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On the radio, Phoebe Bridgers starts to croon about emotional motion sickness. I turn it up until the ache dulls.

Despite my efforts to push him from my mind, the time on the clock reminds me that the final race has started.

I didn’t need the reminder. I think of him every time I get in my car.

The feud was supposed to be about winning. Piece by piece, he left his mark on the Fastback. When I wasn’t looking, this place that was mine for so long became his, too.

Someday, I’ll watch Jameson on TV. Maybe I’ll even go to the grid where I can see him in person. If I wait long enough, I will have forgotten how it feels to have his beautiful smile pointed my way. The way his body tightens under my hands. How soft his voice gets when we’re alone.

“You’re going to be okay,” Bree says. Her hand closes around mine on the steering wheel, her eyes bright with concern.

“For sure.” I swallow hard. “Where’s Trevor taking you on this date?”

“A concert. That way if we have nothing to talk about, we can just dance and nod.”

My lips twitch. “Judging from the way you’ve both been flirting for the last two months, I doubt that’ll be a problem.”

There’s a turn in the road ahead. I brake early in case the pavement is slippery. Though the temperatures outside are dropping, there shouldn’t be ice.

The car responds by wavering under me.

Weird.

Bree doesn’t notice. “I should have brought the shoes I want to wear with me.”

I’m listening, but part of my brain is still on the road.

We’re climbing a big hill that disappears into blackness. I ease off before we hit the top. We crest the hill and I realize exactly how big the drop-off is on the other side. The Mustang starts down the hill, and I press on the brake.

We’re not slowing.

I can’t stop.

The realization hits me.

“What’s happening?” Bree’s voice rises at the end. She knows something’s wrong but still trusts that I’ve got it under control.

God, I wish I did.

“Come on,” I implore the car, trying again even though I know it won’t help. “Come on.”

Panic starts to rise in my throat as we descend the hill. I’m picturing exactly how bad this could go.

Think, Townie. I hear Jameson in my head.

We’re alone. There’s no other traffic. That’s good. We won’t collide with anyone. I size up the angles at the bottom of the hill and downshift hard. The engine roars and my back wheels shudder.

It’s not enough.

The emergency brake. I reach for it, pull it on slow. Then a truck appears, coming the other way.

Shit.

I have to steer for the runoff.

“SHAY!” Bree’s terrified voice lifts above the sound of the car.

“It’s going to be okay.” I grab for her, trying to keep her secure.