Chapter 20 Dean
TWENTY
DEAN
It’s nice to have a longer break between races.
I decided to take some extra shifts at the diner.
It’s going to cost more to fix my truck than I thought.
The guys in the shop offered to help fix my truck once I got the new parts, but I turned them down.
They have families and lives, and I don’t want them having to help me during their time off.
One of the engineers lent me an extra car they had while mine sits unmovable in the shop bay, so at least I don’t have to worry about getting a rental or ride shares everywhere.
Walking into the kitchen to pick up an order, the familiar bell that’s over the door dings its chime, signaling someone new has walked in.
I drop the order down at the table and notice there is someone new sitting at the counter.
A woman with blonde hair cascading over her shoulders sits there.
I have a feeling I know who it is, but I push that thought aside until I walk back around the counter and stop short as I stare at Regan.
She’s alone this time. The friend she was here with last time is nowhere in sight, and neither is Leslie.
I hand her a menu and she takes it with a nod, but makes no move to open it.
“Regan, what are you doing here?” She just continues to stare at me, ignoring the menu and everything else around us. A fire starts deep in my stomach, one I’m not sure I want to put out. No one has ever made me feel like this.
“I’m hungry. This is a diner, right?” she says, gesturing around the space.
I nod and take out my notepad and pen out of my apron. “What can I get you?” My voice is shaky.
Without hesitation, she replies, “Burger, fries and a chocolate shake, please.”
I stick the order in the kitchen window and turn back to her, leaning against the counter with my hip, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to look relaxed.
“Thanks again for getting me to the Glen a few weeks ago.” I know I sent it via text, but I still feel the need to say it in person, now that she’s here.
She waves a hand. “It’s not a big deal. I’m always down to rescue a damsel in distress.” She smiles and I let out a small laugh. I’m laughing with Regan fucking Brady. What is my world coming to? “What have you been doing with your break?” she asks.
I copy the motion she did earlier, indicating the diner. “This. I need to get some more money together for the parts I need to fix my truck. It’s going to cost more than I originally thought,” I tell her.
“I can help you get the par—” I cut her off before she can finish.
“No!” It comes out a bit harsher than what I was intending. She’s just done so much already. I can do this on my own, just like everything else.
“Alright,” she says, conceding. “I just wanted to offer.”
Guilt hits me. I know she wants to help. I’m probably going to regret this, but here I am, I’m going to ask anyway.
“You can help with install, if you want. Two sets of hands are better than one, right?”
She perks up at my suggestion. My stomach dips as her face lights up. It fills me up to be the one to bring that smile to her face. It lights up the whole room, it pulls you in like a magnet, unable to resist the polarity.
“Sure, just let me know when you have the parts.”
The bell in the kitchen window sounds, followed by, “Order up,” from Stan the sous chef. I grab the plate and milkshake and place them in front of Regan. She thanks me, and I leave to attend to my other tables and bus a few others.
By the time I get back to where Regan is seated, she has finished her meal and I leave her the bill to pay.
I continue to take orders, take out some trash and clean up other tables that have since left.
She’s gone the next time I come by. I pick up her check and once again, she’s left a very generous tip.
It’s enough to cover the parts needed for my truck with some extra to put away for a rainy day.
Though I told her I didn’t want her help, the fact that she did it anyway sends warmth throughout my body.
Not in anger like the first time, but at ease.
It’s not a feeling I was expecting to have.
Ms. Rosa comes up next to me and gives me a little hip bump. I put the receipt in the drawer and look down at her.
“What?”
She raises her painted on eyebrows. “You know what, Dean. She’s a keeper.”
I scoff. “A keeper? Yeah, maybe in your dreams.”
“Mmhmm…You keep telling yourself that.” She pats my arm. “Now, get your head out of the clouds, table nine needs to be cleared.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say as I finish the rest of my shift.
Finally, I’m able to clock out, and though my bones are tired from a long day, I head to the cemetery to visit Daniel.
It’s almost the anniversary of his death.
I know my parents will be here the day of, so I usually try to come before or after so I don’t risk running into them.
Is it childish? Sure, but I’m sure they don’t want to see me, anyway.
I stand in front of Daniel’s tombstone, tears prickling my eyes. I hate that he’s not here, that I wasn’t there in his final moments. I was off living my own life, not thinking anything could happen to him. I’m so fucking selfish. I brush a tear away that escaped down my cheek.
“What’s up, little bro?” I say down at the stone. “Miss you like always and wish you were here.”
A breeze ruffles my hair; it’s getting long again, and it’s almost like it’s him telling me he’s here with me. I take in a deep breath of the warm summer air. This time of year was always Daniel’s favorite.
“I’m close to getting a spot in the Cup Series. Can you believe that? I’m close to fulfilling what we always wanted. I just need to get Brady out of the way.”
Another breeze, almost in response.
“I think I can beat her. I just wish you were here to see it happen. I miss you so fucking much, little bro. It’s not fair that I get to live out my dreams while you never got the chance to live out yours.”
More tears build behind my eyes, and I allow them to fall. I know deep down that there’s nothing I could have done to save him, even if I was there. Part of me wishes it was me in that accident and not him. He deserved the fucking world.
What do I deserve?
I remember everything from that day. I had a race that weekend, and I didn’t find out about the accident until the race was over.
My mom had called over and over; it’s not like I can just answer my phone while driving at one hundred and eighty miles an hour.
I could have visited him, it would have been tight, but I could have made it work, but I chose not to.
My career was in front of everything else, including him.
Now, my career is all consuming. If I don’t make it into the Cup Series, then what was the point of all of this?