Chapter 2
“Where do you think you’re going?” My stepfather storms my way, fury flaming in his eyes. My mother’s hand flies to her mouth, tears running down her face. Jasmine, my two-year-old little sister, screams at the top of her lungs, and my heart breaks for her.
“Are you fucking happy?” my stepfather yells, backing me into the wall.
My entire posture stiffens, challenging him to hit me. But he drops his clenched hand. “I will pull you from the team.”
“Don’t you dare.” I shove him away, my entire body shaking.
Anger courses through my veins, an integral part of my fucked up being.
“Dane?” My mother says my name with so much disappointment it stabs me in my chest. I’m seeing two of her, and not even blinking helps.
I am still drunk as fuck.
“You have everything. Why are you doing this to yourself? To us?” my mother says, sniffling.
“Do you have any fucking idea what your little stunt will cost you? They’re going to suspend you, you irresponsible prick.”
So we switched from me wrecking my car to me wrecking my career.
They wouldn’t dare. I won my first Formula One Championship, the youngest driver to do so. The idiots think they can do this without me. Fuck them. They can’t.
I had to win the bet, and I did. Not my fault someone had to film it and put it online. But fuck my parents for lying to me for ten years.
This should have been the happiest moment of my life. I barely remember the street race because my head swims in alcohol. I have no idea how I drove home, but I remember I lost control and drove straight into my parents’ pool.
Sadly, I didn’t drown. Instead, as I watched the water engulf the car, I couldn’t stand my own thoughts. When the car was submerged, I slowly rolled down the window and got out.
“Honey, let him rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Do you think he deserves a good night’s sleep?” my stepfather asks her.
I flip him the bird. The vein in his neck may pop any second now, but I’m not that lucky.
“Please.”
“Just bill me the costs, will you? I’ve made you enough money this year, haven’t I?” I snarl.
My mom sighs. “Enough.”
My head drops, shame washing over me. I should be mad at her the most. She should have told me there’s no cure for my fucked-up brain. But no, she had to keep that from me.
For ten years, I thought my father had died of a heart attack. Not suicide. As if they could have prevented me from ending up just like him. We all know I have the same shit, my mind dragging me to that dark place where there is no cure. And now my stepfather wants to take away the only thing that gives me a reason to live? Fuck him.
Instead of them telling me the truth, I heard it from my biggest competition at an after-party. And the happiest moment of my life became the worst. I knew he didn’t lie because I had my doubts. My father was healthy— physically .
“Dane, please.”
I guess her pleas are kryptonite for both me and my stepfather.
“Leave,” he says, dismissing me.
Storming outside, I see my car being pulled up from the pool. I should have stayed the fuck inside, and then everything would have disappeared.
I take the cobblestone path to my place: a bungalow with a wall made entirely of glass. I plop on the couch, throwing my head back.
The adrenaline wears off as I do some breathing exercises.
I don’t know how many minutes I sit in silence and pitch darkness when a small hand rests on my shoulder. My mom’s watery eyes undo me.
“Is this the person Jasmine should look up to?”
Guilt hits me in the middle of my chest. Maybe I am just a basket case. I know I am. She knows that too.
“Mom—”
“I don’t know what to do anymore or how to stop you on this road of self-destruction. I thought racing was what you wanted?”
“It is.”
“Then why jeopardize that? Did something happen?”
I could tell her, but then she would blame herself when I know she just tried to protect me. It’s on fucking me because I know what will happen to me too. One day, the darkness will push me too hard, and I won’t be able to fight it off.
Just like him.
“It was fun.”
“Fun? This is not fun.” A tremor rocks her, and she collapses on the seat beside me.
“Your father is mad. I don’t know how to help you this time.”
“Like all the other times, get him off of me. He’s not my father.”
Even though at times I wish he were. Then I wouldn’t have the name I carry, the sickness I have. A legacy of burned tires and gray smoke.
“Sleep this night off. We’ll talk in the morning.”
I nod, and before she closes the door, she says, “I love you, honey.”
Love you too, Mom. Sorry for not being worth it.
Dragging myself to bed, I black out the moment my back hits the mattress.
***
The sun blazes through the windows, waking me. Fucktastic. I forgot to shut the curtains. A headache thumps behind my temples, but I ignore it.
I snatch my phone from the nightstand, blaring with notifications.
The video of the street race is online and has gone viral, showing me winning the championship and then winning the illegal race right afterward. Then I got out of my car and roared—I am a legend.
I scrub a hand down my face and notice the reddish patch on my arm. My chest hurts when I stand, most surely from the impact of the airbag.
My phone rings, and I accept the call from my team principal. From his deep sigh, I know my entire world is about to collapse.
My stepfather is not one to bullshit, and he’s the team owner.
“We can’t tolerate this behavior. You’re suspended indefinitely,” Mark says.
I hang up, throwing the phone to the wall. It falls apart, just like my life.
Fucking shit.
Going to the kitchen, I pour milk and some cereal into my bowl, thinking of how to fix my screw-up as I eat breakfast. I will just crawl up my stepfather’s ass, and he will forgive me, and then we can all move on. He owes me that.
