Page 124 of Promise

The scent of burgers on a grill mingles with gasoline and burning rubber.

This is a dirt track compared to the asphalt of more polished racing.

Once we claim the tickets Max left for us at Will Call, we step through the tunnel between the stands, and I inhale, taking in the beauty in front of me.

The track is a breathtaking sprawl of combed dirt and color. Pit road gleams with polished cars wrapped in bright sponsor graphics. Crew members move with focused urgency, tightening lug nuts, checking tire pressure, wiping windshields. The smell of racing fuel is sharp, almost sweet.

Surprisingly, we find Max almost instantly along the barricade fencing that separates the crowd from the beast of the track. He shouts a greeting and shakes my hand. I lean in to introduce him to Trinity.

“Max,” I yell. “This is my wife, Trinity.”

I pull her into my side, as excited to show her off as I am to be here again.

Max gives me a knowing smile. He bore witness to me setting those divorce papers up in flames after losing my wedding band somewhere on the track in Daytona.

“Nice to meet you,” he hollers back at her, shaking her offered hand. She smiles hesitantly.

“I see why you stole his heart,” Max adds, winking at me with his appraisal of my wife. I’d be upset if I didn’t know Max was a dedicated family man himself.

“I have something for you,” he addresses me over the roar and rumble of engines. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a set of keys, and I instinctively open my hand to take them.

Shit. My keys. I curl my fingers around them, feeling the familiar bite of metal teeth into my palm.

“Watch number eleven.” He slaps my shoulder. “And then we’ll talk.”

I nod, knowing he doesn’t mean the car in the eleventh position, but the car marked with a giant 11 on the hood.

When the drivers fire their engines, conversation becomes impossible. The noise isn’t just loud—it’s physical. Pressing against your chest, rattling your teeth, making your heartbeat sync with the growl of eight hundred horsepower idling just yards away.

Trinity and I make our way to our seats.

I give Trin another glance. My wife is hot in her flirty dress, with her knees exposed, and I’m like a kid on my first date. I have the girl of my dreams beside me.

But it isn’t just her looks. Trinity exudes patience, and she’s giving it to me tonight. She might be just as curious as I am about what Max wants from me and what number eleven has to do with anything.

When she glances back at me, I cup her chin and draw her mouth to mine, probably smudging the bright pink lipstick she’s wearing. Don’t care. Let everyone see me kissing my wife.

Sure enough, a Jumbotron catches us, and I sling my arm around Trin’s shoulders as a notice appears over the screen.

NASCAR welcomes DART RIVERS.

People near us turn and clap. Someone wants a selfie. Another wants an autograph.

I’m humbled that a guy from the middle of the pack, who won a few races, is recognizable in this crowd. I’m also honored.

And a little embarrassed. I glance at Trin again, but she smiles softly, pride in her eyes. Like she knows I worked hard. How much I wanted to be something. Be better for her.

When the people around us settle back into their seats, I reach for Trinity again and kiss her cheek.

She chuckles. “What was that for?”

“Just . . . thanks for being here with me.” For being here for me, because I still don’t know what Max wants, but those car keys in my pocket are digging into my thigh.

Trinity continues to watch me as I glance back at the track.

“You really love it here, don’t you?”

Being here isn’t just about a race. It’s atmosphere. Tradition. It’s the shared gasp when someone bumps the wall and the collective roar when your favorite driver takes the lead.