I Took Back the Wheel

The zipper teeth dragged cold against my skin from my navel to my collarbone. Arthur pulled the tab one notch at a time. When his knuckles brushed my breast, I held still. “Perfect.” He used the same smooth tone I heard in boardrooms and at charity galas. “It’s about reclaiming your power, Willa. Feeling the machine around you again.” The black-and-silver suit clung to every curve a life of leisure had softened. Arthur had spent years steering me away from anything with an engine because of the crash. Gasoline and squealing tires were triggers, he said. He was protecting me. But now, he was the one pushing me back into the fire. The chrome toolbox threw back a warped reflection: wide eyes, tight suit, everything packaged for display. “Arthur, I don’t think I can do this.” “Trust the process.” His smile cut off the argument. He cupped my face and ran his thumbs over my cheekbones. “I’m right here. I found you the best coach. He’ll get you through the fear.” He led me out of the garage into the hard sunlight. A man leaned against a blood-red supercar with his arms folded. He was tall and broad enough to block half the hood. Jaxon, the coach. His grey eyes traveled from my boots to my collar. He took his time. By the time he looked at my face, I wanted to cover myself. “This is her?” Jaxon grunted, not even looking at Arthur. “Willa has a natural talent.” Arthur kept his palm on the small of my back. “She just needs a firm hand to guide her back.” Jaxon tipped his chin toward the passenger door. I slid into the low seat. The cockpit smelled of leather, and when he folded himself into the driver’s side, his shoulder took up the space between us. Jaxon reached across me for the five-point harness and pressed his arm against my chest. His knuckles grazed my breast and stayed there long enough to rule out an accident. I locked my elbows and looked through the windshield. Arthur stood in the glass-fronted viewing box. He raised one hand and smiled. The in-car radio crackled. Arthur spoke into my helmet. “Jaxon is pushing your limits because that’s what elite coaches do. You asked to be yourself again, remember? Don’t retreat the first moment it gets uncomfortable.” Jaxon heard him through his own earpiece. One corner of his mouth lifted. Arthur had given him permission. He left the engine off and clamped a calloused hand around my thigh. His fingers dug in just above my knee, hard enough for me to feel each one through the suit. “Your husband says not to retreat.” His words came out low beside my helmet. “So don’t. He doesn’t seem to mind. Why should you?” I stared at Arthur in the viewing box. He was still smiling. My next breath caught halfway in. Arthur had invited this and was watching to see what it did to me.