Page 38 of Ride Me Reckless
“I hope you guys pay on time,” I said, holding mine up to the Hale crew.
“You can count on us,” someone added, faux champagne cups held high.
The champagne was warm and tasted faintly of tires and metal, but I didn't care. For the first time in forever, we weren't running on fumes.
Hale Performance's deal wasn't huge by national standards, but it was enough to see us through the season. Enough to upgrade the trailer. Add parts we'd been duct-taping together for months. Enough to stop panicking every time we hit a gas station.
Enough to breathe.
We stepped outside into the late afternoon light. The track behind us shimmered with heatwaves and celebration, other racers toasting victories or plotting their next moves. But none of them had clawed their way here quite like we had.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Callie asked.
"That we might not have to siphon gas out of a lawn mower next week?"
She grinned. "That, and… we made it, Tess."
I nodded, but my smile faded quickly.
Because even in this high—this rare, golden win—my mind tugged at the loose thread I'd left back in Lovelace.
Mom.
"I need to call someone this week," I said quietly, running my thumb around the rim of my cup.
Callie didn't need to ask who.
"We've got room in the budget now," she said, sobering a little. "We can hire someone for your mom. Full-time care. Someone local."
I exhaled slowly, the idea as foreign as it was overdue. "Yeah. It's time."
A beat passed before Callie nudged me with her elbow, her voice softer. "Remember how she used to pick us up fromcheer practice in that big old Bonneville? Always blasting Shania Twain like we were headed to a honky-tonk instead of a nail salon."
I laughed, the sound catching a little. "She'd march us into The Gloss Barn and tell 'em to give us 'something fierce.' Even when we were twelve."
"She made us feel like queens," Callie said, her smile turning wistful. "First time you mentioned Colt, she looked over her sunglasses and said, 'Watch out for that one. Quiet boys will wreck you if you're not careful.'"
"She wasn't wrong," I murmured.
"Nope." She looked at me. "But she was right about something else, too—you were born to run fast and burn bright. She knew it. So did I."
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. No more excuses. No more pretending phone calls were enough.
Callie looped her arm through mine as we turned to head back toward our trailer.
The track buzzed behind us. The future stretched wide and paved with possibility.
And for just a second, I let myself believe I could outrun the past.
Soon, the sun was dipping over the raceway, casting shadows across the trailers and asphalt. Everything had a hazy gold tint, like the end of a good movie. Callie and I walked side by side lost in thought.
The champagne still buzzed in my blood, or maybe that was adrenaline. We were quiet for several minutes, letting the noise of the track fall behind us, just the soft creak of metal cooling and the occasional shout from the pit crews in the distance.
Then Callie said it—soft, casual, but deadly.
"What about Colt?"
My heart thrummed in my chest, but I kept my pace even.
