working on.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I deadpan. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Pretty sure that’s too tight,” he points out. “We need to be able to remove that later.”

“Hey man,” I say, heavy on the sarcasm. “I didn’t know this was your project.”

Eli whistles through his teeth. “Damn, I was just trying to help. You don’t have to be such a bitch.”

“Mind your own business,” I say.

I’m getting desperate for the money. The emails from the hospital have been getting more and more frequent. More and more urgent. With my next check from the garage only clocking in in two weeks, I was forced to quickly admit that the tracks were my only way out. I got Trent to lend me his Supra, and he’s even fine with me docking off a chunk of the mileage and messing it up a little.

He’s been insisting that he owed me from the time I fixed his sister’s tyre when she’d been stranded on the side of the road back in high school. I told him it was basic human decency, but he wouldn’t listen.

His sister’s the apple of his eye, and I get it, really, I do. Because I’d give my life for Gianna and Poppy, my baby sisters. Trent and I were both raised the Southern way, and he’d moved to the city when his job demanded it. Me, I stayed because I had to.

Because there are things in this city that I won’t leave. No matter what.

Pulling my mind out of the rut it was heading toward, I focus on the object in front of me. I’ve been working on the 1996 Toyota Supra for a month now — a red model, and an absolute fucking monster.

At one stage of my life, I would’ve sold my soul to get one drive in this car. Downpipe, turbochargers, suspension, and a little bit of work on the ECU. Trent already cut down extra weight from the interior. By the time I’m done, it’ll be impossible to beat this baby.

Unfortunately, having this kind of car in the garage makes it very obvious what my intentions with it are. Eli’s the first one brave enough to bring it up. “You’re going to race?”

I sigh. “I say ‘mind your own business’ and you do the exact opposite.”

“Just answer the question, man. Are you going?”

I say nothing, so he takes it as a yes.

 “Alone?”

“Yes,” I say, mostly to get him off my back. It’s a lie, or at least I’m half-hoping it’s a lie. I have no way of contacting Indie, so I’m planning to just roll up at her place and see how it plays out. If she’s a no show, I’ll go alone. Maybe that’ll actually be better. I can’t afford to lose this race. There’s too much at stake.

“Why can’t I come?” Ace whines.

“You’re annoying.”

It’s true. I don’t mean it in a bad way, except…maybe I do. Moreno’s unhinged, and even five minutes in a car would be enough to drive me to the pits of hell. No joke.

“Uh, no,” Ace mutters, “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” Eli says, “You’re the human version of the fuckin’ donkey from Shrek.”

Ace makes a face. “I don’t know why you say that like it’s a bad thing. He pulls a dragon in the end. A fucking dragon, man.”

Eli rolls his eyes, bringing the conversation back into focus. “Are you guaranteed the win?”

Pausing, I think about it in earnest for a while. “No. Max Monroe was listed.”

I don’t miss the harsh intake of breath from both Ace and Eli. Monroe’s consistently been in the street racing biz since he was sixteen, and before that it was his dad. His drift is one of the best I’ve seen.

He’s also a major dick and doesn’t have any reservations about playing dirty to win. But I can’t complain— because since his name is on the list, the prize money hiked up enough to cover the balance of the hospital bill plus three extra months. It’s practically fucking gold at this point. High risk, high reward.

“Fuck, J, Monroe?” Eli says. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Quit talking and get back to work,” a familiar voice barks. I turn to find Mason at the other end of the garage, wiping off his hands. I’m guessing he’s done with his share for today, and he’s heading back early. The asshole’s still trying to avoid Ever despite living right opposite her. Anyone with eyes can see that they’re going to end up with three or four babies or some shit like that, but the fucker is too stubborn to see through his ego.

“I agree,” I say, “And I’m going alone. It’s not up for discussion.”

Ace rolls his eyes and him and Eli slink off to continue their discussion. Mason finishes wiping off and folds the cloth into a perfect square before striding my way, his eyes narrow. “Where are you going?”

“Not you, too.”

His jaw is tight. “Are you racing again?”

I cut to the chase. “Yeah.”

“J, we all know that shit left you in a fucking hospital bed for three days. You’re not going.”

He’s not wrong. The last time I’d tried to get back in was six months ago, and after some rookie had crashed into me and I’d swerved just enough to land up with a fractured shoulder, snapped wrist and a bust lip. There’d been a lot of blood, but it wasn’t that bad. Besides, I still ended up winning. And time, I’d made sure to check with the organisers that they weren’t listening any newbies. I meet my friend’s gaze.

