Page 49 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

I want to believe her. Hell, do I ever. But the doubt gnaws at me, a cancer eating away at everything I thought I knew.

“And if we can’t?” The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I need to get them off my chest.

She reaches out, her hand on my arm. The touch burns through me, grounding me in a way nothing else can.

“Then we go down swinging,” she says, fierce and beautiful and everything I don’t deserve. “Together.”

I look at her, really look at her. This woman has stood by me, believing in me when I can barely believe in myself. And something shifts inside me, a spark of hope in the darkness.

“All right, Lo. Together,” I repeat, the word a promise.

We’ve got one hell of a fight ahead of us. Chad, the media circus he’s spun up, the whole fucking world—they’re all gunning for us now.

I take a deep breath, the air heavy with the scent of rubber and gasoline. It steadies me and reminds me who I am. What I’m fighting for.

“Okay,” I say, squaring my shoulders, forcing down the panic that threatens to rise. This isn’t the time for fear, for doubt. “We need a plan.”

Lola nods, all business now, her focus laser-sharp, the way I need her to be. “First things first, we need to figure out Chad’s source. If we can discredit it?—”

“That’s not going to fucking happen,” I cut her off, my voice hard, the reality of the situation sinking in. I don’t know who his source was back in high school, but they are likely long gone now, a ghost from a past I can’t erase. The evidence, whatever it is, is out there. Denials won’t cut it.

“We need to go on the offensive,” I say, my mind already strategizing, shifting gears like I’m on the track, fighting for position. “If we can’t bury the story, we discredit the messenger.”

We head back to the garage, purpose in our steps. The team’s still there, faces grim but determined. They’ve been through hell with me before – crashes, scandals, the relentless pressure of the racing world. This is just another lap in a race we can’t afford to lose.

“Marcus,” I bark, my voice taking on the sharp edge of command, "I need you to find someone who can dig into Chad’s financials. Any unusual transactions, any connections to my old man’s circle. Anything.”

He nods, already pulling out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen. “On it, boss.”

“Gene, reach out to our sponsors. We need to know who’s still with us and who’s wavering.”

“You got it,” he says, his voice gruff but loyal, the unwavering support a lifeline in this storm.

I turn to Lola, our eyes meeting in silent understanding. We’ve always been good at reading each other, anticipating the next move, on the track and off. “We need to set the story straight. Set up interviews with carefully selected outlets. We control the narrative from here on out.”

She’s already tapping away on her tablet, her brow furrowed in concentration, her mind a weapon as potent as any engine. “I’ve got a few ideas. We’ll need to be strategic, hit the right notes… play the sympathy card, emphasize how this is affecting you, the team…”

As she talks, laying out a battle plan with the precision of a four-star general, I feel something settle in my chest. A calm in the eye of the storm, the thrill of the chase.

This is what we do. We face impossible odds. We stare down defeat. And we fucking win.

“One more thing,” I say, my voice cutting through the buzz of activity, silencing the whispers and anxieties swirling in the garage. Everyone stops and looks at me, their faces a mixture of apprehension and hope.

“Chad thinks he’s got us on the ropes,” I continue, feeling a grin spreading across my face, fierce, determined, maybe a little crazy. I’ve been backed into a corner before, forced to fight my way out. And I’ve always come out swinging. “He thinks he’s won. Let’s show that son of a bitch what happens when you corner Cole Lawson.”

The energy in the room shifts, determination hardening into something more. Something dangerous.

Lola steps up beside me, her hand finding mine. She squeezes once, hard. “Let’s get crazy.”

I look around at my team—my family—and see the fire in their eyes, the loyalty that goes beyond any paycheck.

“Let’s get crazy,” I repeat, feeling the adrenaline start to pump. “We’ve got a reputation to save and a race to win.”

As everyone springs into action, I catch Lola’s eye one more time. There’s a promise there, unspoken but real. Chad Tane might have landed the first punch, but I’ll be damned if I don’t land the last. This is my legacy, my life’s work. And I’m not giving it up without one hell of a fight.

The storm’s coming, and I am the aftermath.

I’m knee-deep in damage control when my phone buzzes. Unknown number. I almost ignore it, but something makes me answer.

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