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“I’m in San Francisco.”
“Why the fuck would you be here and not tell us?” Willy demanded, like San Fran had personally offended him at some point. It was a damn good question. It was the last place I had come to beg for a spot in a team before running out of hope and money. There’d been cheap studio apartments that I could afford, even if they were in a crummy area of town.
Plus, it had seemed as good a place as any to fade into obscurity, away from the memories of my family and the burning ashes of my career.
It was also close to the only people in my life who gave a shit, even if I hadn’t wanted them to know I was here at that point. Willy and Colin were the closest thing I had to a home base, and as luck would have it, I’d need them more now than ever.
I didn’t say all that to Willy, though. “Just where I landed. I would have come to see you eventually. I just needed a little time to sort everything out.”
The silence down the end of the line was loaded, but Willy knew me. He knew not to push.
“Are you coming to visit?” Colin asked, filling the emptiness.
I winced, because my next request was going to be hard for them to fathom. It definitely would’ve been better if I’d asked in person, but I was a chickenshit. “Kinda. I was kind of hoping you’d come and meet me somewhere, and uh, bring the Porsche.”
“Tally—”
“It’s safe with me; you know that. I’m broke, Willy. One little race could set me up until I find something else to do with my life, other than waiting tables in a bad area of town.” That might’ve been a small piece of emotional blackmail, but still, desperate times and all that.
Willy sighed heavily. “We could loan you money until you’re back on your feet.”
I was shaking my head, even though they couldn’t see it. “I don’t want your money, Willy. I can do this. I’d bring it back to you in one piece, I swear.”
He made a growling noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t give a shit about the Porsche, but if I’m comprehending the things you aren’t saying, you want to use it for fucking street racing. That shit, I have a problem with.”
“I’ll wear a suit. And a helmet. Not that I’m going to crash your car.” I let the words sit between us. “I need this. I…” I almost told him, but if I did, I knew he definitely wouldn’t give me the car. “Please.”
Willy sighed heavily. “Fine, Tally. But if there’s the smallest hint that they’re going to be cowboys, I want you to pull out. You hear me?”
“I swear.” I wasn’t worried. They’d be chasing my taillights before they knew it.
Another heavy sigh. “I’ll pick you up. I’m not letting you go alone. Colin can stay here, in case he needs to bail us both out of jail.”
The tension in my chest unfurled slightly. “Thank you, Willy.”
We rolled up to San Gregorio State Beach just after one in the morning. The roads were pitch black, and the only sign that everyone wasn’t tucked up in bed was the collective light of the group of cars and bikes parked off the Cabrillo highway. Music pounded and car engines revved, and I could see everyone and their girlfriend swigging from beer bottles.
“Feels like old times.” Willy still seemed unimpressed to be here, but he was right. He’d been driving me to street races since before either of us had a license. We’d lived in a small town, where there hadn’t been anything to do but race down darkened streets and get pregnant at fourteen.
Luckily, after a huge growth spurt in our freshman year, Willy had become the cool kid that no one fucked with. Also, well and truly in the closet. It meant no one came near me with a ten-foot pole to get in my pants, but Willy had no interest in me either.
I looked over at the one man who’d never let me down. “I love you, Willy Love.” With a name like that, maybe his parents had created a self-fulfilling prophecy.
“I love you too, though you’re giving me my first fucking gray hair, Tally. Luckily, Colin loves a silver fox. And call me Will. If you call me Willy out there, someone’s going to get the shit beaten out of them.”
I laughed. He’d always been built like a linebacker, but he’d obviously been working out lately too. If it came to fists flying, my money was on him.
I climbed out of the car, and Willy uncurled himself from the driver’s seat. A guy in tight black skinny jeans came over, his patchy goatee not doing his weak jaw any favors. “You here to drive, man?”
Willy shook his head, and I stepped forward. “I’m here to drive.”
Goatee guy looked me up and down, and I knew what he saw—a small blonde with booty shorts and a holey, oversized Harley Davidson sweatshirt. I looked like someone’s kid sister. “You even old enough to drive?”
“I’m twenty-two, asshole. I can drive just fine.” My outfit choice was deliberate. I wanted the other drivers to underestimate me. Winning races started long before you got behind the wheel. But this guy wasn’t a racer, and I didn’t need to take his bullshit.
Goatee lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “It’s a five-k buy-in. Winner takes all.”
Raising my chin, I pulled an envelope full of hundreds from my back pocket. It was the last of my savings, so I had to win this race or I was fucked. I handed it to him, and he had the balls to raise an eyebrow at me.
