Redeemed (Dirty Air #4)(117)

I use the throttle pad and brakes interchangeably, making it through the first lap without a problem.

I love the way my heart races in my chest. Love the feel of the tires shuddering beneath me, shredding apart as I complete each lap. It’s addictive to pass by the roaring Grandstands.

I love it all. Every ragged breath escaping my lungs, every curve of the track, every time my teammate gives me a hard time about passing him.

Lap after lap, I hold my third place while fighting off other drivers behind me. None get past me, but it’s not good enough.

I want more. For the kids who came to support me and for the woman who stood by my side through it all.

I inch up to my teammate. We drive in tandem through the long road before I go around the outside of his car and speed in front of his.

“Amazing! That’s what I’m talking about!” James hoots.

Adrenaline is my drug of choice. The rush is instant, and the feeling is unparalleled.

The engine rattles as I increase my speed. The throttle paddle works like a dream, and after all my practices, it’s second nature to me.

Elías remains the race leader in his gray McCoy car. He hugs the curves at every turn and centers himself during every straight.

I pull on the throttle, and my car speeds up behind him. His rear bumper is close, to the point where I can practically touch it with the tip of my front wing.

“Take it easy,” James adds through the team radio.

Everything about this is easy, and that’s what makes it all the more fun. I don’t care about landing on a podium anymore or becoming the best. All I care about is having fun and living my life.

Winning isn’t about a Championship title anymore. It’s about making me proud, no matter the outcome. Other people’s praise is only an added bonus now. Because in the end, I spent way too many lost years focusing on the opinions of people who didn’t matter.

Elías doesn’t hold back during the last few laps. I drive by his side, only to be pushed back into second place when we reach the next turn. He’s talented and a natural at defending. I can honestly learn a thing or two from his skills.

He passes the finish line less than a second before me. I raise my fist in the air and drive up to the Grandstand housing all the kids from earlier. Their screams grow louder as my car gets closer.

I force my car to do donuts on the track in front of them. Smoke rises from the burning tires, and the crowd goes wild. My smile doesn’t drop the entire time.

I don’t need my leg to race. All I needed was a dream, the courage, and a badass girlfriend who called me out on my shit time and time again. I needed someone to teach me how to accept that I wasn’t broken but lost.

Life isn’t about chasing the rush anymore. It’s about wanting to slow time down and enjoy every single second because I don’t want to miss a thing.

It took one chance encounter with a stranger to change my life. One person to make me realize that I can’t love someone else until I love myself. One dreamer who makes me want to wish in journals or on lucky stars or on damn dandelions for all I care.

One girl. One love. One forever.





Epilogue





Chloe





Two pink lines. That’s all it takes to change my life.

I shake the stick, as if it can make one of the lines fade away. “This isn’t a freaking Etch A Sketch, Chloe.” No, it’s just a positive pregnancy test.

Me. Pregnant.

“Holy shit.”

Wait, I can’t say shit anymore.

Oh my God. I’m pregnant. Like really, actually, ninety-nine percent pregnant, if the statistics on the drugstore pregnancy test are accurate. I instantly regret purchasing the test in advance and storing it in my bathroom because now I have no way to deny the facts.

I’m going to have a child with Santiago. I sink onto the cool tile of the bathroom because I don’t trust my legs at the moment.

How did this happen?

When two people have sex without—

Okay, obviously I know how it happened. But how did it happen so fast? Santiago and I just agreed to stop using condoms less than a few months ago. I mean, shit, we only got married this year. And after hearing Maya’s struggles about having kids, I anticipated it might take some time for us. But this? Seriously, what kind of magic sperm does Santiago have?

The hand that clutches the pregnancy test trembles. Shit. I’m really going to be a mom. Like I’m about to go from sex marathons and lazy Sundays to changing diapers, breast-feeding, and complaining to Brooke about how much it sucks to put a stroller in the trunk of a car while managing an infant.

“But what if I’m a terrible mother? What if they hate me because I mess up or think that I’m not as good as all the other moms in their class because I can’t cook, or bake, or even do much without fumbling—”

“Chloe, are you feeling okay? You left the dinner table in a rush.” Santiago’s voice carries through the closed door.

I left because my phone sent me an alert right in the middle of our dinner about missing my period two weeks in a row. Clearly, my tracking app has it more put together than me at the moment.

“Sure.” My voice croaks.

“Do you need any help?”

“Define what you mean by help?”

He coughs. “Well, umm, is there enough toilet paper in there?”