Page 57 of Fueled Fury

“Um. Your island? I might need an explanation on that.”

“Living with a constant reminder in the backyard sucked.” I wave over to my dad’s house. “You never made me feel bad about where I wanted to be and allowed me time to take a breather in between swimming shore to shore.”

He pulls me into a hug and says, “Just call me David Island.”

“Will do. I’m sorry to skip out, but there’s somewhere I need to be.”

He takes a quick glance around like he’s a spy on a mission. “Take me with you.” He teases with a laugh, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. “If you hurry, you can make a clean getaway and sneak through the side gate before she comes out. You know, the one you’ve snuck Austin through a few times.”

“Thanks.” I’m glad it’s getting dark because I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. Damn, David should be a spy because he knows more about what’s going on than any of us.

Walking around the side of the house, I get in my car and head to the place I feel I should be. I don’t want to race, per se, but I want to see if I can trust myself enough to go for it.

The drive there seems longer than ever, but I finally turn down the dirt road and make my way to the track. As I come to a stop, I look around at the spectators, the majority of which attend Haine. Meaning they’re recipients of Eli’s mass email.

I sit with my hand on the keys, wanting to start Lucy back up and bail, but needing to try.

As I get out, I do my best to not make eye contact with anyone, but to my relief, most ignore me as I blend in with the crowd.

Finding Ben, he’s visibly surprised to see me, but thankfully gives me the usual greeting and asks me if I’m racing. I tell him yes, and he signs me up. It’s business as usual between us, and it’s great.

Returning to my car, I lean against her for support as I watch the races begin. There’re a few snickers I hear in the distance. Do they bother me? Yes. Do they bother me as much as Eli being the one who orchestrated it? No. After your best friend stabs you in the back and twists the knife, a few snickers feel insignificant.

I hear my name called, so I drop into the driver’s seat. Taking a deep breath, I start up Lucy, drive to staging, and eagerly wait. After the burnout, I pull to the starting line, shut off the engine, and listen to the flagger shout the rules. After I signal my understanding, I start the car, eyes straight ahead. For a split second, I think I see movement far beyond the finish line, but I can’t see through the darkness. I still don’t know what’s out there, what’s waiting on me. My dad said he would be waiting. I won’t lose him, and I’m grateful. But as I watch the flashlight, waiting for the signal, I don’t want to lose myself as my dad said. I want to go for what I want and be ready for it when I capture it.

Lucy’s engine revs as I hold in the clutch and press the accelerator until the dial bounces in the sweet spot. The moment the light beam shines through the dark, I release without fear or hesitation and head directly for what I want—to cross the finish line first. Surging forward down the track, I hang on to Lucy as we barrel down the runway. It’s not until after I cross the finish line that I realize I crossed it first.

I won.

It wasn’t a competition with the other car, it was an internal battle with myself. With trusting myself. And it feels great but my dad’s right. None of it means anything because I want to share this moment with someone who isn’t waiting for me.

Shaking the thought out of my head, I watch the races as each car battles until it’s my turn again. I debate not going again. But I want to know. I have to know if I can do this.

Race after race, I barrel down the track with Lucy and cross the finish line first.

Before I realize it, I’m in the semifinal matchup. Can I really do this?

Yes. I can.

And Austin won’t be waiting for me on the other side of the finish line, but this isn’t for him. It’s for me. It’s for the ten-year-old little girl who second-guessed herself at every turn, questioning if she was good enough. And she is.

After warming up the rear tires, I pull to the start. Looking over to my competitor, I realize my mistake as he gives me a lewd grin. When I don’t react, he holds up his phone. I don’t have to look at the screen to know what’s playing out.

It’s a mind game. Racing is as much mental as it is physical. I know this better than anyone. That’s why it took me getting out of my own head to get this shit done.

I’ve experienced insecure people toying with me that can’t win without mind games. I know I can do this and so does he. If not, he wouldn’t be suggestively flicking his tongue at me.

My lips curl into a wicked grin as I look to him. The only thing that teaches weak, insecure pests a lesson is a good kick in the nuts. And even if it doesn’t, he still deserves it. He’s playing games, thinking the video of me getting fucked on Lucy will get in my head. He’ll know what it’s like to get fucked behind Lucy when we cross the finish line. And my prediction is I’ll enjoy this fucking way more than he’s going to.

Turning to watch the flagger, I wait for the signal and launch. The Blackwing is a blur as I overcome him, snatching the win before steering off the track.

Did that just happen? Yes. Lucy and I served that jackass a kick in the nuts and it felt awesome, but even better—I’m in the final race.

That’s it. One more race and it’s over. I’m riding the high now, the high of winning, of feeling like the best. What happens if I can’t go all the way?

I slowly ease to the staging area. Waiting on the two racers competing, the winner will be in the next race.

The final race with me.