“Calvin,” she called as I walked to the door.
I turned back, meeting her eyes.
“Don’t lose yourself on the track. It won’t bring them back.”
“I’ve been lost for years, Sis,” I said, stepping into the numbing cold once more and wondering if I would ever find my way home again.
Chapter Six
Trip
The flight to New Orleans felt longer than it should have, even though the skies were clear and the aircraft steady. I stared out the window, the ground below a patchwork quilt of cities and wilderness, each mile bringing me closer to the ghosts I had tried for years to outrun. My fingers tapped against the armrest, the motion a poor substitute for the rev of an engine or the grip of a steering wheel.
New Orleans greeted me like an old rival, with the humid air and the cacophony of life in the streets wrapping around me. I had always felt that the city had an uncanny ability to magnify whatever weighed on my soul. Stepping into a waiting cab, I directed the driver to a place I hadn’t dared to visit in years: the old racetrack where my career had started.
The sight of the track, now a shadow of its former glory, stirred memories I had locked away—the crowd roaring, the blur of competitors, my father’s gruff encouragement. Ansel had been there too, with his smooth talk and promises, the man who had offered me everything and taken so much more in return. I adjusted my leather jacket, my resolve hardening. I wasn’t here for nostalgia; I was here to make sure the deals Ansel brokered this time wouldn’t destroy another driver’s future.
As I walked the perimeter of the track, I felt a pull toward the garage where I had spent countless hours fine-tuning engines and chasing perfection. The smell of oil was gone, replaced by dust and decay, but the ghosts lingered. My eyes landed on anold car, its body rusted but unmistakable. It was my first ride; the one that had been my ticket to the big leagues. I hadn’t expected the sight to hit me as hard as it did. For a moment, the world fell away, and I was back in that seat, young and reckless, with the track stretching endlessly before me.
But memories weren’t why I was here. The sound of footsteps dragged me back to the present. I turned to find a familiar face smiling at me. “Had to see this shit for myself.”
Grinning, I walked over to the man and gave him a big hug.
“How ya been, Mitch?”
“Better than I deserve.” My father’s best friend and my former crew chief smiled at me, cupping my face. “God, kid, am I glad to see you. Heard about what happened in Virginia. You scared the crap out of me.”
I smirked. “Just keeping you on your toes, old man.”
Letting me go, Mitch took a step back and looked around my dad’s old garage. “So, you’re really going to do it, aren’t you?”
“Can’t let Ansel screw over another driver, Mitch,” I said, running my hands along the hood of my old stock car.
“C.C. is something else, that’s for sure.” Mitch chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Girl scared me so bad she gave me ulcers.”
Turning to look at Mitch, I asked, “Ansel’s driver is a woman?”
Mitch shook his head. “Been women driving the circuit for a few years now, kid. Best get that stick out of your ass fast.”
“Got no problem with a female driver, Mitch,” I said, then grinned. “As long as she can drive.”
Mitch laughed. “C.C. can do that and more. Girl’s got the gift.”
“She better than me?”
“She’s close. Ain’t seen a driver handle the track so well since you.”
“But?”
“But she doesn’t listen. She’s stubborn and makes mistakes. Mistakes that could get her killed if she’s not careful.”
“Like an engine seizing up while rounding the turn?”
Mitch slowly nodded. Taking a step forward, he spoke, “Look, Trip. Shit’s different now. All these new regulations and requirements. Ain’t like it was when you drove. Ansel’s hands are tied, and he knows it. I don’t know why he brought you back in, but watch your back.”
The tension in Mitch’s voice was palpable, and his caution danced on the edge of a warning. I could feel the weight of his words as they settled in the air between us. Racing had always been about more than just speed; it was a battlefield, demanding precision and respect for the machine and the track. I glanced toward the empty pit, envisioning the roaring engines and the precarious balance between control and chaos, when I heard bikes pull up.
“I swear to fucking God, Gator, you better keep Donut away from my wife!” I heard Scribe threaten. “I’ve got a knife and I’m not afraid to use it.”
