Page 108 of Aced (Driven 4)
Spinning.
Grass flying as I hit the infield.
Coming to a stop.
Taking a breath.
Hands stiff from holding tight to the seatbelts.
“Goddammit, Colton! Answer me.”
Sound comes back. Adrenaline takes over. My heart pounds. My mouth is dry.
But I’m fine.
“I’m good. Fine,” I rasp as my body starts to tremble from the aftereffects. “Fucked up the nosecone and front right side.”
“You’re good?” His voice is shaky.
“I’m good.” Well, I will be. After I have a stiff drink.
“Fuck, Colton! I told you to open her up, not tear her up and slam her into the goddamn wall!” he yells through the mic as I unpin the wheel to get out.
My chuckle fills the connection—the tinge of hysteria in it clear as fucking day.
I’m grateful for his comment. For getting me back to the norm when a part of me is so lost in my own head over shit I never allow myself to think about.
And yet sometimes when you’re forced to close your eyes, everything else becomes so much clearer.
“Colton?”
“Can I come in?” I look at my dad. There are so many things I want to say. No, need to say to him.
My mind hasn’t stopped since I left the track. The wreck made my mortality front and fucking center like never before. I have a kid now. Responsibilities. People that matter to me when before the only person I cared about besides my parents, Quin, and Becks was me, myself, and I.
I got out of the car needing to call Ry. Talk to her. Hear her voice. Get home so I could hold Ace. But know I can’t.
It was just another day at the track. I spun out. A job hazard. I couldn’t call her because even though she’s making huge strides, she’s still not one hundred percent, and I didn’t want to do anything to trigger her to pull away.
So I drove. Aimlessly. Ended up at the beach. Then drove some more. Checked in with Haddie to make sure Ry was good and ended up here. Fucking full circles.
“Come in. Everything okay? Ry and Ace?” he asks as I follow him into the house I grew up in.
“Yes. Yeah.” Shit. He’s worried. “Sorry. They’re fine. It’s all good.” We walk past the stairs I used to slide down on cardboard, and the liquor cabinet I used to sneak bottles from in high school. I focus on that shit because all of a sudden I’m antsy, nervous. Feel stupid for coming here but need to tell him nonetheless.
“It’s good to see you out and about,” he says.
“Haddie’s with Ry,” I explain when he doesn’t ask. “I had to get some time at the track.”
“How’d it go?”
“Good. Fine. Hit the wall.”
Fight or flight time, Colton. Say what you need to say.
“Colton?”
I snap from my thoughts. The shit that I’m here to say but have now
