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“Alone? I got news for you, Joe. I’m fucking alone. I have no idea who I am anymore. I have no idea who my brothers are anymore. It doesn’t get much more alone than that.” I ended the call, furious.
I got into the Porsche, put the top down, and backed out of the garage. “Let’s go, Jake,” I said. “Show me what you can do.”
I drove through the private roads and off our property and then headed into the deserted country roads. Route 78 was straight and narrow with the ups and downs of the foothills.
Perfect.
The first one hundred miles an hour came easy. Jake’s engine roared with power, promising me more speed, more thrill. The sound of his tires screaming along the road began to disappear as I eased him toward one forty. The rubber clawed at the road
.
I resisted the urge to close my eyes and drift away with Jake.
Closing one’s eyes at a hundred forty miles an hour was never a good idea.
I edged toward one fifty, and Jake drove as smooth as a gazelle running across the savanna. One fifty-five. One sixty.
Oh, yeah.
Lift. I felt the oxygen tunneling under the engine. Much more speed and I’d get into the air like a fucking plane.
Of course not, but I felt it. Truly felt it.
Jake’s engine had now drowned out all road noise, what little there’d been.
My blood thumped in my ears in time with my heartbeat.
One sixty-five.
One seventy.
Vibrations. Vibrations against my thigh.
Just the engine. Just me flying through the goddamned air.
No.
It was my phone.
Answering the phone at a hundred seventy miles an hour?
Not a good idea. But what the fuck did I care?
I put the phone to my ear, a smile on my face. “Hello?”
“Ryan,” a male voice said. “This is your father.”
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