I put the empty bowl in the dishwasher when I feel his booming presence behind me. Dark circles line his eyes. He unbuttons his suit jacket. Propping his hip against the kitchen island, he crosses his arms.
“Last night was a reminder of how I failed at parenting.”
“I’m not in the mood. Listen, they suspended me.”
“I know.”
“Then do something.”
“I won’t, Dane. Take responsibility for your actions.”
“Fuck you and fuck this. You know I’m the best driver there is. Get me back in. I carry the damn DD Motors.”
He arches an unimpressed brow at me. “You want to get back behind the wheel? Then work on your attitude. This was all on you, son.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your son.”
He flinches. “I’m the only father you have. Do you want to end up like Bobby?”
“Don’t talk about him,” I yell, losing my composure by the second at the comparison and reminder.
“He was a natural, and he ended up a broken man because nothing filled that heart of his.”
“Stop talking.”
“I’m done having to hear your mother cry herself to sleep, terrified she will get a call that you died as well. And your sister… I know you love Jasmine, but if loving her means she will grow up fearing her brother can’t control himself, then she’s better off without you. I love you. I raised you like my own, but this has to stop.”
“You stole his wife right under his nose, playing the classy best friend to perfection.”
Cocking his head, he taps the smooth island surface with one finger. While I try to rile him up, he is the definition of composed.
“Maybe one day, you’ll finally understand it had nothing to do with betraying him. Your mother and I relied on each other while we had to watch the man we both loved not care about anything.”
“Sure.”
“Bobby never took accountability for his actions. Is that how you want to be too?”
“Get out.”
“I will let you know what I decide.”
“Whatever.”
He closes the front door behind him, and I watch him approach my mother, who’s in the middle of the manicured lawn, holding my sister in her arms. Surrounded by palms and the sea behind, they should feel nothing but at ease. But how could they when I am the storm threatening to shake and rip their foundation from the ground?
They’re in a hushed argument when I head to them.
“This void in his heart… the darkness in his mind. I’m afraid nothing will help,” my mom says, sighing deeply.
My chest constricts. Yes, Mom. At times, I wish I had never been born at all.
My little sister points at me, fussing. They both remain silent, watching me as I take her from my mother and over to the playground. I swing her for a bit, then I bring her inside and to the nursery. After I feed and change her, Jasmine falls asleep in her crib, her beautiful little face drawn in complete serenity. My heart twists as I tuck her in. I want to be a good brother and role model for her, but I can’t. My recklessness and impulsiveness will always hinder that.
Locking myself in my bungalow, numbness conquers me. The open living space does nothing to soothe me. I am trapped in the darkness of my mind.
My place consists of a small kitchen and a living room with a U-shaped leather couch. In front of it sits a rectangular table and a flatscreen TV that I use for gaming. A shiny black bar spans the right wall. On the opposite side is my bedroom with a king-size bed resting on a platform. And in the corner is my bathroom. Big tinted windows surround the bungalow, offering me a view of the garden and sea. I may live in the Golden State, but there’s nothing golden about me.
I reach in my pocket for a smoke and light it, pulling from the cigarette until the first bitter hit fills my mouth. Bracing my hand on the window, my head drops. Done with the pity party, I flick the cigarette into the ashtray in the corner of the room. So fucking tired of everything, I curl into bed and fall asleep.
Heat grills my side, and I scoot up in bed. Black smoke surrounds me, and my body rocks with a coughing fit. Surrounded by flames, my foggy mind gets the facts.
Ah, fuck my luck. The first time I don’t set a fire on purpose, it lights my ass on fire.
Hysterical laughter breaks free, but my survival instinct is stronger.
I throw a chair against the floor-to-ceiling glass and dash outside. Shards and flames lick at my skin. I hiss, letting out a string of curses. Sitting on my ass on the grass, I watch it all burn down, like my life, like my dreams, like everything.
My parents rush outside the main house, eyes wide and wearing terrified expressions. They take me in, making sure I am fine, and then my stepfather makes a call.
“First yesterday, now this.”
I know this was the last straw. I could contradict Denny and say it wasn’t on purpose, but I doubt it would make a difference.
I am so exhausted. While the firefighters extinguish the fire, I shove the paramedics away, but they strap me to the gurney, rushing me toward the hospital. Once there, I see people in greater need of medical attention, but money and all, right? Fucking corrupt system.
A doctor and two nurses fuss around me. After cleaning my superficial burns and cuts, they keep me overnight to make sure there is no lung damage.
My parents sit beside my hospital bed with strained facial expressions. It wouldn’t surprise me if that look will forever remain plastered on their faces.
I am acutely aware I screwed up big time, and I should apologize. I should get my shit together, but why would I? I am a screw-up, just like my father.
When I am discharged the next day, Denny drives us home.
I stumble out of the car and halt as what used to be my place is now a brittle foundation of ash.
I salute them and climb the stairs toward my childhood room.
Opening the door, I decide I will deal with whatever shit tomorrow and head into my bathroom. Brushing the taste of tar from my breath, I take a long shower, trying to prolong the inevitable—facing my parents.
