Page 33 of Hunted: Season Two

The Kid’s head tilts just an inch closer to me as if wordlessly confirming my suspicions.

“Question is…which one.” A large huff is preceded by a stronger squint. “Most likely an F1 since you look like you’re pushing buttons versus actually shifting, and because you have a not-so-secret hardon for those.”

At that, he pauses to toss me an incredulous stare.

“Come on, Kid. I’ve damn near walked in on your jerking it to highlights more than once.”

An urge to laugh flashes on his face; however, he fights past it.

Resumes the wordless charting.

Hurts my heart again.

“I don’t think it’s Monaco. That one looks more like a fucked-up crab leg.”

He lets a small nod of agreement present itself.

“And I don’t think that shit’s Silverstone ‘cause that one looks more like a deformed bat.”

A second nod leaves him.

“Is it the one in Italy?” Scooting slightly closer to him is slyly done. “Not too far from Milan?”

The Kid nods once more yet doesn’t give me the answer.

It’s a challenge.

To remember.

Him.

Somethingspecial about him.

Pulling my lips to one side and then other is done repeatedly in contemplation until the answer finally nut taps me. “Monza!”

“The Temple of Speed,” he quietly adds, movements slowing down. “Racing there is all I wanted to do when I was kid.” Nostalgia effortlessly infiltrates his tone. “I wanted to be an F1 driver.” His stare remains on the drawing. “I wanted to race for Ferrari. I wanted to wear the red. I wanted tobea member of The Prancing Horse.” Seeing the corner of his lip perk up encourages mine to do the same. “Each night before bed, I would use my pillow like a steering wheel and race that course. And every night my mom was home, she’d stand in the doorway, wait for me to cross the finish line, and then cheer at my victory.” This time I manage to spot a droplet creeping down his cheek. “Afterwards, she’d tuck me in and swear she’d be there when I was all grown up, crossing the real thing.” Tears stick themselves pitilessly to his tone. “There was no doubt in her mind that I was gonna do something fucking great.”

My mouth twitches to respond but isn’t given the chance.

“But I didn’t.” Anger swiftly replaces anguish. “I haven’t.” He struggles to banish the tears in his voice. “And I won’t.” The Kid chucks the stick off into the distance towards her grave. “I’m just one…fucking…disappointment…I’m glad she doesn’t have to see.”

Swallowing my outrage is difficult yet necessary. At least for now. “Was um…Enzoa disappointment when his family business collapsed allowing him to search for a job in cars?”

“No, but-”

“Was he a disappointment when he retired and started a racing team of the best fucking drivers he could?”

“No, but-”

“Then he was a disappointment when he started selling sports cars to fund his racing dreams, right?”

“That’s not-”

“You must mean he was a disappointment when he decided to support a new car mag that featured car sports in a better way.”

“He wasn’t a disappointment!”

“And neither are you, Kid.” Kipp’s face instantly whips in my direction, clearly ready to fight and lash out and scream only to be met with a stoic expression. “You think just because you didn’t grow up to be what you thought you would means you haven’t done shit that matters?” His eyes attempt to dart away forcing mine to swivel to keep them hostage. “You’renaïve,not stupid.”

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