Chapter 28
ERICA
“Pull that thing onto the lift so I can see what the hell went wrong,” I tell Reed. He backs the tow truck up, dropping the Challenger in the garage, then he and Manuel push it into place. I sit in my chair and direct them around, supervisory duty only for the sixth day in a row.
They think I’m enjoying this. Truthfully, I’m going stark-raving mad.
And bossing Dad around is weird even though he’s letting me run the shop my way and acting as my errand boy.
Honestly, I think he’s a bit relieved to see how well we’re doing here without him.
He built this shop from the ground up, and I know it was hard for him to retire, but I think going back to the track this week is going to help with that void.
I’m happy he’s involved with cars again.
It’s like the light has turned back on inside him.
He went for a beer with Ed last weekend, and one night this week, he pulled out a photo album of Big John, telling Mom, Emily, Brody, and me stories about him over dinner.
It was the first time in years he’d even said John’s name.
And as much as I hate to admit it, and fuck, do I ever, I need his help right now because nothing is going to stop me from checking out Todd’s car.
There’s always a risk with racing, and that’s amplified by using nitrous.
But Todd’s a solid racer. I know the ins and outs of his car, and what happened should not have.
Once they get the Challenger locked in place and lifted, I roll my chair under it. Head craned back, I use Dad as my hands. “Pull that line.”
Dad preemptively knows what to do for the next thirty minutes as we look at various things that could’ve gone wrong. It’s when we pull the tank that I see the problem.
Shit. Fuck. Damn.
“What the hell, Todd?” I ask, even though he’s not here. “That’s it, Dad. Thanks.” I roll out from under the car, carefully setting the bottle on my desk. Staring at it, I try to think of any good reason it wouldn’t be what I put on the Challenger, but there’s only one. And it’s not a good one.
Dad perches on the edge of the desk, arms and ankles crossed the same way he has countless times before. Usually, it was because he was watching over me or Reed in the shop. Now, it’s because he’s watching to see how I’m going to handle this.
I grab my phone and push Todd’s contact number. While it rings, I breathe, attempting to settle my rage.
“Hello.” Todd sounds groggy, probably on pain meds.
His burns were significantly worse than mine, but he’s recovering at home now after being discharged from the burn unit four days after the accident.
We’ve already done the ‘are you okay . . . thank you’ phone call that was more than awkward for us both, but that’ll be nothing compared to this call.
“Todd.” One more breath.
“Rix?” He sounds more awake now, and nervous.
“Got your Challenger over here. Ed let me tow it so I could get the tank out of it and see what went wrong since I built it.” My voice is steady and calm, nothing like my pulse, which is racing so fast I’m feeling it in my legs where the burns are still healing.
“You do?” Todd says slowly. “Rix, I can explain—”
I cut him off, growling. “Who did your install? Because this isn’t my work.”
He sighs, the sound heavy even through the phone. “I did it. I talked to a couple of guys on a forum, and they told me what to get and how to install it to get a few more horses out of it. It was running perfectly. I don’t know what happened.”
He’s running from self-righteous to confused. I’m running from mad to fucking furious.
“Guys on a forum? Holy shit, man, you could’ve been seriously injured!
” His burns aren’t anything to sneeze at, literally because it’s an infection risk according to my discharge paperwork, but people have died from their nitro going wrong.
“Todd, you are a great racer. But that’s different from getting under the hood and you fucking know it.
You don’t know shit about installing high-performance nitrous systems.”
There are some racers who can wrench, and some wrenchers who can race, but more often than not, the two don’t cross, especially not with the specs Todd runs.
I’m an abnormality, and to be fair, I’m more of a mechanic who happens to be decent behind the wheel.
I’m not even half as good of a driver as Todd is. But he’s shit for a mechanic.
“I’m sorry, Rix. Do you know what happened?”
He sounds genuinely apologetic and worried, though probably more about his Challenger than either of our injuries. That car is his baby the same way Foxy is mine. “Your safety disk burst because it was a cheap piece of shit and you were demanding too much of it. I told you that you were maxed.”
“Can you fix it?”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me and follow it up with a haughty sigh. “Of course I can. It’s gonna cost you, though, because I’ll have to pull the whole system and check everything for fire damage. And send it out for paint work.”
“Of course. Blank check, just fix it. Please.” I swear he sounds on the verge of tears, and I wonder what kind of pain pills he’s on. Good stuff, apparently.
“I’ll be in touch when it’s done.” I hang up, glaring balefully at the Challenger like it betrayed me.
Dad looks at me, lips curled in a smile. “You are something else, honey.”
The pride in the pat he gives my shoulder says that we’re okay. I’m so glad.
I thought that he would be mad and would be disappointed in me, and he was. But he’s getting over it quicker than I expected. Maybe we didn’t give each other enough credit? All I know is that I have my dad back, closer than ever before, and I still have racing, the garage, and Brody.
It couldn’t be more perfect.
“Where do you want to start?” Dad asks, excitement shining in his eyes.
Boys and their toys. Well, and me and my toys. We’ll do anything for them.