Changing into a pair of jeans and a tee, I go downstairs. Contrary to my latest screw-ups, I am not the type who lives for trouble. I’ve been focused on my racing career since before I could start talking. Apparently, the moment my father put me in a race car, that’s where I was silent and focused.
Racing has given me an anchor for the darkness in my mind. I’ve caused my parents headaches and heartache, but mostly because my mind tips from one extreme to another.
I find them at the breakfast table. Through the window, I see the ocean stretching and the sun making its daily ascent to the sky.
A smile curls my lips. My little sister offers me her food, and I pretend to take a big bite of the oat muffin, moaning. She giggles, looking adorable with bits of blueberry all over her face.
“Good morning,” I say and sit down in the chair. A staff member places a plate with an omelet and sliced fruit in front of me. I devour the eggs and fruit, gulping down the orange juice.
A booming silence ensues when my stepfather gestures for everyone to leave us.
“I’m not doing this with you any longer. I refuse to watch you kill yourself under my roof.”
A denial shoots up my throat, but he cuts me off.
“We’re sending you away. For one year. It’s on the East Coast, to Eagleton boarding school.”
We live in California. Santa Monica. So that’s on the other side of the country.
“You’re doing what?”
“If you show me you have changed and put in the work it takes to become the man I know you can be, then—”
“It’s my senior year. Jasmine’s here, my track is here. My team is here.”
“Well, consider this your punishment. If you prove to me you will work on yourself, then next year you can start training again.”
“It will put me behind.”
“You should have thought about that before all this,” he grumbles.
“What makes you so sure I won’t just cause even more trouble there?”
My mother turns to me, worry gleaming in her brown eyes while guilt wrecks me. My heart wishes to confess that I am sorry for being like him, but my mouth clamps shut.
“I refuse to be the mother who enables your behavior. This is your fight.”
It feels like it has been my fight, since the day I was born, to be the son of Bobby Donovan, a Formula One legend who ended up partying too hard to forget about the demons troubling him. A legend on the asphalt, a wreck as a human being.
“I have coddled you. I did the same with your father and can’t lose you too. Not you.”
“And sending me away is the solution?”
Her hand shakes as she places it on mine on the table. “I love you with all my heart, but I won’t sleep with my phone pressed to my ear, waiting for news that will shatter my world.”
Denny slides a folder toward me, and I flick through the school brochure. Only four hundred students are accepted at the high school and then move on to Eagleton College. Getting a spot there is highly coveted, so my stepfather must have pulled a lot of strings. It’s an impressive building. A campus spread over two acres, having all the finest amenities.
“Fine.”
I’m just too exhausted to negotiate my stay further. It’s like I am driven by this bleak space inside of me which hungers for destruction, to burn things down. Yet, it never pushes me enough to end it.
Shooting up from my chair, I take the campus map with me. My stepfather follows me back to my room. Neither of them deserves my poor treatment or my attitude. It’s not their fault I am the way I am.
“Is Sergio going to take my place on the team?” He’s been after my spot for years now.
“You know the difference between him and you?”
I jut my chin, waiting for him to tell me that he has his shit together, blah, blah. Instead, he grips my shoulder and says, “You have your father’s talent. Pair that with discipline, and it will put you on a pedestal Bobby never achieved. I know you can because you’re my son too. So do not disrespect me by saying you aren’t. Get your head straight, unleash that potential, and quench that part of you that is hell-bent on sabotaging yourself.”
Nodding, I accept that yesterday was a massive fuckup. I could have died out of sheer stupidity.
Maybe facing the consequences for once in my life will make me act better. I can’t blame my sickness for everything. That would mean I am just a victim and I refuse to be that.
“Stay out of trouble.”
“Trouble is my middle name.”
“Raise hell on the asphalt, son. Outside of it, learn to abide by rules.”
“Dad?” I turn to him and say, “I’m sorry I am such a mess.”
“I love the beautiful mess you are, but start valuing what you have.”
Maybe this is what I need. A change in the scenery, where no one knows me. Right, as if my name isn’t plastered all over the damn internet.
I stopped googling myself years ago, not wanting to read all those idiotic articles written by people thinking they have a say about me. Such a talent wasted on this rebel. Just like his father, a force on and off the track.
I’m fucking tired of being compared to him. And I am not curious to hear what the sports journalists have to say about my recent screw-up that could cost me my career.
But I’m coming back, and yes, I will raise hell afterward on the track.
You might take my place, Sergio, but I’m going to snatch it right from under you.
My best friend calls me while I drop on the bed, reclining my back against the headboard.
“What am I going to do without you? I’ll have to console Tiffany with my dick in your absence.”
“You do that.” I’ve never been interested in girls. All I’ve ever needed was to feel the engine rumbling under me. And pussy, I’ve learned from my surroundings, takes away from focus. I have an incredible right hand when the urge appears. The girls should thank me.
With my fucked up brain, I’m sorry for the girl who will end up piquing my interest.
“I’m going to miss you, man. It won’t be the same without you,” Alec says.
Yeah, the rebel boy, the party king, the hellraiser on the asphalt.
No wonder I am torn apart by all these people trying to live through me.