Page 121 of Truck Stop Titan

Tango snorted. “That’s because Dane is right behind her.”

Well, that was true. Dane Reynolds parted crowds everywhere he went.

Tito added, “They’ve seen her race. Those kids know they’re competing for second place.”

Tuuli, Tito’s wife, offered me a reassuring grin.

Tito was right, of course. Mim dominated every track on her practice runs. The girl was a natural, her bike more an extension of her body than a machine she commanded. A beautiful symbiosis.

I, however, was a ball of jumbled nerves, only able to stand because Slade was at my side, holding my hand.

Dane had been right about Mim. She loved to ride, she loved to work on her bike, and she loved to win. On her bike, on any track, Mim was in control, and with that control, under the tutelage of Dane, that little lady was a Titan.

Hence, the team name she wore with pride. Titan Racing. The name decorating the T-shirts we all wore. Even baby Lucia.

Mim and I had moved into the mansion last summer, but in the year that’d passed, with the therapy, her rides with Dane, and the adopted family surrounding us, Mim had conquered her demons, her night terrors gone, her fear of strangers a thing of the past. She’d even advanced a grade in school, and I couldn’t have been happier for the little angel.

The announcer’s voice blared over the speakers, words I couldn’t make out. Motorcycle engines revved. The gate dropped. Mim shot forward, claiming the lead, and keeping the lead. Number 7 challenged her on the third round, but lost ground when she leaned deep, taking a sharp turn, and cutting him off.

Everyone in the stands was on their feet screaming, Rocky the loudest, me in close second.

Slade squeezed my hand so hard my fingers numbed, but I didn’t care, because that wasmylittle girl crossing the finish line seconds before anyone else, and that wasmyman waiting for her past the checkered flag. And although I couldn’t see Dane, I knew there were tears in his eyes, because that big, scary, bad boy of mine had a heart softer and gooier than roasted marshmallows, and he’d bloomed and grown right alongside Mim. And while I jumped and screamed and cried, celebrating for Mim, Slade squeezed my hand hard enough to crack bones, and when I looked to my left, to beg her to let go, my new best friend was holding her big round belly with her free arm, and bending forward, her face red and pinched.

“Slade?”

She made a weird sound.

“The baby?”

She nodded.

The cheering died down, allowing my voice to rise above the whoops and hollers. “Tango! Tango!” Stretching my free arm around Slade, I poked Tango’s ribs.

He looked down, his eyes going wide when they landed on his wife. “Oh, shit.”

Like he was a hot potato, Tango passed Rocky to Tito, who’d been looking the other direction, thereby nearly dropping Rocky on his head between the bleachers. Thank the good Lord above, Tucker had been standing behind Tito. He caught Rocky by the ankles, sparing him a nasty fall, and possibly a broken neck. Lucia, who had been sitting between Aida and Lettie, laughed at her dangling cousin and pulled his hair, dancing the way only a toddler with baggy diaper butt could dance. Unfortunately, she’d shared a frozen fruit pop with her uncle Tango, and her sticky fingers tangled in her cousin’s thick black mane.

Meanwhile, my purple fingertips were about to pop from the pressure, but the moment Tango wrapped his arms around Slade, she relaxed and released my hand.

“It’s time?” Tango asked.

“Yep.”

“T, it’s time!” he yelled over his shoulder, guiding a very pregnant Slade down the three wooden steps.

“Time for what?” Rocky shouted, still upside down, Aida pulling his hair from Lucia’s fingers one by one, spewing unpleasant words under her breath.

“The baby! Mom’s about to have the baby!” Tango yelled, his voice shaking.

It was then that Charlie, the Truck Stop’s jolly chef shouted, “Yeehaw” and barreled down the steps, scooping Slade up like a bulldozer, and heading toward the parking lot.

“Charlie! What the fuck? That’s my job,” Tango protested, laughing, but yanked his keys out of his front pocket nonetheless and ran ahead.

“I can’t get her fingers out of his hair.”

Tucker sat, laying Rocky across his lap. Lucia giggled, then punched Rocky with her free hand. “We need to go. Anyone got scissors?

“No! You can’t cut my hair,” Rocky cried.

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