That black Camaro was his pride and joy and now it’s nothing. I can’t help but look back and take in the view he’s seeing.
The car is completely destroyed. All the hours he spent putting this thing together. Shining it. Buffing it. Adding expensive music systems. Hell, learning how to drive. All for nothing. It’s a smoky mess. I doubt it would even be worth trying to save.
He’s going to have to start from scratch or just buy one already completed.
The days of Nate’s famous matte black Camaro are gone, along with it, the fantasies of hundreds of teenage girls over Broken Hill.
I reach out and take his hand in mine. His eyes slip from the car back to me and I see nothing but devastation. “It’ll be ok,” I tell him. “Even if I have to rebuild the bastard myself.”
He lifts his lip into a half smile to make me feel better about the situation, which is ridiculous, I should be the one trying to reassure him, though, I’m not sure that’s even possible right now.
People start to disappear as they quickly realize the party is over. Cars fill and leave the track, nervous about police and emergency services being called, not wanting be caught at a place like this. So within the space of five minutes, there are only a few cars left on the huge property, though, it doesn’t go unnoticed that one of those cars is Jackson’s.
We’re only able to keep Nate down for a few minutes before he’s forcing his way back up. I demand he sit down as I can tell from the way he wobbles that he’s still dizzy, but he’s not having it.
Someone finds him a bottle of water and he downs it in all of two seconds before looking at his brother, who’s staring at him with a fierce glare. “I don’t need an ‘I told you so’ right now,” Nate says.
“You shouldn’t have raced him.”
“You don’t think I know that,” Nate growls.
“I’m just saying, man. Your ego nearly left me an only child.”
“Don’t,” Nate snaps. “Not now, Jess.”
Jesse lets out a heavy sigh before turning his attention on the mangled mess of metal. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Why don’t you go home and get the trailer? We’ll figure it out from there.”
Jesse nods and goes to walk off when a smug voice calls from behind our group. “Fucking shame that is,” the irritating voice says.
Nate spins on his heel and it’s clear as day, he’s no longer dizzy, all that’s going through him now is pure rage. Jesse is beside him in the blink of an eye as the rest of the boys fall in line the same way they’ve done a million times before.
I go to stand by him, but he pulls me away and pushes me off towards the girls. Clearly, this is not somewhere he wants me to be right now. “Get out of here, Tora,” he tells me, not wanting me to be in the crosshairs if fists were to fly.
“Don’t talk to my girl like that,” Jackson says with a sick grin.
His comments are ignored as Jesse glares at him. “You got a lot of fucking nerve coming over here,” Jesse says, stepping out in front of Nate.
“What do you mean?” Jackson says. “I was just coming over to check everything was all good here.”
“You mean you were coming over here to gloat about the fucking mess you’ve caused.”
“Caused?” he scoffs. “I was trying to win a race, just like Nate was. I didn’t cause shit. It’s not my fault the moron can’t control his ride.”
Nate shoves his hand up and barges Jesse out of his way before racing forward. “You rammed me off the fucking track,” Nate growls, ready and prepared to take the fucker out.
It takes all of the boys to hold him back and I have to grin at the way Jackson steps back out of Nate’s reach. A few of the lingering guys that I recognize from the Haven Falls football team race in and grab Jackson, desperately trying to pull him away, knowing just how dangerous Nate can be. “An eye for a fucking eye,” Nate promises with a growl as Jackson is pulled away.
The Haven Falls boys get Jackson in his car before my boys let Nate go. “Fuck,” he roars.
I race into him and place my hands on his shoulders. “Calm down,” I tell him, hating seeing him like this. He takes a deep breath and tries his hardest to let it go. “We’ll get him back. Like you said, an eye for an eye.”
He looks back to his car. “I fucking hate this.”
“I know, you do,” I say. “But losing your shit isn’t going to help.”
“It’ll make me feel better,” he grunts.