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“Hey,” he says, standing and rounding the table. “I’ll be okay. Alright? You don’t have to worry about me.”
He leans down, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, his chin resting on the top of my head. I hold his arms and close my eyes, praying that he’s right. But I know how these things work.
Shit has to get a lot worse before it ever gets better.
I just hope we all make it out okay in the end.
Bodhi
I called Rob and filled him in on everything that had happened in the last couple of days. It was a lot, to say the least, but I’d gained some clarity in all of it. And now, with the race just days away, I was ready to get my head in the game.
I pull up outside of a storage facility — one I haven’t been to since after Tommy died — and park next to Rob’s truck.
Keaton filled me in and her and Sander’s conversation yesterday, and as much as it sucked, I agreed with him. It was better for her to be nowhere near that race. I’d have Sander out there keeping an eye on things, ready to jump out of the crowd at a moment’s notice, but it wasn’t the same as having my girl there.
Milo agreed to come along, and it would be good to have him in the crowds. But I still felt like something was missing.
Or more, someone.
I wanted my brother there, and even though I knew that it was impossible, I felt like having him there in spirit was exactly what I needed.
“Hey,” Rob says as I step out of my car. “You sure you want to do this?”
I know that if I do this, if I follow through with this, there will be no going back.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I say, and he nods, leading the way through the rows of storage units.
When we get to ours, he stoops to unlock the bay door.
A nervous, fluttering sensation fills my stomach, as if when he lifts that door, Tommy will be standing on the other side, smiling wide like he’s been sitting around and waiting for me for these last two years.
With one pull, the door is sliding up, and I’m holding my breath. And then I see it, shining in all her glory.
My brother’s Mustang.
The Mustang that he left to me if ever anything should happen to him. The Mustang that our dad spent the last two years and several thousands of dollars to a private investigator searching for.
She’s been sitting here, hiding away, waiting for the day when I was ready for her.
A 1967 Shelby GT500, charcoal gray with twin black rally strips. She was in perfect condition, almost never driven.
But then again, it was meant to be more of a souvenir car than an everyday vehicle.
“Still as pretty as the day we tucked her away,” Rob says.
“That she is,” I smile.
My brother had great taste.
“Are you sure you want to drive this in that race? I can almost guarantee you take some damage out there. It doesn’t sound like these guys drive very clean,” he says, and I know he’s only looking out for me.
“I want Tommy with me out there. He deserves one final ride,” I say, smiling fondly.
Rob claps me on the shoulder, squeezing gently.
“I’ll go pull the trailer around,” he says before leaving me alone with the car. No one else knew about the Mustang, and I didn’t want to share this moment with anyone else, so we’d have to tow it back to the house.
Thankfully, we had the foresight to get a unit on the end, otherwise driving out of here was going to be a task.
