Chapter 2
TWO
REGAN
Once I’m done reviewing everything from qualifying and practice, satisfied that we have a good plan for race day, I leave the hauler to head back to the infield to my RV. I feel the hairs stand up on the back of my neck, and then a voice coming from behind me.
Fuck! I’m not in the mood to deal with this asshole right now. I want to keep my mind clear for the race tomorrow.
“Brady!”
Sigh. “What do you want, Dixon?” I call back, not stopping.
“Ready to have your ass handed to you tomorrow?” He chuckles. Fucking chuckles.
I stop and turn to face him and give him my best death glare, hoping it’ll make him think twice about talking shit before the race has even started. I may be 5’4”, but I’ll be damned if I let him intimidate me.
“You sure you want to talk shit?” I chirp back. “Last time you did that, you wrecked less than ten laps in. Or has that escaped that primitive brain of yours?”
I can see the pinch in his forehead; I’ve hit a sore spot for him. His friends, Chase Sanford and Taylor Hart, chuckle next to him at my response.
Taylor, Chase, and I have been racing together for many years.
I used to race with both of them in dirt cars before coming into the SCORS series.
We hung out a little bit back then, but once the competitive nature of SCORS kicked in, we all kind of drifted apart.
But when Dixon came onto the scene, they all stuck together after that.
Dixon glares at his friends to get them to stop laughing, but it doesn’t do much. Clearly, they’ve forgotten whose side they’re on. Whoops.
“That was not my fault,” he says through gritted teeth. “That was a blown tire, and you fucking know it, Brady.”
I scoff, dismissing his response. Sure, that’s what technically happened. Part failures and blown tires happen to everyone. I just enjoy poking the bear.
The more jostled he is now, the more mistakes he’ll make later—and that’s what I’m banking on.
“Keep telling yourself that, Dixon. Everything you need to say is out there.” I point to the track behind them. I turn on my heel to keep heading into the infield.
“At least I don’t need Daddy’s last name to have a spot here!” he shouts.
That makes me stop dead in my tracks. So much for not letting him know he gets to me. As much as I know people think I’m only here because of my dad, hearing it yelled at me is another story. Especially coming from the mouth of Dean fucking Dixon.
Chase and Taylor give an ohhh, like we’re in fucking high school. If Dean didn’t know he hit a nerve when I stopped, the smirk on his annoying face confirms it.
Fuck, I hate him.
I stalk back over to him and get right up in his smug face. This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to him, and I never realized how green his eyes actually are. A deep forest green. One that looks like it would be in a landscape painting with snow topped evergreens.
Damn it, focus.
“I’ve earned my spot here just like everyone else.” I jab my finger into his hard chest. “Don’t be mad because I kick your ass every week,” I growl out, clenching my molars so hard they hurt.
“Almost every week,” he corrects. “Remember Pocono? I won that race.”
“You wrecked me halfway through, jackass!” I shout.
“I’d like to see you prove that.” An evil grin spreads across his face, and I want to slap it right off him. I close my eyes and take a breath.
He’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.
“Let’s see how this weekend treats you, Dixon. I’ll see you out on the track.” I finally make my exit, fearing that if I don’t leave the immediate vicinity, I’ll end up doing something I shouldn’t.
Even as I round the corner, I can feel Dixon’s eyes on my back. I will stake my claim in this sport. I know that I will probably always be in Karsen Brady’s shadow, but I need to be my own person, my own racer. To stop being compared to him or anyone else.
My dad was known for being aggressive and blocking as much as he could. He never intentionally wrecked anyone, but it happened sometimes. Many of his best races still play as highlight reels today.
While blocking is always necessary, I’m more likely to move you out of my way than anything else.
Dad was never like that. Our driving styles are different, and I’m tired of people always comparing us.
With the way the cars are designed now as opposed to back then, it’s necessary.
I will never intentionally wreck someone, but if you’re in the way, I will move your ass out of the way. If they happen to wreck…oops.
I’ll do everything possible to get that spot in the Cup series next season. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, making it to the top league in this sport. Now, here I am, this close to making it.
And Dixon is trying to take it away from me.