Page 219 of Revv

Probably more.

My eyes drop for half a second to her stomach.

Bad fucking idea.

Because apparently my brain has decided this is the perfect time to remember Miami.

Our imaginary daughter.

Tiny and mean. Probably yelling at me in Spanish before she can properly form sentences.

Cece pregnant.

Fuck.

The image hits harder now, because for the first time, the idea doesn’t feel impossible.

A house.

Cece.

Guac judging every life choice we make.

Maybe someday a little girl with streaks in her hair and her mother’s attitude, running around making my life absolute hell.

The thought makes goosebump prickle along my skin.

Jesus Christ.

Focus.

Cece tilts her head like she can somehow tell exactly where my brain just went.

Her mouth curves. That little smug fucking smile.

I shake my head because, yeah, she knows.

Maybe not exactly what I’m thinking. Hopefully not, because I’d never hear the end of it, but she knows enough.

The official starts moving down the grid, final checks happen around us, visors lower, engines climb, and the whole atmosphere tightens until it feels like the air itself is holding its breath.

This moment always does something to me, that tiny stretch of time right before the start where everything is still possible.

I could win. I could lose.

I could make one perfect decision and change the race, or one bad one and fuck the entire thing.

Funny how that’s pretty much life too.

You never really know what’s coming, and that used to piss me off more than anything. I spent half my childhood learning how little control I actually had over my own life, new houses, new rules, new adults deciding where I slept and what happened next while I stood there pretending none of it mattered.

Racing gave me control, or at least I thought it did. Out here, I choose when to brake, when to lean, when to push, how much risk I’m willing to take.

But even here, there are no guarantees. Tires fail, weather changes, people make mistakes, and some asshole you trust can close a gap you were sure was there.

You can do everything right and still end up sliding across asphalt wondering what the fuck just happened.

That doesn’t mean you stop riding.