57. Beau
57
BEAU
I shift gears the moment I see her. It’s weird that I can recognize the shape of her headlights anywhere. It sounds fucking dirty and strange, and maybe it is. But it’s not wrong.
Just like I could pick her out in a crowd with my senses bound, I just know it’s her. I already passed the other two cars, which means the asshole riding her ass like he’s gonna push her over the bluff is Paul Whitehall. And that motherfucker’s crazy enough to try it.
I push the gas pedal to the floor, the Hellcat's engine roaring as I hurtle toward Peach and Whitehall. My mind races almost as fast as the car, strategies and maneuvers flashing through my thoughts in rapid succession.
I came into this final race with one goal, and it wasn't to take the crown for myself. No, from the moment I found out Eloise and I both made it to the finals, I knew what I had to do. I was going to make damn sure my girl crossed that finish line first, no matter what it took.
I grip the wheel tighter, adrenaline surging through my veins as I close the distance between us. Whitehall’s car is practically glued to Eloise’s bumper, his headlights flooding her rearview. He’s trying to force her off the road, toward the deadly drop-off that plunges into pitch black.
Like hell I'm going to let that happen.
“Hold on, baby,” I mutter under my breath. “I’m coming.”
I slam the gas pedal to the floor, the Hellcat’s engine roaring like a furious beast as I rocket forward, eating up the distance between us.
My heart pounds in my throat as I hurtle toward Eloise, the cool night air whipping through the open windows. Determination surges through my veins, hot and fierce. There's no way I'm letting Whitehall run my girl off the road. Not while there's still breath in my lungs and fire in my blood.
Images of her flash through my mind like a frenzied slideshow. Her laugh, bright and uninhibited, the way it bursts out of her like she can’t contain the joy. The way her golden whiskey eyes light up when I bring her coffee in the morning, crinkling at the corners with sleepy delight. That little scrunch of her nose she does when she doesn’t like something, her freckles dancing across the bridge.
I see the soft curve of her smile when she looks at me, a secret just for us. The way she arches under my touch, skin flushed and glistening, my name falling from her lips like a prayer. The fierce determination that sets her jaw when she’s behind the wheel, hands steady and sure even as chaos erupts around her.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The most real, most vibrant. Being with her feels like finally taking a full breath after a lifetime underwater. She’s the spark that set my world ablaze and I’ll be damned if I let anyone—including her—take her from me.
I feel a familiar calm settle over me as I near Eloise’s car, even as my heart hammers against my ribs. This is what I do best. This is where I belong. Behind the wheel, the roar of the engine filling my ears, the acrid scent of burning rubber and gasoline sharp in my nose. And this time, there’s something even more vital at stake than a trophy or a title.
Because this time, I’m racing for her.
I grit my teeth as I swerve around the final bend, tires screeching as they cling to the road. I’m close now. The timing is everything here. If I go too soon, I’ll end up hitting her, and if I go too late, then I’ll run myself off the road and Whitehall will push her off right after me.
“Three, two, one,” I whisper.
I swerve hard to the right just as her headlights flood my car, illuminating the interior in a blaze of blinding white. For a split second, our eyes lock through the windshield. Even at this breakneck speed, I can see the shock that ripples across her beautiful face, her full lips parting and her whiskey eyes widening as she registers my presence.
Time seems to slow, stretching out the moment until it feels like an eternity compressed into a single shared heartbeat. Our eyes lock, and everything else falls away.
There’s only her. There was only ever her.
My Eloise.
The collision was inevitable. He was gonna take her out, so I took him out first. But to hold her gaze as Whitehall’s car crashes into mine is a blessing and a curse.
My body is fluid and pliable, which means the energy from the crash will disperse more evenly. But it’s a fucking curse to see the horror etched into her face. It was a split second, but that look will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Metal screams against metal, the sound ripping through the night like the shriek of some prehistoric beast. The impact shudders through the frame of the Hellcat, rattling my bones and stealing the breath from my lungs.
For a moment, the world spins in a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and light. And I fall back to Earth, and everything goes black.