Spinning Out

Chapter 14

ELIJAH

I wish I could reassure her she's safe. I can feel the tension coming off her body from my seat. We are in the dark parking lot behind the large business in the warehouse section of the city. I parked us far away from other people because I didn't want the scene to overwhelm her like the car meet. Things happen fast around here and once we walk up to where the cars are, it's going to be crowds and yelling and really loud engines.

"We can leave whenever you want," I tell her.

She nods her head and watches as my hand unclips her seatbelt. I have a feeling this has something to do with her last Instagram picture and the reason she's always at the hospital. It's none of my business though, so I don't ask. If she wants to learn about cars and racing, I can show her a few things. Also, I don't want her learning from anyone else. In this world there are people with common sense, and people without. You don't want to get yourself in the wrong group.

"What if the cops come?" she asks as I pull her out of the car.

I stand in front of her, our bodies close together and put my hands on each of her upper arms. "Listen, if this scares you so much, why are you doing this?" I ask.

She steadies herself and I watch as the mood shifts in her eyes. She grows determined. "I need to learn."

I slowly move my hands down her arms. "If the cops come, we leave. They aren't coming after us."

I motion with my chin in the direction of the crowd forming beneath the street lamp at the end of a very straight strip of road. "It's right there," I tell her. People are swarming the area, but the crowd is more controlled than at the meet. These people have been doing this a long time.

Two 1972 C10's are lined up at the end of the strip. The smell of the racing as is in the air as their engines idle. The drivers are outside the trucks with the hoods open, looking inside at each other's work. This must be a friendly race. Money is exchanged still, even though it's done stealthily. Someone not racing hangs on to it. This doesn't always happen, but tonight is a chill night and there doesn't seem to be any contemptuous feelings. Nothing but respect here and a little friendly competition. I know both drivers.

I lead us to the top of one of the grassy hills that frame the road. We are right where the cars will start. It's not normally my favorite place, but it feels like the safest for her. If either driver loses control, it will be once they have already passed us. The men shake hands and the people still walking from their cars hurry their pace to not miss this first run. With people all around us, I reach for Jaina's hand so I don't lose her.

"Get ready, it happens fast," I say near her cheek so I'm sure she can hear me above the revving. A few people in the crowd make eye contact with me and nod in acknowledgement. Some of these men I've been around since I was little. There are some faces here I don't recognize of course. Often, crews from other towns roll in and want to test their builds against the locals. Our spots might be hard to find, but not if you know what you're doing and connect to the right person. My dad told me people have been racing here since he was a kid.

Her hand tightens in mine almost unconsciously as the drivers close their doors. The signal is given, and they take off. This road is a quarter mile long with no turns. While I'd like to think that is just a coincidence, in the fifties when this was built, one of the leading racing teams had their garage built here. I imagine they had something to do with the layout of these parking lots.

Cars have blocked off the entrance to the street and also the exit, but rarely are cars here after normal work hours unless they are here to race or watch. I know the cops know about this street, but I don't think they care much about it as long as it keeps the racers off the main highways and streets in the town.

In just seconds, the race is over. Smoke pours from the engine of one truck and I know that just cost the driver a lot of money. We'll probably be seeing him tomorrow at the shop. I send a quick text to my dad and tuck my phone back in pocket just in time to watch a 1969 Camaro pull up to race next.

We stay a few races. In between, people wander over and chat with me about engines, the shop, and my dad. Jaina stays at my side quietly taking it all in. After a while she leans up so I can hear her as she asks, "So this is it?'

It makes me laugh. It seems very exciting to me, but I guess it doesn't impress her.

"Yes. This is it," I tell her.

"It's not what I thought it would be," she tells me.

"What did you think it would be?" I have to shout over the next two cars on the line.

"I thought it would be like the street take-overs," she said.

My brows pinch together and I'm confused.

"These people would never do the take-overs like that. They have thousands of dollars wrapped up in these cars. The cars at the take-overs are nothing like these. It's an entirely different idea," I tell her.

She nods and seems relieved. "I'm glad you don't do that," she says. And now I have to know.

"Does this have something to do with your Instagram post? Something to do with the hospital?" I ask. My face is brushing hers so we can hear each other. Her body is close to mine. The rumble from the cars drowning out anything but our voices as she answers.

"Yes," she says. Then she pulls back to look me in the eye.

"Tell me, I want to hear it."

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