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“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, quickly pulling my hands out and raising them in front of him.
He smiles and waves off my apology.
“Perfectly all right, son.”
Jesus… really? At least this will be easy.
“So, can you explain to me what happened?” the officer asks, eyeing Keaton. I find that mildly irritating and kind of sexist, honestly. What, because she’s a woman and I’m a professional racecar driver, couldn’t possibly have been my fault?
Yeah, well, watch this.
“It was my fault.” I reach up and scratch the back of my head sheepishly, laying the guilt on pretty thick. “I’ve been in my head all day ever since the race this afternoon.”
The pity in his eyes tells me he saw the race and knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“That was a tough break, son.”
“It really was. I was so close, too.” The frustration I feel in that moment is real. I get pissed all over again, hating that I let these women get the best of me twice in one day.
“You’ll find yourself, no doubt about it.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t paying attention tonight, unfortunately. I planned on visiting a friend in town, but he wasn’t home, so I came for a drive and got lost in thought.” I turn and gesture toward Keaton, offering her an apologetic grin. “I pulled out right in front of her. I tried to swerve out of the way at the last second, but it was already too late.”
The disbelief on his face is comical.
“Ma’am?” He looks at Keaton for confirmation.
She clears her throat and looks back at the Camaro. Even though I’m not sure what passes through her mind in those few seconds, I do know that the pain creasing her forehead is real.
“I didn’t even have time to react. One second, the road in front of me was clear, and then the next…”
“I’m so sorry, Miss. Please know that I am more than glad to pay for the repairs. You have my insurance information as well. Please don’t hesitate to get in touch with me,” I say.
Officer Fife stands there starry-eyed, like a fangirl. The hero worship with this guy is unreal.
“Well, it seems we’re all on the same page here. I will, of course, have to fill out an incident report.”
“Of course.” Keaton and I reply.
He heads back to his cruiser with our identification in hand, and we wait all of ten minutes for him to return with the paperwork for us to sign.
I’m not surprised in the slightest when he presents me with another blank piece of notebook paper and an over-the-top request for an autograph. It’s a little unprofessional if you ask me. I’d almost rather he had given me a ticket.
It’s when he asks Keaton to take a picture of the two of us that I really get annoyed.
We were just in an accident, and he wants a fucking picture? What the hell, dude? Talk about unprofessional.
“Here, let me. I’m pretty good at it now,” I chuckle, ready for this guy to just leave already so I can call my insurance and get a tow truck delivered.
After snapping a few pictures, I thank the officer for all of his help and express my appreciation for everything he does, yadda yadda yadda. He eats it up.
“Are you kids gonna be all right? I can give you the number of a tow service in town?” He offers.
“Oh, no; I have AAA,” Keaton says, waving him off.
“I’m from here, so I have the number.” I force a smile, ready to get out of here.
“Are you sure? It wouldn’t be a problem, he says again.
