Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Izzy
I’ve been avoiding him. I know I’ve been doing it, but I can’t help it.
After the conversation with Xavier earlier that night, everything feels like it’s hanging on the edge of a cliff.
One wrong move, and it’ll all come crashing down.
He’s too damn persistent. He wants this to work.
He’s trying to make things right, but I don’t know if I’m ready, not after what the girls at school have done to me.
The race is about to start, and the engines roar around the track, drowning out everything else.
The sound, the vibration under my feet, all of it quickens my pulse.
But I can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right.
The tension between Xavier and me is palpable, even with the noise of the race all around us.
He’s there, watching me from across the pits, his eyes burning through the crew, always watching me like he’s waiting for me to decide. And I can’t.
I focus on my car, pushing thoughts of Xavier aside, but I can’t ignore the nagging in my chest. I’m not just avoiding him; I’m avoiding myself, too. After everything that’s happened, can I trust him again? Or am I just setting myself up for the same heartbreak?
“Izzy!” Marco’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I snap to attention. “You’re up next. Let’s check your car.”
I nod, trying to keep my face neutral as I walk toward my car, my boots hitting the dirt with a sharp click.
There’s a low hum in the air as I approach my nineteen-eighty-eight Monte Carlo street stock, and the familiar weight of my helmet feels like the only thing keeping me grounded.
As I inspect the vehicle, I notice the issue.
It’s minor at first, just a slight wobble in the rear tire.
But the unease grows. Something’s wrong with the suspension, and I know I don’t have much time before the race starts.
I glance around, looking for someone to help, but I catch only Xavier out of the corner of my eye, already heading in my direction. He’s not stupid. He knows the look on my face. He knows something’s up.
“Izzy,” he says, his voice steady, but I can hear the edge of concern in it. “What’s going on with your car?”
I glance at him for a second, then quickly turn my focus back to the car.
I can’t deal with him right now, not when the race is so close.
“It’s nothing,” I say, trying to brush him off, but my voice lacks conviction.
The truth is, I’m scared. I’ve never had a problem with this car before, and now, right before the race? It feels like a bad omen.
Xavier steps closer, but I keep my back turned, not wanting him to see how much I’m struggling. “Izzy,” he says again, more gently. “Let me help.”
I bite back a frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of his presence pressing down on me. He wants to fix everything, to make it right again, but I can’t let him, not like this.
“I don’t need your help,” I snap, the words slipping out before I can stop them. I don’t mean it, but I’m not ready to face whatever this is between us.
There’s a brief silence before Xavier speaks again, his voice softer yet still firm. “We’re both racers, Izzy. And right now, you’re not going to make it through this race unless you let me help.”
My stomach twists, and a wave of shame floods over me. He’s right. I don’t want to admit it, but I can’t fix this alone. I’ve been trying to do it all on my own for so long, but sometimes it’s okay to ask for help.
I swallow hard, trying to push the bitterness down. “Fine, the rear suspension is jacked,” I say through gritted teeth. “But I’m not doing this for you.”
Xavier doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he moves to the back of the car, his hands already working on the suspension with a focus I can’t help but respect. The tension between us hangs heavy in the air, but he’s not pushing me. He’s just doing what he does best, getting things done.
It takes only a few minutes, but when Xavier steps back, he gives me a look. “You should be good now,” he says, his voice quiet yet full of certainty. “But you’ve got to trust your car. Trust yourself.”
I glance at him, feeling a mix of emotions. Gratitude, anger, and something deeper, something I don’t want to name. “Thanks,” I mutter, but the words feel like a lie.
Before I can say anything else, the race begins. I slip on my helmet, blocking out the rest of the world, but that’s when I feel it. The tightness in my chest that’s been there all night. This isn’t just about the race. It’s about us. And I don’t know how to fix it.
As the green flag drops, I slam my foot down on the accelerator, and my car surges forward with a roar. But in the back of my mind, I know the real race has nothing to do with the track. It’s about deciding whether I’m ready to let Xavier in.
We’re neck and neck for the first few laps, but I can feel the tension in the way I’m handling the car. The suspension still feels off, and I can’t shake the nagging feeling that something’s still wrong.
Just as we round the corner, I hear it. A strange grinding from the rear tire. The car jerks, and my heart skips a beat. I try to fight the panic rising in my chest, but the car isn’t responding as it should.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, my hands tightening on the wheel as I push the car harder, trying to finish the lap. But I know I can’t keep this up much longer.
I glance at Xavier’s car, just ahead of me. He’s watching me in his rearview mirror, and in this moment, I know he’s aware of the problem. He’s not just racing to win; he’s racing to save me.
The next lap feels like an eternity. I’m not sure I can finish, but Xavier is right there, staying with me. I can’t help it. I speed up, ignoring the pain in my hands and the grind of the tires, and focus on the track ahead.
Then the rear tire shakes. The car swerves, and for a second I think I’m done for. Somehow, I regain control and pull it back onto the track, my pulse hammering in my ears.
I can hear Xavier on the radio. “You’re not giving up, are you?” he asks, his voice edged with determination.
“I’m not giving up,” I say, my voice hoarse. “But I’m not doing this alone.”
His response is immediate. “Let’s finish this together.”
With that, I slam the pedal to the floor. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m not just racing for myself. I’m racing for us.
We cross the finish line together, side by side, but the real victory, the one I’m not ready to admit yet, is that we’ve made it through, together.
As we roll into the pits, I know something’s about to change. Whatever happens next will force us to confront the truth. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.