56. Eloise
56
ELOISE
The phone buzzes in the cupholder, the screen lighting up with my sister’s name. I sigh and hit the answer button, putting her on speaker.
“Hey.”
“Sis, I love you, so trust that I’m saying this with love , but you need to get your shit together. You’re about to drive the fucking Gauntlet finals and your energy is trash.”
I shake my head and take a left, my headlights sweeping over the Black Hollow National Park welcome sign.
“You got all that from hey ?” Amusement lifts the corner of my mouth.
“I’m your sister.” She says it so matter-of-factly, like that explains everything.
“Okay,” I say with a sigh. “What’s up? Vivie okay? Nate isn’t around, is he?”
My stomach clenches at the idea. I haven’t spoken to or seen him since he insinuated I was a whore. I don’t even know how he would know that I broke it off with Beau, but I guess I assumed he’d check in or something.
It’s better that he didn’t. I don’t know what I would’ve done had I seen him in the last few days.
“We’re fine. I’m calling to deliver an epic pep talk, because frankly, you need it,” Margot drolls.
“Alright,” I say with a small chuckle. “Hit me with it.”
Margot clears her throat dramatically before launching into her pep talk. “Okay, listen up, Louie, because I need you to hear me when I say you are a goddamn force of nature. You’ve been through hell and back, and you’ve come out stronger every single time. You’ve beaten the odds at every single turn, and you’ve never given up.”
I let my sister's words wash over me, willing them to sink into my bones and push out the doubt and heartache that's been weighing me down.
“You are Eloise fucking Hawthorne,” Margot continues, her voice fierce with conviction. “You’ve been driving circles around asshole guys since you were sixteen years old. You’ve got more guts, more heart, and more skill than any of them. And tonight? You’re going to show them exactly what you’re made of. Fuckin’ crush ’em, Louie.”
I feel a smile tugging at my lips as Margot’s words wash over me, igniting a spark of determination in my chest.
“Eyes forward, pedal down, no limits. Remember who the fuck you are,” she whispers, her voice fierce and unbending.
I whistle, my adrenaline perking up a little. “Damn, Margot. Did you just clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose me?”
“You bet your sweet ass I did, Louie. Now get it together. We’ve got a Gauntlet to win.”
I laugh, my mood lifting with my sister’s fierce encouragement. “Alright, alright. I hear you. And . . . thank you. I needed that.”
“I know you did. I got you, sis,” Margot says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Now go kick some ass. I love you.”
“Love you too,” I murmur before ending the call.
I think I love her a little bit more because she didn’t bring up Beau. She’s been sliding him into every conversation possible, but I shut it down before it goes anywhere.
I take a deep breath, letting Margot’s words settle into my bones, pushing back against the ache in my chest that’s taken up permanent residence since I shattered my own heart. I know what I have to do tonight.
I reach the coordinates texted to me last night, and throw my car into park. There are only five drivers in the last race, but no one else is here.
Which means it’s one of those races where we’re all starting at different locations. My gut cramps with anxiety, and it takes three deep breaths to ease the sharp pain.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text.
Unknown Number: Turn your radio to 88.9 FM
I flick my radio on, tuning it to the right station. Static crackles through the speakers before a robotic voice cuts in, cold and precise.
“Welcome to the Gauntlet. Congratulations on advancing to the final race. The race starts in five minutes. In the next minute, your GPS device will turn red with the predetermined route, including checkpoints. Keep this device in your car at all times. This is your guide and tracking system. Tampering will result in disqualification. Attaching it to another vehicle will result in disqualification. Attempting to hack it will result in disqualification. The first driver to hit every checkpoint and complete the forty-mile maze will advance. This message will repeat once.”
The voice pauses, and I swear I can hear the faintest hint of snark in its monotone delivery. “May the odds ever be in your favor.”
I turn down the volume and mutter, “Alright. Let’s fucking do this.”
A red light blinks to life on my GPS, the screen illuminating with a route inside Black Hollow. The radio crackles again, and the same voice begins the countdown.
“Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”
My hands grip the wheel so tight my knuckles ache, the tension bleeding up my arms and into my chest. The growl of the engine vibrates through me, a low hum that would normally calm my nerves, but tonight feels like a countdown to disaster. The dark presses in from all sides, the dense trees looming like silent spectators to whatever chaos is about to unfold.
I miss Beau.
The thought slams into me out of nowhere, a punch to the gut that steals my breath. For days, I’ve been trying to outrun this ache, trying to convince myself I’m fine. But I’m not. I don’t know if I’ll ever be fine without him. And now, as I barrel down this narrow road in a national park at midnight, with shadows flickering like ghosts in the headlights, his absence is a gaping wound I can’t ignore.
It’s stupid really. It's not like he was in my passenger seat, whispering encouraging words in my ear. But there was comfort in knowing he was out here with me. That he’d have my back if he could.
It’s better this way, for more than one reason.
Now, we’re nothing but rivals, both of us reaching for the ultimate prize at the end of this track.
“Focus,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head like it’ll clear the storm raging inside. “We’re almost there.”
I’ve cleared half the checkpoints, and I haven’t seen a single pair of headlights in the twenty minutes I’ve been driving. I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.
The darkness presses in from all sides, the winding road ahead illuminated only by the twin beams of my headlights cutting through the inky black. The dense trees loom like silent sentinels, their gnarled branches reaching out as if to snag me as I race past. Shadows flicker and dance at the edges of the light, morphing into monstrous shapes that make my heart stutter and my palms sweat against the steering wheel.
