Page 8 of Sugar Coated Secrets

Chris didn’t take it well when I left before prom, leaving everything and everyone behind. He didn’t understand. No one did. But I had to do the right thing.

“Hey, did you just get in?”

I glance at the screen with the GPS. “I’m an hour away.”

“Where are you headed first so we can catch up?”

Trent has been working to open his garage since he graduated from high school. His dream was to fix cars, and mine was to race them.

“I have to pick something up.”

I didn’t plan to put my name on the order at Sugar Coated Sweets when Derek placed it or pick it up myself, but I needed to see her.

“Where to?”

“Nowhere important. I’ll meet you at the garage in the morning, and we can catch up. I’m jet-lagged and need some sleep.”

I can hardly keep my eyes open, but I need to see her. To make sure she is okay.

“No sweat, man. I can’t wait to catch up and have you around for a while. Until you get the itch to leave again anyway. See you tomorrow.”

“Alright, man. Later.”

I pass the welcome sign.Town of Airy Population 15,000. The sky is a backdrop of blue behind tall trees on the empty road. The sun blazes in the sky, and the rays on the blacktop make the surface appear like shimmering water. The air conditioner blows at full speed. I forgot how hot it can get.

I place the car in third gear, the engine emitting a deep growl. I press the accelerator and push it into fourth. The car leaps forward with the surge of power, the tires gripping the asphalt and the tress blurring.

The sudden flash of red and blue appears in the rearview mirror. A siren’s wail slices through the air.

“Fuck,” I mutter and let my foot off the gas, gearing down as I slow the car and pull over to the side of the road.

The police car stops behind me. I watch in the rearview mirror as the driver’s side door opens and the officer steps out.

I let out a frustrated breath and roll down the window.

“License and registration,” the officer says in a stern voice.

I hand him my license and the rental agreement.

“Do you know how fast you were going?” he asks, flipping over the rental agreement.

“Not really,” I say flatly, looking at him through my black Persol sunglasses.

“What are you in town for besides speeding?”

I chuckle sarcastically, looking straight ahead. “Come on, I wasn’t going that fast. I grew up here. I’m…visiting.”

“This isn’t a racetrack.”

Looking over, I see him reading the rental agreement and checking my ID. I hate cops. All racers hate cops.

“We don’t often get celebrities running through here. How long are you in town for?”

However long I want. Last time I checked, there wasn’t a time limit. It is a free country.

I zero in on his name tag. “I’m not sure, Officer Mays.”

Everyone in this town knows who I am. It’s all over social media that Ford Keller grew up in Airy, North Carolina.

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