As the sound of the engine grew louder, my heart began to race. I knew that sound—the distinct, high-pitched whine of an engine under strain. My eyes widened as I realized the severity of the problem. This was more than just a minor issue; it was a potential disaster waiting to happen. I watched, transfixed, as the car sped towards the finish line, my parents still unaware of the impending danger. The engine screamed in protest, and I could almost feel the strain on the gears, the metal protesting as it was pushed beyond its limits.
Then, suddenly, the unthinkable happened.
With a deafening crack, the engine blew. Shrapnel flew in every direction, and the car careened out of control.
I stood, frozen in horror, as the car spun to a stop. Silence descended, thick and heavy, and then the pit crew was running, shouting, a chaotic blur of motion.
I forced my legs to move, my heart pounding in my ears as I sprinted towards the car. My eyes frantically searched for my parents, and I caught sight of my dad turning to look at me right before the car blew in a fiery explosion.
My heart dropped as I watched the car come to a violent stop. The once-cheerful night now felt eerie and haunting, the silence deafening. I broke into a run, my eyes fixed on the car, my mind racing with fear and worry. As I drew closer, I couldsee my parents still inside, my dad’s body slumped over the steering wheel, and my mom, unmoving. Everyone must have heard the explosion, because men and women raced to get to the car.
My pit crew reached the car before me, their voices a blur of panic and urgency. I pushed through, desperate to get to my parents.
“We need to get them out of the car!” I shouted, my voice hoarse with fear as someone grabbed me from behind.
“They’re gone, kid!” I vaguely heard Mitch say as the fire crew tried to put out the fire.
My legs carried me forward, my breath coming in sharp gasps as I struggled to process what I was seeing. The car, once a symbol of my triumph, now lay mangled and charred, the engine’s explosion leaving little chance of survival for its occupants. I felt a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off, my eyes remaining fixed on the car. My mind, trained to assess and solve problems, searched for any sign of life, any movement that would indicate my parents were still with me. But the silence was absolute. The pit crew worked efficiently, their faces grim as they, too, realized the gravity of the situation.
As I stood there, numb with shock, the reality of what had happened sank in. My dad, my biggest supporter, and my mom, always there with her warm smile and encouraging words, were gone. The car, which had been my passion and my pride, now seemed like a cruel irony. It had taken away the very people who had cheered me on and shared my dreams. I felt a surge of anger and denial, wanting to scream at the unfairness of it all. But my voice failed me, caught in my throat as the weight of my loss bore down.
The crew carefully extracted my parents from the wreckage, their movements respectful and somber. I wanted tolook away, but I couldn’t. I owed it to them to bear witness, to acknowledge the sacrifice they had made. As they were laid on stretchers, I fell to my knees, my body shaking with grief. I felt a hand on my shoulder again, and this time, I welcomed the support. It was Ansel, his face pale and drawn, his eyes reflecting the same anguish I felt.
“I told you to leave it alone, Calvin.”
Looking up at my best friend, I whispered, “What?”
“What happens next is on you,” he said cryptically before turning to walk off.
Jumping to my feet, I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “What the fuck does that mean? My parents are dead, asshole. I told you something was wrong with the engine, but you didn’t believe me!”
Ansel’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as he stood firm against my accusation. “You think I wanted this to happen? You pushed too hard, always chasing perfection, ignoring the risks, and now it’s cost you big time.”
His words struck me like a hammer, each syllable a blow to my fragile shield of anger. I wanted to argue, to lash out at him, but the truth was, deep down, I knew he wasn’t entirely wrong. My obsession had blinded me, made me reckless. But admitting it now? It felt like a betrayal to the memory of my parents, to the dreams we had built together.
“Don’t you blame this shit on me. I told you something was wrong with the engine. My dad believed me. We found debris in the oil, Ansel,” I spat, my voice trembling. “I needed answers.”
Ansel took a step back, his expression a mix of frustration and pity. “Answers? You think answers will bring them back?”
I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. “Fuck you, Ansel.”
“There was an inquiry and investigation. In the end, the circuit called it an accident, but the damage was done. Ansel distanced himself from me, and I never sat behind the wheel again.”
“No one ever found out what caused the engine to blow?”
I shook my head. “Not that I’m aware of. But I know what I felt that night. I felt it again when Sarah and Banks looked in your engine.”
Sighing, C.C. leaned forward. “I don’t know what to say here, Trip. Like you, racing is my life. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I know something is off with the engine. I’m not stupid, and I’m willing to give you some leeway here, but I’m not giving up my dream.”
“I know.”
Chapter Thirteen
Trip
“So what do we do? Because opening day is a few months away, and I plan on driving in that race.”
I exhaled a shaky breath, my mind racing faster than any car I’d ever driven. “I need to take the engine apart. Completely. Every gear, every bolt. I know it’s asking a lot, but if there’s even a chance I’m right...”