I can’t escape the thoughts swirling in my mind, a maelstrom of regret and longing and fear that threatens to drag me under.
Like some kind of fucked-up boomerang, my thoughts bounce back to him. Always to Beau. I glance in my rearview mirror, expecting to see his familiar headlights behind me. It’s endless black, like it has been since I pulled into the park.
Maybe that’s what makes me most anxious. There are only five people left in this final race. I don’t know if we were all given the same map or not. I don’t know what the parameters are for, which makes it hard to judge where I am in the lineup. Am I first? Or have I not seen anyone because I’m dead last?
I rev the engine as the next turn approaches, heart hammering against my ribs. The road twists into the dark like a coiled snake, biding its time until it strikes. I imagine it unfurling from the ground, rising up and winding around me over and over until I stop fighting. A slow death.
A low, wobbly chuckle wrenches through the car at the idea. It’s ridiculous, and I almost wonder if I’m a little delirious. Can heartache do that to someone? Can embarrassment ?
I fucking hate that I feel embarrassed about my feelings, no matter how ridiculous they might be. I don’t feel like I can even have those types of feelings, and definitely not over a man who I barely know.
Love his cock? Totally acceptable.
Love him ? Absolutely not.
Girls like me don’t get to be loved by men like Beau Carter. We’re lucky if we get to be fucked by them.
I feel foolish even having thought for a second that I could somehow keep him. Like this is some kind of small town Hallmark movie. This isn’t.
I should’ve known better. Nothing in my life is easy, and the fact that being around him felt as effortless as breathing should’ve been my first red flag.
It doesn’t matter that it feels like I’ve always known him. That I’ve never felt more like myself than when I’m with him.
Fuck, maybe it was the illicitness of it all. The knowledge that sneaking around with him was frowned upon for a myriad of reasons. Like I could shed all the layers of the person I was supposed to be and simply exist as I am around him.
I’ve seen my mother tie herself into knots for so many different men, always hoping that they’d like her enough to stay if she was some specific version of herself. It never worked. And I promised myself that I’d never follow in her footsteps.
I would never put myself first over the safety and well-being of my sisters. And that’s exactly what I’d be doing if I walked away from Seven Pines now. And for what? There’s nothing that guarantees it even works out between us.
The road ahead twists and turns like the choices I made, every one of them a piece of a forsaken oath I never should’ve taken. The moon casts eerie shadows across the narrow, sloping road. It only adds to my anxiety.
Honestly, at this point, I don’t know that I’m anything more than a tangled ball of nerves. I keep waiting for the euphoria to kick it like it usually does when I race, but it’s not working yet. My headlights slice through the shadows, illuminating the dense tree lines on either side of the road, but everything beyond is a wash of black. I keep the gas pedal to the floor and eyes flicking between the glowing line of directions on my phone and the road.
I push those thoughts aside, focusing on the road as I swerve around a bend, tires gripping the pavement as the car thrums beneath me. My playlist blares, a mash of bass-heavy guitar riffs and angsty lyrics, matching the turmoil swirling in my gut. The wind whistles through the cracked window, carrying a crisp, biting chill that makes every nerve stand on edge.
A flash of headlights through the passenger window makes me curse under my breath. Another car, ripping through the trees at a reckless angle, bursts onto the road out of nowhere. It doesn’t swerve; it doesn’t even hesitate—just barrels forward, like it’s set on collision. I yank the wheel left, hugging the edge of the embankment, the slope just a few inches from my tires. Adrenaline screams through my veins as I dodge its path by a hair.
The other car recovers instantly, over-correcting the turn and surging after me. I can tell by the headlights it’s not Beau. I don’t know if that’s comforting or not.
“Motherfucker,” I yell.
I grip the wheel tighter, every muscle straining as I speed down the road. I can feel them creeping closer, headlights flooding my mirrors. They try to slide in beside me, but the road’s too narrow. I can almost hear the grind of metal if we get too close; there’s no room for error, no room to breathe.
The audible directions on my phone drones, “Slight right ahead. Follow the curve to Dead Man’s Bluff.”
I grit my teeth at her cheery accent. Normally I love it, but my adrenaline is too high to appreciate it right now.
“Don’t do it,” I mutter, eyeing the car behind me. It’s trying to wedge between me and the bluff on the righthand side. Leaving me entirely too close to the drop-off on the left. It’s so dark, I can’t even see how far the drop is, but with a name like Dead Man’s Bluff, my imagination runs a little too wild.
“Don’t you fucking do it,” I grit out, swerving into the curve and trying to hug the bluff.
Their headlights fill my car, blinding me. Their engine roars, a low growl of intimidation, or maybe a warning. All at once, I remember the accidents and mistakes and other unexplainable things that have happened during the Gauntlet. And the increasing severity of each one.
Fear blooms inside my veins, like one of those poisoned flowers. Its petals unfurling and releasing the potent and deadly emotion. Because in a race like this, fear is the kind of thing that can take me out faster than almost anything else.
There’s a very real possibility that whoever is behind me right now is the person behind all the sabotage. Which means there’s a chance that I could be next.
I give myself three seconds. Three breaths to be scared, to give into all the worst-case scenarios and let the fear overrule me. And on breath four, I exhale and let that shit go. I can’t control what they do. All I can do is focus on what I’m doing.
And I’m going to win the fucking Gauntlet.
I didn’t blow up my life to not win, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do. And maybe I could’ve repeated that like a goddamn mantra if I didn’t see a pair of headlights flickering in the distance.
“Shit,” I mumble, my heart sinking. “I’m trapped.”