Now
CHAPTER
TEN
Evangeline
“That’s the last of it?” Jackson asks after placing the box into the trunk.
“Yes. I don’t own many things.”
“It’s better this way. We can’t fit much more in there.” He then pulls me into him and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll buy you things, princess. A ten-wheeler’s worth of things.”
Like every time he says something like this, my chest flutters with joy. He really wants nothing more than to spoil me rotten, and I love it.
“Everything ready, kids?” his dad asks, coming out of the house.
We graduated last week, and now it’s time for the big move we’ve been preparing for. My mom drove me with all my packed-up things, and she’s smoking a cigarette in her car, waiting for us to be ready to give me one last hug goodbye.
“I think we’re all good, yeah,” Jax says, closing the trunk.
I’m still not used to this new car, which he bought four months ago.
Between the money we had on the side and what he got from selling Winifred, he had enough to buy a nice upgrade.
I was sad to see Winnie go, but it has been paying off already.
He’s been dominating nearly all the SCCA races he’s entered since.
They didn’t have an Italian class at our high school, but one course I decided to follow for my extra credits was focused on statistics.
As an assignment, I started working on a binder dedicated to Jackson’s driving career.
Quickly, we realized there was a great advantage to having those numbers and graphs.
His stats aren’t an abstract concept anymore, but are now organized into very specific data.
When Jax reached out to the F4 team manager in Indianapolis, all he had to do was show him my graphs to be taken in.
There is a clear pattern of wins in Jackson’s racing history, and the stats show he’s only getting better.
His lap times are improving, his precision is more clinical, and his popularity in the racing world is climbing.
“I made you guys sandwiches,” Jada, Jax’s mom, says, coming out of the house as well. “This is for lunch, and this is for dinner. There’s also apple juice, and I added a box of cookies.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She looks at us, then her eyes become shiny with emotion. “I can’t believe you two are leaving. You were just kids not so long ago.”
“I’m eighteen, Mom,” Jax protests.
“And I’m seventeen.”
“Exactly. You’re practically babies.”
Before we can defend ourselves, she comes forward and pulls us into a bear hug. “You be safe on the road, okay? It ain’t no racetrack, Jax. It’s the real world.”
“I know that.”
“Evie, you let me know if he drives like a crackhead.”
“Don’t worry, Jada, if he does, I’ll take care of him myself.”
“Good.”
This time, she only hugs me. Nestled in her warm embrace, I smirk at Jackson, who rolls his eyes. I’ve always liked her, and I know she feels the same. I’ve been spending more time here these past few months because it’s better than the trailer.
Since she won’t be able to braid Jackson’s hair now that we’re moving across the country, she sat me down and taught me how to do cornrows myself.
“Be glad he has loose coils,” she’d told me.
“4a is much easier to braid than 4c.” I’m not as good as she is, and I doubt I will ever be, but it looks good enough.
And Jackson says he likes it better when I do it because it doesn’t hurt as much.
After she lets me go, Jada holds me by the shoulders firmly. “We’ll see you for Christmas, alright? And if you can’t make the drive, we’ll come to Indiana.”
“I’d love that, yes.”
My mom was never really in the Christmas spirit, so it wasn’t a big thing for me. But for two years now, I’ve been discovering the joys of the holidays through Jackson’s family, and I really enjoy it.
When she sees we’re doing the goodbyes, my mom drops her cigarette out the window and comes up to me. It takes about five minutes until we’re able to get into Jackson’s car and leave.
“Finally,” Jax lets out as he drives off. “I thought they’d never let us go.”
“They’re just worried about us.” I open my window and stick my arm out to wave goodbye.
“I know, but we were supposed to leave a little earlier.”
Once we’re out of town and on a straighter road, he rests his free hand on my thigh, where my dress has ridden up.
“Alright, nine hours to go. Eight tomorrow.”
“I can drive, too.”
“Of course.”
“And I’ll be working on your Wikipedia page.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, now that you’re starting F4, I figure it’s a good time to get one up and running. If sponsors or scouts look into it, you’ll look more professional and legit.”
“That’s a good call, Evie.”
“And of course, we can also play car games, to pass the time.”
“I’m listening.”
“I know there’s the alphabet game, where we have to find each letter out there, in alphabetical order. Can’t be a plate, has to be on a sign or a truck or something.”
“Okay.”
“Then we could also play Would You Rather, Truth or Dare, Never Have I Ever … And we have music, too.”
I do it right away, plugging my phone into the car and starting a playlist.
