Page 57 of Downforce

“Why?” My voice comes out high-pitched, but my mother seems not to notice.

“That mess that happened back in Japan. Your father doesn’t think so, but I believe it was intentional. Just like when he–”

“He didn’t hit Trav on purpose,” I say without thinking.

It’s not until about ten seconds into the ensuing silence that I realize what I’ve done. I just defended my brother’s biggest rival to my mother of all people.

“I mean, you know how competitive all drivers get, and in the heat of the moment things can go awry. Anyway, I think Max was fined or something.”

“Hmhm,” my mother says. “The team put out a statement that they’d handled the situation internally and won’t disclose the punishment to the public.”

My chest tightens again. A sigh releases from between my lips, louder than I realize.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” It comes out too quickly.

My mother gives me about two seconds of silence before she asks the question again. This time more insistent, like when I was a kid and she knew I’d taken an extra cookie after she said we each could have only one.

Mom asked me twice before holding up the mirror to my face, showing me the chocolate crumbs around my mouth.

It’s not my fault she’d made chocolate-chocolate chip cookies and then tried to limit my intake to only one. I’m only human.

“Annalise.”

I push out a heavy breath. “It’s, well, I was kind of rude to someone,” I tell her without going into detail.

The last thing I want to do is explain to my mom what I said to Max back in Japan after his crash with Travis. The words I’d said to him in a fury after that accident come back to mind, coupling with hearing the horrid things his mother said to him only two days ago.

My heart retreats deeper behind my ribcage, making it slightly less easy to breathe. I accused Max of causing the accident, and stopped just short of calling him a dirty driver. How is what I said different from the ugly words his mother threw at him?

Who knows how often she says those types of things to him.

“I’m sure you weren’t as rude as you’re telling yourself you were. You’re harder on yourself than anyone I know,” Mom’s saying, but I can’t accept her comments as truth.

“No.” I shake my head. “I was a total bitch.”

“I doubt you were a bitch.”

I part my lips to respond, but my dad beats me to the punch.

“Who called my baby a bitch?” His voice booms from the background.

My stomach plummets when there’s a second of wrestling.

“Hello? Annalise?” My dad’s voice verging on something I don’t want to put a name to pushes through the phone line. “Annalise? Baby? Who called you a bitch?”

My heart starts to race because while ninety percent of the time my father is the most charming, loving, and jovial person you’ll ever meet, he also has a hard line when it comes to his family.

And his temper is shorter than cat hair if it comes to one of us being harmed or threatened.

“Hi, Daddy,” I say, trying to diffuse his growing anger. “How are you?”

“Hi, baby. Who called you a bitch?” Obviously, he won’t be deterred.

“No one. I called myself a bitch because I was kind of mean to someone,” I explain as simply as I can.

“I don’t believe you. Baby girl, are you trying to save someone? Precious,” he calls my mom, using the pet name he’s had for her since before I was born. “Did she tell you who called her a bitch? Was it a man? It better not have been anyone on that damn team. Or an opponents’ team. Is that it?”