The Lovely Reckless(72)

Away from here.

Cruz puts her hand on the dashboard for support. “Are you crazy? Or do you want to end up in jail, too?”

The gearshift slides from fourth to fifth gear, and we pass the recycling plant where Cruz coached me before the race.

“Where are you going?” she asks. When I don’t respond, she smacks her hand against the dash. “Frankie? Answer me or pull over.”

“To V Street.” I wasn’t sure until now.

“For what? Did you hear something at the police station?”

“I need to drive.” Fast and hard—if I want to outrun the feelings that will break my heart when they catch up with me.

“Pull over.” Cruz isn’t screwing around, but I can’t stop.

My hands tighten on the wheel. “If I keep moving, nothing will change. Everything will be okay.”

“Why isn’t everything okay?” Cruz sounds calmer, as if she sees the hurricane churning around me.

Headlights flicker in the distance.

“Because my dad is a cop.”

Cruz falls back against the seat, her eyes wide. “You’re bullshitting me, right?”

The gas pedal vibrates under my foot. The rest of my body is numb. “He works undercover on an auto theft task force. He’s the one who busted Marco.” My voice cracks. “And he used me to do it. Marco met me at my mom’s house, and my dad followed him after he left.”

Up ahead, a row of cars form a path to the strip of asphalt the street racers use as a track. I downshift, and the car slows to a normal speed.

“Does Marco know?” Cruz asks. Her voice sounds cold.

“Yes.”

She nods and stares straight ahead. “Did you set Marco up?”

Music pulses outside, but with the windows rolled up, we remain insulated—in a cocoon that’s unraveling around us.

“I would never do anything like that to Marco. I’m in love with him.”

Cruz sighs. “I had to ask.” She turns in her seat, and I feel her eyes drilling into me. “Your dad’s job was a big secret to keep from me. I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” I say.

“Friends are supposed to trust each other.”

“I do trust you, or I wouldn’t have told you. If anyone finds out he’s a cop—”

“I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Cruz ignores the people waving at her as we drive past the parked cars. “Sofia has nowhere to go if Marco ends up in jail.”

“Where is Sofia now? Is she alone?”

Cruz shakes her head. “Don’t worry. She’s at Miss Lorraine’s. She stays there on nights Marco races or … you know. Miss Lorraine thinks he’s working at the body shop after hours. What if he gets locked up, Frankie?”

“He won’t.” I pull over, my eyes trained on Video Game Girl as her arms drop and two cars launch down the street. “My dad isn’t charging Marco. He’s letting him go.” Darkness swallows the two cars, and I want to disappear, too.

“Why would he do that?” she asks.

“We made a deal. I stop seeing Marco and my dad lets him walk, as long as he doesn’t get into any more trouble.” I roll down the window.

The smell of burnt rubber and exhaust reminds me of the night I raced Cruz’s car. With my feet on the pedals and my hand on the gearshift, the outside world didn’t exist. I want that feeling again—the rush of driving over a hundred miles an hour. The distraction of vibrating floorboards and an engine revving in subtle ways that only I can hear.

“Marco will never go for it,” Cruz says finally.

“He will if I don’t tell him.” The next thought makes my throat burn, and I can’t hold back the tears. “I’m going to end it.”

Cruz sucks in a breath. “Without telling him why?”

The street racers return to the starting line.

“It’s the only way to protect him … and Sofia.” Saying the words steals whatever false hope I have left. I’ll never kiss Marco again or feel his arms around me.

“I want to race your car.” I curl my fingers around the wheel. Losing myself—blocking out the pain—it’s the only way I’ll survive giving him up.

“You’re bawling, and you want to race?”

I wipe my eyes on the bottom of my shirt. “Yes.”

“This is a bad idea. You’re losing your shit right now, and you aren’t thinking straight. The race against Pryor wasn’t the way things normally go. He gave you a car length, and he was driving an unmodified car.” She points at the racing strip. “You won’t get those odds twice.”

“I don’t care.”

Cruz shakes her head. “You can’t just race for fun. You’ve gotta put up money or a car—and if you think I’m letting you bet a car that doesn’t even belong to me—”

“I’ve got money.” I pull a wad of bills out of my bag.

“Do you always carry around that much cash?”

“I brought it in case we needed it for bail.”

Cruz holds out her hand. “How much?”

I give her the money, and the bills unfold into a crumpled mess in her palm. “Two hundred.”