My car sails out, just as Nate’s had but I take the corner too wide and am forced to re-adjust. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I grunt as I work on keeping myself on the track. If I was going any slower, I could take the risk, but at this speed, my back tires are bound to hit the edge of the track which would have me slamming into a concrete barrier and surely spinning out.
I’m down for a fucking challenge and love a bit of adrenaline, but I’m not suicidal.
With Nate still exiting the corner, I have no other choice but to step on the gas and cut this corner short. I try to force myself on the inside of Nate’s Camaro, clenching my jaw as I fight for control, but this is not looking good.
Nate fishtails as he finishes drifting around the corner, but the momentum from my fuck up has me jolting forward and slamming into the back of his car. “Shit,” I roar, trying to pull back, but it’s too fucking late, the damage has been done.
Nate’s car spins out of control and I watch in horror as it sails toward the edge of the track. We get hits like that all the time, but not at these speeds.
My car sails past him but I keep my eyes trained on his ca.
I’m hoping for the best, but my gut is telling me this isn’t going to end well, especially as the people around him begin running for their fucking lives.
This spin is too wild. It’s uncontrollable and the only way to stop something like this quickly is by slamming into something else. The damage though…this could be devastating. This could be the difference between life and death, and this is on my fucking shoulders.
It’s as though it’s all happening in slow motion. One minute he’s spinning, once, twice, three times, the next, his back tire hits a rock and sends his Camaro launching high into the air.
I slam on my brake as I watch the horrendous sight before me. “No, no, no,” I yell. This is not fucking happening. Please, God, don’t tell me I just fucking killed Nate Ryder.
The crowd falls into silence and I don’t doubt their hearts are racing just like mine.
What the fuck have I done?
My car skids across the dirt, finally coming to a stop meters away as Nate’s car flips for the third time before coming to a stop.
There’s nothing but silence. The music from my car is still screaming at me, but I hear nothing.
There’s a beat of disbelief before people begin running and I do what I can to get out of my car as fast as possible. I need to know I haven’t just killed Nate Ryder. I might fucking hate him, but I swear to God, I wanted a clean race. All I wanted was to prove that I was the best, and now I’ve fucking killed him.
No. What have I done?
“No, no, no, no,” is chanted through my head as I race toward the devastation, but I don’t get there. Hands pull at my arms as other bodies slam their way past me, forcing me away from Nate’s Camaro.
I’m pulled back. What’s happening?
I try to tear my arm free, but it’s impossible. I need to check on Nate. I need to know he’s alright.
I need to know he’s alive.
“Hey,” my sister’s voice comes cutting through into my unconscious mind, pulling me from the dream that seems to resurface every few nights. “Wake up, dickhead. You’re dreaming again.”
Fuck. It’s just a dream, though that doesn’t change the fact that it really happened.
My eyes peel open into the early morning and I scrunch up my face at the already open blinds that have the sunrise flowing brightly into my room. I wipe my hand over my face, nowhere near ready to wake up. “Ten more minutes,” I tell her.
Kaylah grabs the pillow off my chest and nails me with it right in the stomach, making the breath escape me. “No. I can’t be late. We have to leave and I mean now, so get your lazy ass out of bed.”
Now?
I reach over and grab my phone off the charger before lighting up the screen. Fuck. “8:13? What the fuck, Kaylah. Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” I throw myself out of bed and grab a shirt before tearing it over my head and scrambling around for my jeans and keys.
“I’m not your mother, asshole. You already have one of those. Besides, you’re eighteen. You’re old enough to set an alarm like everyone else and start taking responsibility for your actions.”
Well, if that wasn’t a stab then I don’t know what is.
I roll my eyes at my sister as I barge my way out of my bedroom and hurry into the bathroom to piss and brush my teeth. She’s been hating on me in a big way for over two months now and I don’t know how much longer I can take her attitude, though I’m trying. I kind of deserve this one.