Page 21 of Rear View
“Told ya I’d see you soon, darlin’.”
A couple in their early fifties barreled inside, jacketshung over their arms, breathing hard like they’d run to get there.
“Baby!” the woman said as she took Ryah’s hand. “Are you alright?”
“I’m okay, Mom. Just waiting on some results.”
The man, her father if the resemblance meant anything, smoothed her hair back. “You scared us, sweetheart.”
My chest tightened. Family…one that gave a shit. I was glad she had that.
I moved off to the side, taking a spot by the window to give them room.
Miles followed, stopping beside me as we faced his sister. “The jerk that hit her really tried to run?”
“Yep,” I said, controlling the anger that tried real hard to take over my tone.
He clenched his hands by his sides. “Tell me you got a few licks in when you stopped him?”
My lip arced up at the corner. “Sure did.”
He gave me his fist, and I met it with my own.
The guy I pegged as Ryah’s dad looked up like he’d finally realized they weren’t alone. When he spotted me, his head drew back. “You look familiar,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Did I see you on the news last night?”
“Yes, sir.” I stepped forward, offering him my hand in a shake. “Xavier Bosch.”
He took it. “I’m Bill.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re that driver.”
I held my breath, ’cause he either respected what I did, or he didn’t. Things were about to go one of two ways: up, or off the rails.
“That’s me.”
He smiled nice and broad. “You’ve had quite a year.”
I lifted a shoulder. “We’re tryin’.”
His laugh was thick. “You made WRC3. I’d say you’re more than trying.”
“No way,” Miles said.
My brows ticked up and I gestured between them. “You two follow the sport?”
“Enough to understand,” Mr. Nolan said.
Ryah watched us like we talked some other language, and she was trying to figure out the words.
Zoya raised her hand. “What’s, uh. What’s WRC3 mean?”
“It means he’s moved into the World Rally Championship ranks.” Miles’s eyes fixed on me. “For a private team, right?”
“Yep.” Jesus, it was strange to have people recognize me…and show interest.
Mr. Nolan inclined his head. “That’s real good, son.”
Son. The word struck. My father’d used it too, always a taunt, so it hit different hearing it the way Mr. Nolan said it, with something like pride.
He shifted his weight to his back foot. “What do you have under the hood? Five hundred horsepower?”
