Crashed(book three)(102)

I don’t hear what Beckett says next because I’m too busy remembering our night before the race, our conversation, and the words fall from my mouth as I’m thinking aloud. “The blur.”

“The what?”

It’s when Beckett speaks that I realize I have in fact said it out loud and his voice shocks me from my thoughts. “Nothing,” I say. “What’s the third reason?”

“Never mind.”

“You’ve already said more than you should, why stop now?”

There is an uncomfortable silence and he starts and stops for a moment. “It’s nothing really. I was just going to say that in the past he’s turned to one of three things when he gets like this. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay. I get it—get him. In the past he turned to women or alcohol or the track when life got to be too much, right?” Becks remains silent and there’s my answer. “Well, I guess I should be lucky there was an opening at the track, right?”

Beckett belts out a laugh, and I can tell he’s relieved. “God, he doesn’t deserve you, Rylee.” His words bring a smile to my face despite the worry eating at my insides. “I just hope you both realize how much he needs you.”

Tears prick my eyes. “Thank you for calling, Becks. I’m on my way.”



I’m thankful that traffic is light as I speed to the track in Fontana, and that the security at the parking lot prevent the press from following me into the facility. I park the car on the infield and freeze as I hear the crank try to start the car. The engine roars to life, its sound echoing against the grandstands and vibrating in my chest.

I don’t know how I’m going to do this. How I’m going to be able to watch Colton, belted in and flying around the track, when all I can see in my head is the smoke and feel the fear? But I promised him I would be there the day he climbed back behind the wheel. Little did I know I’d get a call to collect on that promise when everything was unsettled between us.

But I can’t not be here. Because I keep my promises. And because I can’t stand the thought of him being out there without knowing he’s okay. Yes, we’ve not spoken and are confused and hurt, but that doesn’t mean I can turn my feelings off.

The motor revving again pulls me from my thoughts. My trepidation and the need to be there for him, for me, for my sanity, pushes me to put one foot in front of another. Davis meets me at the outskirts of pit row and nods as I take the hand he offers in greeting, before leading me to where Colton’s crew is working.

I stop when I see the car, the curve of Colton’s helmet in the capsule behind the wheel, Beckett’s body bent over him, tightening his belts as only Colton will let him do. I force my throat to swallow but realize there is nothing to ingest because my mouth is filled with cotton. I find myself going to worry the ring I no longer wear, out of nervous habit, and have to make do with clasping my hands.

Davis leads me up the flight of stairs to the observation tower above, much like the one I sat in while I watched Colton spiral out of control. Each step up reminds me of that day—the sound, the smell, the churning of my stomach, the absolute terror—each riser is another memory of the moments after the car hit the catch fence. My body wants to turn and flee, but my heart tells me I have to be here. I can’t quit on him when he needs me the most.

The pitch of the engine changes and I don’t have to turn and look at it to know he’s driving slowly down pit row toward the banked asphalt of the track. I stand in the tower, a few members of the crew focused on gauges reading the car’s electronics, but in the mere seconds I stand there, I can sense the nervous energy, can feel that they are as anxious about Colton being in the car as I am.