He thought about it for a moment. Something felt different. Everything felt different since Cady showed up at his door, strong and courageous. For the first time, he would go to the track without an expectation for a particular outcome. Somehow, one one-hundredth of a second didn’t feel like the weight of all eternity on his shoulders. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s a good night for a run.”
They drove out to the airfield, and turned into the pit. A rectangle of light shone through the open doorway to the hangar, and some joker had put a light-up Santa and reindeer on the hangar’s roof, with Rudolph’s nose flashing like a warning beacon. Shane and Finn were there, tinkering with one of the other McCool racer’s cars.
“Hey,” Shane said warmly, exchanging the now familiar fist clasp and shoulder bump. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Conn shrugged out of his denim jacket and into his racing coat. “I’m feeling good tonight. And I’m too stubborn to quit.”
Shane tossed him the keys. “The weather’s perfect. Go get ’em, tiger.”
He couldn’t really explain what was different. The answer was nothing and everything. The car was exactly the same as the last time he drove it, the night Cady sent her Audi flying down the track, a maniacal grin on her face. The weather was nearly identical. But at the same time, everything was different inside him. No matter the time on the board, tonight was his last run.
He rolled up to the warming strip, shifted into first, set the parking brake, and revved the engine. Roiling, oily smoke rose above the rear end. He got a thumbs-up, released the brake, and rolled forward.
Aside from a few heated hours with Cady, he’d never been so present in his body, so comfortable in his own mind. It was, he realized, because he was alone in his mind. All the shame he’d been carrying around, the voices of his family members saying it was time to go, time to pack up and move to the next sofa or partially furnished spare room or, worse, a room crammed with hoarder’s crap were gone.
For the first time, he was racing for himself.
When the lights ticked down to green, he floored the accelerator and shot down the runway. A black watch cap over honey-colored hair caught his eye as he whipped past the bleachers. It was another detail, another stream coursing into the river of time carrying him along. The seconds felt elastic, like he had all the time in the world, could hear every revolution of the motor and drive shaft. Each shift felt magical, crisp and clean. Flow. Perfect, perfect flow.
Nine point nine-nine flashed up on the clock. When he rounded the corner to crawl back to the line of cars waiting for their run, Shane and Finn were going berserk, jumping and shouting, fists pumping in the air. People on their way to and from the concession stand made a wide circle around the two of them, turning from spots in the stands to stare, because Shane put the cool in McCool. It wasn’t a great time, but they knew what it meant to him. He’d tied his dad.
Shane jogged up to meet him at the back of the line. “Yeah!” he shouted as he leaned into the window. “Nine point nine-fucking-nine!”
“Nailed it!” Finn shouted from behind him.
“You going again?” Shane asked.
He looked over at Cady. Tears stood in her eyes, but she lifted her fists over her head and pumped them twice. “Go again!”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Shane swatted affectionately at Conn’s helmeted head. “You own this tonight. Watch second. You still rush out of second.”
It didn’t matter if he did or didn’t have it. This was his last run. Nine point nine eight or not, he was setting down this burden and moving on. The only way to prove he was a better man than his father wasn’t to beat his time, but to be that man. With Cady, with her family, within the department.
Wait. Warm the tires. Wait some more. Watch the lights tick from red to orange to green, slowly, so slowly. Time had stretched and doubled back on itself. He had all the time in the world to step on the gas, shift through the Camaro’s range of gears. The engine purred like a kitten, a soft, sweet rumble in his chest.
He knew. Deep in his bones, in his heart, he knew. He didn’t even have to look at the clock, or turn to see Shane’s and Finn’s reactions. He could feel their energy all the way across the track. 9.97. He’d broken out. Disqualified.
Free.
He’d beaten his father’s time. The extra weight he’d been carrying was his shame, his loneliness, his fear of never belonging anywhere. He’d put down his demons and picked up Cady’s hand, trading the existential weight for a connection both weightless and stronger than steel.
He parked by Shane’s truck and got out of the car only to get rammed back into it from the force of Shane’s hug. Finn was applauding wildly, the sound muffled by the thick gloves covering his hands. Was this how Cady felt at a concert, this kind of exuberant, wild energy coming at her from the audience? Incredible.
“Damn,” Shane finished. “Just … goddamn. You did it.”
“I did.” Conn bounced the keys gently in his palm. Then he caught Finn’s eye and tossed them to him.