Revved Up (The Bad Boys of Belmont)

Chapter 1

Felix

My body bolts upright in bed, calling out for my mother. I look around, trying to find her—heart thumping in my chest as I gasp for air.

The room is dark, and I can’t see.

Where is she?

My eyes adjust, and I realize…

I’m in my bedroom—another nightmare.

Tears want to fall, but I stop them by rubbing the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to scrub away the image of her lifeless body. A glass of water next to my bed shimmers in the moonlight, which cuts across the absurdly redecorated room styled like an 18th-century French chateau.

I catch a glimpse of the chandelier hanging above me, remembering when Mother said it looked like something a hooker would keep on her keychain for good luck.

I reach for the glass of water, hoping it’ll soothe the dry, sandy feeling in my throat, as the sound of her favorite song—the song that was playing when I found her—echoes in my mind.

Nothing like a little musical trauma to add to the experience.

Now, I wait for the haunting melody of Dream a Little Dream of Me sung by Momma Cass to finally end. I’ve woken up like this every night for the last five months, and the music always stops.

So I wait…

And wait some more…

What the hell?

I close my eyes and massage my temples, hoping to God that I haven’t lost it again.

It’ll stop in a minute. Just focus, Felix. Focus.

It doesn’t stop.

In fact, it sounds like it’s coming from downstairs.

My father couldn’t be listening to that song, could he? No, it can’t be him. He’s too mean for sentimentality. The only time he cracks a smile is when a donor is signing a check.

Well, fuck him and every donor who ever wrote him a check with a red-hot poker.

The song continues, and now I’m just pissed off. Why would someone play this song in the middle of the night? Are they trying to make me have another nervous breakdown?

I throw the covers off and stomp to my bedroom door. When I open it, a chilly breeze makes me shudder.

I rub my arms, trying to warm myself, as I creep through the hallway and descend the stairs. Ornate lighting fixtures and grand portraits of my father’s various political achievements adorn the walls. There isn’t a single picture of us, his family.

Pictures of his wife and faggy son? Wouldn’t want to ruin the aesthetic of power and pretend morality.

I follow the music to the sitting room, where flames roar in the fireplace, but the room is so cold I can see my breath. One of the large, antique sitting chairs sits in front of the glowing fire, and the song plays again as if it’s on a loop.

“Hello?”

My heart stutters.

She peeks from behind the chair, blonde hair falling to the side. Tears fill her eyes, and then my mother, my dead mother, says, “Felix, darling.”

My jaw drops. The impulse to run to her is almost unstoppable, but I seal myself to the floor.

It’s not real. I know it’s not.

I close my eyes, wiggle my toes against the floor, and begin counting my breaths.

1, 2, 3, 4…

Doctor Franklin said it’s normal to have dreams when a parent dies so tragically.

“It isn’t uncommon for the dreams to become night terrors,” he explained with the warmth of a rattlesnake.

When you open your eyes, she’ll be gone.

I take five or six more deep breaths, then finally work up the courage to open my eyes.

She isn’t gone. No, she’s rising to her feet and approaching me with outstretched arms. “Oh, Felix.”

My resolve disintegrates. Whatever mind-fuck this is, I’ll take it because I need it. I run toward her, falling into her arms and squeezing her close. This is all I’ve wanted—one last hug.

A painful sob rips from my throat.

I’m holding her.

Her golden hair is as silky as the day she died, and the white nightgown we buried her in feels smooth on my freezing fingers.

She’s so cold.

That’s the only difference from how she used to be. My mother radiated warmth and humor in a world filled with old money and political corruption. My father’s policies are a blessing for the rich and a disaster for the people living in the Patch—the “bad” side of Belmont.

Mother was the only light in this life until she extinguished it.

“I miss you so much, Felix.”

Tears pour from my eyes, but I manage to utter the question I’ve wanted to ask since the moment I found her. “Why? Why did you do it?”

I knew she was depressed; her mental health had taken a dramatic turn for the worse, but I never thought she’d do something like this.

Her face falls, and with downcast eyes, she shakes her head. “I—” she stops, her voice giving out, then takes a deep breath and says. “There are things I wish I could say, but I can’t.”

I want to scream, well, why the fuck not? I’m so angry and hurt that she did it, but I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around her again. “I miss you so much.”

Mother kisses my cheek, the way she always used to. “I miss you every single day, my love.” She gently takes my face in her hands and looks into my eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Hearing those words heals something within. At least she’s acknowledging how much she hurt me.

“I want to go with you—”

“No.” It’s abrupt. Stern. My mother usually laughed things off with her trademark sardonic wit. The few moments of sternness she exhibited always left a lasting impact. “You and I are on different paths, Felix. You’re destined for something better.”

I want to protest because, like hell, I am!

Father despises me for having a nervous breakdown after her death.

To him, it was a display of weakness—not to mention something that would have been a disaster if the media got hold of the story—a fate worse than death for Mayor Hargrove.

I had to take my sophomore year off at Cornell because I simply couldn’t handle anything, which only added to my humiliation in his eyes.

God forbid I take a moment to grieve the suicide of my fucking mother.

“I know you’re hurting, my love, but something is coming.” Her face brightens, and she flashes a dazzling smile. “I have a gift for you.” She whisks back to the chair, jumpy with excitement, and retrieves a…

What on Earth?

She hurries over and hands me a hunk of metal that kind of resembles a heart.

“What is this?” I ask.

“A carburetor.”

Um… A what? “Like…for a car?” I ask.

She nods, absolutely giddy while pressing it to my chest.

I search her face, hoping it’ll give me a clue as to what this is all about, but I get nothing. My warped brain immediately goes to those cheesy car commercials.

If she leads me to the window and a Nissan Sentra with a big, red bow is parked in the driveway, I might jump in the fireplace.

“I don’t understand,” I finally say.

“I promise, it will all become clear soon. Stay strong, my darling. You’re destined for something better than this.

” Her stare is piercing, like she’s willing the following few words she says to break through whatever disbelief I have.

“Trust me.” She steps closer to kiss my cheek, her cool lips making me shiver.

My body bolts upright in bed, gasping for breath. The bedroom is dark, save for the light of the moon, and the sound of Mama Cass’s voice is gone.

And so is my mother.

I sigh, mourning the loss of the beautiful moment, until I look down and see black grease on my hands.