Page 11 of Rush

The automatic coffee machine beeps like it does every morning, ready to go once my alarm goes off. This morning, though, I’m up way before my alarm, and I don’t even need the hit of caffeine. Instead, I make my way out of my closet, buttoning my jeans and pulling my long-sleeve shirt over my head. My hair is still damp from the shower, but thankfully we haven’t slid into Michigan’s freezing temps yet, so I’m not worried about it. Once again, my eyes find the clock above the kitchen sink, and my jaw clenches. It's only seven. I still have an hour to wait before I can drive across town and pick up my baby girl. She’s only been gone for sixty-four hours, but already I miss her little dimpled smile, her dark brown eyes just like mine, and the way her chubby, grabby fingers reach for me, before sliding over the scruff on my jaw line when I hold her. Two years ago, if anyone had told me I’d be a girl-dad someday, with my counters covered in glitter and my fridge a mirage of rainbow-colored doodles and hand print art in the shape of farm animals, I’d have laughed. But that's how fate played out and I’m a lucky bastard for every second of the hand it's dealt me.

Deciding to put the extra time to good use, I slip on my shoes before grabbing my wallet and keys from the stand next to the door. Right as I’m locking up, the main garage door groans as it opens and slowly my brother’s frame comes into view. My feet hit the bottom step right as he steps into the open space. His dark brow rises, and he glances at the watch on his wrist.

“Little early, isn’t it?”

I shake my head in denial. “I have a stop to make on the way. It’s been long enough.”

I can tell that Johnny understands my double meaning with the way his smile ticks up in a knowing grin. He knows me well and how much I hate being apart from my daughter. After all, he's been in on my plans for the past year and a half, once we got everything off the ground and working. I’m thankful he even took the chance to help me get our second location open here in Michigan, at least until I can get a few more employees hired.

“Have you heard about when your next race is?” he asks, while handing me my backpack at the same time.

“Thursday night,” I tell him, while quickly looking in the bag to make sure I have enough wipes, extra Pull-Ups and snacks along with my books. “Delano said the payout would be around 50-60k.”

Johnny blows out a breath, his hands on his hips. “Well, that’s good news at least. You think you’ll be ready?”

My brow lifts as I look up, meeting his slightly concerned gaze. “Have I ever not been?”

My brother shrugs, and I can see the slight hesitation cross his features. “You also haven’t been this close to your goal before. If you aren’t in the right head space right now, you should cancel the race.”

I know he means well. Hell, he might even have a point, but I didn’t come this far to stop now. This race not only means a head start on next month’s bills for the garage, but it’s also my first race with a sponsor. Not the kind that gives me ad deals or sells my face on a t-shirt, obviously, but the kind that puts up money in order to double the winnings I receive. After racing a smaller circuit around Ohio, I earned a reputation with all my wins. During that year, I made petty cash, a few hundred here and there, which was helpful at the time. I appreciate the small start the Landing gave me. Then I met Romeo, and after one race, he wanted to sponsor me. Now I race the underground all over Chicago, Detroit, and in the winter months I’m often in Vegas or the outskirts of Southern California. Each of these races bring in thousands, sometimes hundreds of thousands in cash. Romeo takes a cut and I pocket the rest. I need the money. Johnny is right about that. I’m close to my ultimate goal. Finally being here in Michigan proves that.

I’m about to answer him when a text hits my phone. “It’s Dad.”

Johnny smirks and goes to grab a pair of coveralls from his locker. “Better answer the old man. He’s been wanting updates.”

My fingers tap open the message and several flood in.

DAD: John said the interviews are scheduled.

DAD: Will your class schedule conf

DAD: This damn phone. The buttons are too small for my fingers. Will your class schedule conflict with the shop hours? How about your time with Dylan?

“Just remember, it sounds like he’s hounding you, but he’s really just worried,” Johnny states when my hand tightens around my phone.

I exhale loudly, my head tipping back. Logically, I know my brother is right. Our dad means well. Ever since I told him about my impending fatherhood, he’s been nothing but supportive of every plan I’ve made, even when he thinks I’m crazy. He’s offered nothing but solutions to keep me going while balancing working at the garage, racing, taking classes online here and there for my degree, and raising my daughter. He kept things going for me when that included out-of-state travel, so I never missed my days with my baby girl.

Now that I’ve officially relocated, he’s become extra hover-y. You’d think now that the garage is up and running and I’m almost done with my classes that he’d calm down. This move only seems to have increased his worries.

ME: Johnny just got here to take over the call back for the day. Hoping to hire at least two extra right now. The community college worked with me to schedule around my time with Dylan and work. I only have about twelve credits left, so they’re willing to work with me. On my way to pick her up right now.

By the time I click out of my messages, I’ve lost ten minutes. “Shit. I have to go,” I tell my brother, slapping him on the back as I leave the garage.

“Give my niece a kiss from her favorite uncle!” he calls, and I wave him off as I slide into my truck.

The drive into town is surprisingly fast for a Monday morning and I manage to get in and out of the local coffee shop quickly. Armed with everyone’s favorites, I drive over to the apartment building. My stomach tightens as I let myself into the building and use the elevator to the front door. My skin feels tight with need and the still present underlying thrum of irritation from the weekend. This feels like the longest 64 hours of my life.

Using my free hand to knock on the door, I wait patiently for it to open. I’m early. About fifteen minutes early now, but I don’t care. There is physically no way I could wait. The door opens and a pair of hazel eyes hit mine.

“I hope you brought my favorite.” The sassy little teen reaches for the drink holder and I push down the twitch of my lips, fighting a grin.

“Depends,” I tell her, my own brow rising slightly.

She gives her head a small shake and winks at me. Our telltale sign that everything with her sister is good, meaning the date she had this weekend failed. My chest instantly loosens, and I feel myself become lighter.

“This is for you then,” I tell my favorite conspirator and hand her the creamy, pink concoction she likes to drink, with extra whipped cream on top.

“Dyl! You need your socks. I still have to do your pony!” Sam’s slightly exasperated voice fills the space, but her voice is soon drowned out by the happy squeal of the two-year-old toddler running right for me.