Page 74 of Whispers and Wildfire
If the crowd cheered as I completed the first lap, I didn’t care. I flew by, my focus intense, hints of red at the corners of my vision. Dust hung heavy in the air and my engine roared as I gunned it along the straightaway.
I kept the lead through the S-curves on the second pass. Sweat dripped down my temples and my jaw started to ache from clenching my teeth. I wasn’t racing the other drivers. I was racing Melanie. And that fucking Hank guy. What a dick. Why would she go out with a guy like that? What the hell did she even see in him?
And why did I care?
So much dust was in the air, it was hard to see. We hadn’t had rain in ages. I lost the lead for most of the third lap andpushed hard to get it back. Fuck those guys. Fuck it all. I hit the gas on the next turn, determined to overtake them.
My control was slipping. The tires felt like they weren’t gripping the track, and my usual sense of elation was nowhere to be found. My muscles were tense, my hands sweating, and my heart beat fast. With a roar in my throat, I started to surge ahead. Two more laps. I could make it.
Without warning, the world went crazy. The back end of my car jerked to the right, and I lost all sense of direction. Everything spun as my body slammed around the cab. Pain exploded across my chest, and I couldn’t get any air.
Just as fast, everything stopped.
For a second, I couldn’t move—couldn’t even breathe. In a panic, I threw off my helmet and tried to suck in air. It felt like my chest had caved in.
My car door opened and dusty air billowed in. That didn’t help the breathing situation, but I could tell I wasn’t choking. I’d just had the wind knocked out of me. Logically, I knew my diaphragm would stop spasming and I’d be able to breathe. But the seconds felt like minutes as I struggled for air.
“Get him out! Get him out!”
Someone reached over me and unfastened the seat belt. Voices came out of the darkness, shouting questions. My body finally let me take a breath and I held up a hand for them to give me a second.
“Get him out of there,” someone said again.
Arms reached in to pull me out, but I waved them off. My brain registered pain, but I was still too busy trying to breathe to recognize where it was coming from. I got out and stood. Legs worked. That was good.
I took a few more labored breaths before I could speak, and when I did, my voice was a low croak. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
My head spun. I’d crashed. I’d fucking crashed my car.
“Luke!” Kyle ran up to me. “Holy shit. Are you okay?”
“Of course he’s not okay, genius,” someone snapped. “He just wrecked.”
“I’m fine.” I was vaguely aware of a guy with a fire extinguisher. “Is the car on fire?”
“No, man, no fire,” someone said.
I nodded. That made sense, considering I was still standing right next to it.
“Did you have your helmet on?” he asked.
Still trying to catch my breath, I nodded again. “Took it off after.”
A flurry of activity surrounded me, but it was hard to focus. Something hurt. A lot. What was it? My diaphragm was starting to work again, so I could breathe. I was standing, so it wasn’t my legs. I fisted my hands a few times, opening and closing them, then extended my arms.
Probably just bruises from being knocked around in the cab.
“They’re going to get your car out of the way,” Kyle said. “You sure you’re okay? Maybe you should get checked out.”
“No.” I put up a hand and took a step. “I’m—”
A wave of pain across my midsection made me gasp. I’d been about to say I was fine, but I was not fine. Clutching my ribs, I doubled over, groaning.
“Is Mike here? He’s a nurse, isn’t he?” someone asked.
“Don’t take him to the hospital,” someone else said. “He’ll rat us out.”
“He won’t rat us out, you idiot.”