“You’re not my father,” I say, “I’ll do what I want.”

“Jem.” He persists. “If it’s about the money… I can help—”

“I don’t want your money,” I snap, “It’s all your daddy’s, anyway.”

That hits a spot, and the second I say it, I know it was a hit below the belt. Mason’s face twists into anger, and his jaw tightens. He chews on the inside of his cheek, like he’s trying his hardest to hold back on the tongue lashing I deserve.

“You’re right.” He nods two, three times. “Good luck.”

A frustrated sound scrapes the back of my throat, and I drag a hand across my face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

But it’s too late. He’s already walking away with a murderous sort of stride. As he does, Ace and Eli are pulled out of their little conversation, and Eli just shakes his head. He mutters something under his breath about PMSing, and Ace laughs. I ignore them, returning to my work.

 
* * *

BY THE END OF THE WEEK, the car is ready. When I get into it early Saturday morning, the feeling of the leather seats is warm. Welcoming. Even the steering fits to the curve of my palm like it was meant to be. It feels like…home. There’s no other way to describe it. Maybe I’ll have one of my own  some day.  

I pull out of the garage and then map my way to Indigo’s apartment, ready to see what the verdict will be, even though I’m pretty damn sure this is going to blow up in my face. When I finally pull up on her street, my chest falls.

Because she’s there.

I want to squint my eyes to make sure I’m not seeing things, but it’s definitely Indie. Her dark hair’s in a braid behind her back, she’s wearing this short yellow floral sun dress and she’s just sitting on the stairs, eating…ice cream. I can’t help but linger on the way her bare legs eat up the stairs until her ankles end with low-top white sneakers.

Sheʼs so engrossed in her little ice cream cup doesnʼt even notice that Iʼm here. Grinning, I edge the car a little closer, rolling down my window. Finally, her head peaks up, and her eyes latch on to me.

I hang an arm out my window, slapping on the side of the car twice before cocking my head. “Letʼs go.”

Her eyes are wide, and itʼs like sheʼs frozen to the spot. “You came?”

I shrug. “You waited.”

Her eyes drift along the length of my pretty red baby, and her brows lift the slightest fraction. “Is this yours?”

I shake my head no, letting my gaze coast down her frame, then all the way back up to meet her eyes. It’s pretty warm now, but… “It might get cold.”

Indie nods. “I know, I have a change of clothes in my bag, but it’s in my room.” Indie pauses for a second, looking down like she’s second-guessing whether this is really a good decision. She must come to some conclusion in her mind, because a moment later she pops up, edging over to deposit her empty ice cream cup into the street bin gingerly. Finally, she turns to meet my gaze. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming. Can I go grab it quickly?”

The race is at nine p.m., and it’s only ten in the morning now, so we have enough time to spare. Leaning back in my seat, I fold my arms behind my head. “Take your time, princess.”

She disappears into the building and it’s a solid minute before she comes back down, this time with a bag slung around her shoulder. Then, she rounds the front of the car and opens the passenger door, slipping in. Almost immediately, the car fills with her scent—the citrusy sweet smell of her hair, and her skin’s layered with something distinctly balmy—coconut maybe? Whatever. I want to taste it.

Out of line.

I clear my throat. “What did your boyfriend say?”

The word leaves a bitter taste on my tongue, and Indie freezes a little, like she wasn’t expecting me to ask so outright. It’s just how I am. How I’ve always been. I don’t beat around the bush, and I don’t lie. She doesn’t meet my eye, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “He said I couldn’t go.”

Of course he did.

“And?”

The smallest smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “I told him he can’t tell me what to do.”

Oh? So she’s coming to prove a point, too. I can’t say it doesn’t amuse the shit out of me. I bet the Cody/Card/whateverthefuck can’t be exciting her all that much if she’s so eager at the prospect of even a little danger. I bet he doesn’t make her come.

Out. Of. Line.

“Besides,” she says, pressing down her dress so that the hem flattens on her thighs. She faces me, eyes impossibly big, and when the light hits her face, it illuminates the countless freckles spreading across the plane of her cheeks. “We’re just friends, no?”

I just shake my head, unable to hold back a faint smile as we pull off her street.

***

a/n:

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yuen