52. Bay
FIFTY-TWO
bay
I’m tired.
My brain won’t shut down. My guilt won’t stop eating me alive with all the things I’ve done with zero thought on the consequences afterward.
I’m losing our home.
So, where is Dad going to go when he is released from the hospital? Where are my sisters going to live, where they are safe and taken care of? How am I going to find us a place in thirty days that’s not a complete shithole?
Dad’s Nova rumbles under my fingers as I do my fourth burnout of the night, listening to the tires angrily screech against the wet pavement. With it, I release all my rage on the happenings over the course of twenty-four hours to make themselves heard.
I need cash and I fucking need that shit fast.
The deep rumble of the Impala next to me alludes that it’s lining up, waiting on Nessa to flick her flashlight so we can start the race and I can blow this fucker out of the water.
My eyes flick to Nessa, already watching me and waiting for the moment when she’s going to give the proverbial green light.
I nod, and she returns the gesture, aware from earlier that I’m not in the mood for bullshit. That I just want to get this night over and have wads of twenties and hundreds in the back of my jean pocket.
My phone buzzes on cue then; however, I’m too fucked up on worry to care.
It could be Travis telling me that his dad is on his way to break up on improv drag race, but I can get out of here before that happens. I’ve gotten away from Sheriff Muncy before, outdriving him isn’t going to be an issue I’m going to have a hard time getting out of.
The white light of Nessa’s flashlight flicks on, and I pull the trans brake before the front end of my car lifts before getting caught by the wheelie bars in the back and forcing my tires to the cement.
The Nova has no problems out of the hole, sprinting toward the end of the road when the Impala has other ideas.
It begins to squirrel into my lane.
I’m not even able to get my foot off the gas before the front-end knocks into my fender. My Dad’s piece of art—the car he loves with his whole being—loses its traction and spins.
I have it.
I’ve spun out before and saved the car with no problem, but the motherfucker I’m racing with hits me again .
Dad’s car instantaneously flips and all I can think about is how many times the unforgiving concrete is scratching the paint? How far this is going to put me back and did it just take me out of the other races for tonight?
My head hits something hard, causing a gasp to leave my lips as the car still spins in nauseous circles, slamming again and again into the ground.
This thing better not fucking start on fire.
What a stupid ass thing to think about.
Mae. Ellie. Dad. I need to stay alive for them.
They need me.
But what good am I even alive? I lost our home over a two-minute makeout session with a dude who can’t even stand me.
Pain shoots then through my right leg as I growl out in agony, still feeling the unforgiving movements of the car still trying to slow down.
Stop, stop, stop.
My body is still in the seat from the seatbelt, but my limbs are free game. I clutch harder to the steering wheel, every blunt crash reverberating to my bones.
Until it suddenly halts, and I gasp for air. My head drapes down into my chin, tired and throbbing from the last few seconds.
I want to move but I’m afraid to.
My eyes refuse to open as I try to catch my breath and rampant thoughts crashing through my brain.
I need a place for the girls and Dad.
I need a few thousand.
“ Bay !”
A warm tear hits my cheek, and I hate myself for doing all of this. I just busted Dad’s car because I wasn’t careful enough. I told him I wouldn’t drive it until he was better before his stroke, and here I am ruining yet another thing for him.
I need to fix it before he sees it.
You’re so fucking stupid, Bay. You are seriously a waste of space.
“Bay!”
“Get those fire extinguishers!”
What the fuck?! The car is on fire?!
I don’t feel any immense heat, forcing my eyes to crack open, but they’re like vises. My body refuses to move from their spot because it hurts.
Everything hurts.
“Get her the fuck out of the car!”
Torin .
Bossy motherfucker. Can’t he ever say anything nice to anyone?
“There’s fucking blood everywhere.”
Aw, shit.
I place my feet on the floor of the car and push myself up, feeling the immediate tenderness of a gash or bruising forming in my right leg.
Motherfucker, now I can’t walk?
“Don’t move, baby. We’re gonna get you out.”
Reeve .
My eyes finally give way, finding a large body at the side of my door with his face already in mine.
Levi .
A very angry, but relieved Levi.
“You know you’re fucking stupid, right?” he carps out at me before I feel the gentle brush of his fingers along my hip.
The straps to my seatbelt loosen as he pulls it away from my body, and I hear the release of a heavy and relieved exhale from his mouth.
I’m so happy to see him, it’s brimming from my body. Levi always makes things better. He’ll help with the house and be able to get things back to normal.
He has to.
Levi is my savior and, as stupid as it sounds, I rely on him heavily. He’s the only one in my life that has been stable besides Dad. The only person in this world that hasn’t let me down.
“Hey,” I greet back. “How bad is it?”
“You’re fucking bleed?—”
“The car ,” I leer back, then promptly soften my voice. “The car…Levi, how bad?”
“It’s fucked,” he answers honestly, to which my stomach guts itself out. “We’ll get it fixed. Don’t worry about that right now?—”
“It’s Dad’s.” Tears burn the back of my eyes and I meet Levi’s hazels, still remaining inside the car with me. “I fucked his?—”
“We got it.” His green eyes connect with mine, and I instantly feel calm. “Don’t sweat it. We won’t let him see it.”
“Lev, I?—”
“We need to get you?—”
“Move the fuck out of the way if you can’t do it, Wallace,” Torin barks out from behind him, and Levi’s expression turns murderous.
“If he doesn’t get away from me, I’m gonna kill that prick,” he warns me with promise.
“Would you get me out of the car first?”
Torin must touch Levi with impatience because my best friend quickly removes himself from the inside the car. His voice promptly rises with a combination of cuss words and threats when Reeve’s head pops in next.
Honestly, I can’t explain how much I love that face.
Those boyish features and that sandy blond beach hair of his literally make me calmer within a second of seeing it.
“McQueen,” he breathes, the reprieve of my being conscious washing over his features. “Fuck.”
“I’m okay,” I tell him. “Just calm Levi down.”
“Torin deserves to get his ass kicked.” My eyes widen a bit from the directness of his not saving his buddy. “He’s been a goddamn wreck the whole time we found out you were out here.”
How did he figure that out?
“You hurt? How bad?”
“Why can’t I be out here?” I solicit instead because this is my second home. Racing, gambling, fucking around with people and getting inside their heads.
“You can’t be out here racing when you’re upset,” he claims. “You’re not mentally?—”
“That guy hit me,” I retort through furrowed brows. “It has nothing to do with how I’m feeling.
“Yeah.” Reeve reaches for me and brushes a piece of my hair away from my face, cutting into my defense. “Saw that too.”
“ Move , Stanton,” Levi orders, and Reeve does what he’s asked, slipping from the car window and giving my best friend the space he needs to get back.
“Can you move?”
“Not sure,” I quip. “I’m afraid to.”
Levi takes another quick inventory of my body. “Let’s try. And then we’re talking. It sounds like I need to kill a bitch who dances, apparently.”
My hero.