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I grab Maddie’s hand and lead her out of the trailer. “They’ll take him to the med center. Let’s go.”
Jake could not have done that on purpose, could he?
20-Jake
Sometimes, in your life, a decision looks like a good one. Right up until the moment you execute it. Then, you realize it’s fucking dumb as hell; only it’s too late to do anything about it.
This is one of those times.
I fucked up.
Badly.
I climb out of the car window and remove my helmet. Officials are already on the green with us, meaning the ambulance isn’t far behind them. I don’t even know who won the race—neither Boone Rivers nor me.
Boone’s car lies on its passenger side, and he’s still in it.
Shit.
I run towards him, only steps behind safety officials, and stop when a pair of gloves poke out his open window.
Relief fills me as a helmet follows, and then the rest of Boone Rivers. He takes a shaky step and bends down, putting each hand on his thighs for support before pulling himself straight.
The crowd’s cheer is deafening. Whoever won the race, Boone Rivers is its hero.
That makes me the villain.
“I’m fine. You aren’t putting me on a damn stretcher,” he yells at the officials as the ambulance drives up.
“Are you hurt?” I ask him. My voice is hoarse.
“You dumb fuck,” he says, enunciating every word. “That was amateur shit, Jake. What in the absolute fuck was that?”
We climb into the ambulance and sit opposite each other.
“A bad block,” I say, wanting to explain. It’s weak, and we both know it.
“You went more than halfway down the track. You don’t fucking cross like that, and you know it. You are better than that. You should have known better.”
I took a chance, and it backfired miserably. A one-year extension on my contract and bad news about my company will do that. We’re several races into the season, and I’m winless. Two races without a finish and a penalty in another means my chance of getting into the playoffs is steadily shrinking.
The move had long odds of success, but the race was mine if it worked.
Sarah probably witnessed it all. What is she thinking? It’s probably best that I don’t know.
I rub my sore neck and wonder how Boone feels. His accident was considerably worse than mine.
He pulls at his protective covering, and a shock of black hair greets me. Boone is taller than his sister, but their similar appearance is striking. If this were another driver, I’d launch into a different spiel. I can’t do that here.
“It was a bad move, and I’ll own it. I needed the chance and didn’t think,” I say.
“No, you didn’t because that’s how you drive. You treat this sport like a game, and you drive like a fucking amateur. If that’s what you want, the Cup Series isn’t the place for you. Try some bumper cars.”
Okay, that pisses me off. “You can yell at your employees all you want, but I don’t fucking work for you. So keep onspouting off and realize I don’t fucking care.”
“Consider yourself lucky because if it were up to me, you would already be out of Cup.”
“Unfortunately, not even nepo babies like you always get their way. Maybe you should go and call Daddy.”