“Seventeen hours of Lana Del Rey and Would You Rather … I’m not surviving this,” he teases.
“You ungrateful a-hole,” I protest, swatting his hand away from my thigh.
“I’m kidding, Evie. This is perfect”
Still a little vexed, I look for something I know he’ll like and press play.
“Better?” I mutter as the opening of Kendrick Lamar’s latest album fills the space.
“I didn’t mind the other song. But yes.” When he tries to take my hand, I let him, and we entwine our fingers together. “I can’t wait for us to have our own place. Just you and me.”
Just him and me, in Indiana, in our very own house … It sounds like a dream. I can’t believe this is my life. Having our own place will be amazing. We’ll be staying at a motel so we can visit a few houses and pick one.
“I haven’t told you about my favorite car game yet,” I impishly say.
“Go on.”
“I invented it.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I call it ‘Head of State.’”
“And what’s the game?”
“Every time we’re in a new state, I give you head.”
He bursts into a long laugh, which is contagious. “That’s a car game I can get behind,” he replies before bringing my hand to his lips to kiss its back. “I’m taking so many detours.”
“I counted, Jax. It’s four states. Don’t cheat.”
“Does Colorado count?”
Crap, I forgot that one. “Should it count?” I wonder.
“I don’t know. It’s your game. You invented it.”
“Technically, it shouldn’t count. What matters are state lines, not states. But the ride across Kansas will be so long … Okay, five states,” I correct myself.
He laughs again. “God, I love you.”
“I love you too. Now, would you rather win the NASCAR Cup Series and no one knows, or not actually win it and everyone thinks you did?”
“Hmm, that’s a good one. Would you know I won it?”
“I guess not.”
“I’d want to win it for real. I’m bummed you wouldn’t know, though.”
“Aw, poor baby … Okay, your turn.”
“Would you rather … give me that Colorado blowjob now or later?”
“Jackson!” I scold him, slapping his shoulder with my free hand. “You’re obsessed.”
“With packing and shit, we haven’t done anything since before graduation.”
“Trust me, I know. But wait until we’re on the highway at least.”
He presses on the gas just a little harder, and I roll my eyes. Boys really are obsessed. “Ask a real question,” I demand.
“Would you rather only eat desserts, or never eat desserts ever again?”
“Oh, no … I hate this.”
“That’s the idea, princess. Now you gotta answer.”
I think about it for a moment, but genuinely, I can’t think of an answer to that. I can’t live without desserts, but if that’s all I eat, I’m pretty sure I’ll quickly hate it. There’s no good outcome, and both are heartbreaking.
“I don’t want to choose,” I decide.
“You have to.”
“Unless … I give you that blowjob instead?”
“Are you negotiating?”
“Maybe.”
He shakes his head with a broad smile, eyes still on the road. Without answering, he releases my hand to unbuckle his seatbelt. Then, he unbuttons his jeans, and I get the message.
A tingle of excitement awakens between my legs at the prospect. Jackson is extremely selfless when it comes to sex, and I know that for every blowjob I give him on this ride, he will repay me tenfold tonight at whatever motel we’ll stay at.
I hope it will have thick walls.
“This will cheer you up, girl,” Cynthia says, putting down a cocktail in front of me. I thank her with a smile and return my eyes to the screen.
Of course, the news of my broken engagement has triggered a lot of sympathy from my friends.
They’re all very sorry to hear that Nathan and I won’t be moving further with our relationship.
I’ve explained we realized we weren’t compatible in the long run and preferred to go our separate ways.
It’s something he and I have talked about, and I’m thankful he’s allowing me to save face.
I’m not sure I deserve that much grace, but I appreciate it.
The thing is, I’m not feeling that terrible about what happened between us. But I can’t exactly let anyone know that my mopey mood has very little to do with Nathan and is mostly because of my estranged husband. The very man we’re about to watch race in Miami.
It’s Sunday, and we’re gathered again at the sports bar.
Because the race is at lunchtime here, there are even more of us this time.
Most of our friends even came with their kids.
The place is full to the brim, like the whole town knows one of the drivers comes from around here, and everyone wants their share of the glory.
My party isn’t into F1 enough to gather for the qualifying sessions, but yesterday, I caught up on the practice sessions from Friday and watched qualifying live.
“Do we think he’ll win again?” someone at our table asks.
“Five in a row? That would be insane, right?”
“He won the sprint yesterday. By a huge margin,” I can’t help but say.
“The sprint?”