Page 7 of Forsaken Oath

The side of his mouth hooks into a grin. “Since she was interested? Fuck, probably like ten. Since she started blatantly hitting on you? I don’t fucking know. You tell me.”

“Lost count.”Too fucking long.

I was sixteen the first time Callie Sharpe propositioned me outside of a race. I turned her down then, and I’ve been doing it ever since. It’s fucking exhausting.

“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth,” Graham mutters as we make our way to our cars, side by side. His dark eyes gleam with concern, and he pushes his hands into his pockets, looking every bit the laid-back mastermind he is.

I glance at him, the hint of a smile fading as that familiar ache returns. I shake it off and clap him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry so much, bro. In two months from now, we’re gonna be swimming in cash.”

He lets out a huff of dry laughter. “I’m not worried about money.”

The cool night air hits my face, sharp and bracing. Clearwater isn’t Avalon Falls, but there’s something about it that feels familiar in the way a lot of small towns do.

I chuckle, shaking my head. I know exactly what he means, but for now, we’re good. “One day she’ll learn.”

“Or one day, she won’t,” he replies, eyes glinting with that knowing look he gets. He claps me on the back, and for a moment, the weight of his hand is grounding.

“Headed home?” I ask, watching the way his gaze shifts, assessing, always calculating.

“Yeah. You?”

I spin my hat around, letting the sun warm my face. Going back to the quiet house feels a little more depressing than I can stomach. “Think I’ll take the scenic way back.”

Graham’s grin turns wry. “Wouldn’t expect anything less. Try not to find too much trouble, yeah?”

“Me? Trouble?” I give him a crooked smile, one that’s half true and half bullshit.

He shakes his head, the laughter in his eyes as familiar as our shared history. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you later, man.”

With that, he’s gone, leaving me standing alone on the curb. The air hums with life, but it feels distant, like a song I used to know the words to but can’t quite remember.

I climb into my car and start driving. The wind swirls around me, and the road stretches out before me, dark and endless.

There’s an ache inside me I can’t quite name, a need for something that feels real in a way that hosting races and throwing money around never will. Two years ago, I thought I’d found it in the roar of an engine and the thrill of crossing the finish line first. Now? Now, I’m not so sure.

Tonight, I’ll drive until the road runs out, and maybe I’ll get lucky.

3

ELOISE

The sun hangslow in the sky as I drive down a narrow road, grass fields stretching endlessly on either side. The colors of the evening are soft, the light melting into shades of pink and purple, casting a warm glow. It’s nice on this side of Oak Creek. Not much smaller than Avalon Falls, but somehow, it feels completely different.

Or maybe that’s just my perception. It’s such a funny thing, tinting our view and tarnishing memories. Avalon Falls represents a lot of things for me, and I have to remind myself that not all of them are bad.

For every shitty memory I have with my mother in my hometown, I have ten more good ones. With my sisters, my friends, even Seven Pines—those assholes throw a mean barbecue.

Born and raised in Avalon Falls, I used to dream about leaving it all behind for a big city. When I was younger, I had grand plans of moving to New York City and having some fancy life. But that was probably a byproduct of too many episodes ofGossip Girl. I thought of myself as a Serena—charismatic and free-spirited. But somewhere along the way, I realizedI’m actually a Jenny. The girl who fights tooth and nail for everything, who’s never had anything handed to her.

Margot is a total Serena though. And Vivie’s too young yet.

The air is thick with the hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of a breeze pushing through the fields. I roll my window down a little more, the scent of fresh-cut grass and wildflowers filling the car.

I pass another sun-bleached sign for the Oak Creek Drive-In, and a moment later, the road opens into a huge clearing. A giant outdoor screen takes up one side of the clearing, plenty of space for cars to park in front of it, and a smattering of food trucks and a diner on the opposite side.

There’s a decent crowd—more cars than I expected. Lots of pickup trucks, people setting up the beds with coolers and blankets. I whistle under my breath in appreciation when I see one couple fitting an air mattress into the back of their black pickup. Other people unfold lawn chairs in front of their cars and set up little card tables for food and drinks.

I slowly cruise down the aisles, scanning for the perfect spot. My blacked-out Mitsubishi garners some curious glances, even a few sneers, and for a single second, I feel a little self-conscious about it. But then I remember that this is the only thing I have left of my father, and I’ve spent too many years worrying about other people’s opinions about women in fast cars.

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