Chapter 8.
948 Words
Maxine gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh my god, Ryan. That is the most romantic thing you've ever said. Usually, you just talk about football and your car."
Harper looked at Ryan, her heart doing a strange, fluttering dance that had nothing to do with her illness. "Ryan... you can't be serious. You have a whole life ahead of you. You don't want your first marriage to be to a girl who's going to leave you at the altar- literally."
Ryan didn't flinch. "I've never been more serious about anything. If you want to know what it feels like to belong to someone, let it be me."
Kane cleared his throat, a low, rumbling sound. He walked over to the two of them, his hands shoved into his leather jacket pockets. "Looks like you've got a volunteer, Brooks. But before we get to the 'I dos,' we've got a list to check off. We can't have a bride who hasn't been to Hawaii or tried the good stuff."
"Right," Maxine said, snapping her notebook shut with a definitive thud. "Strategy! We can't stay up here all day. We have things to do, people to see, and laws to break."
"Where first?" Harper asked, already heading back to the GTO.
The gravel crunched under their boots as they descended from the Peak, the wind howling one last time against the cliffside before they retreated into the sanctuary of the GTO. The strategy was set, the list was inked, and the atmosphere in the car had shifted from heavy mourning to a jagged, electric sort of mission.
"Blackwood Sprints," Kane said, his voice dropping into a low, focused rumble as he slammed his door shut. "If we’re doing this, we’re doing it while the adrenaline is still high. Right now, Harper needs to feel the ground shake."
He didn't wait for an objection. He shifted into gear, and the GTO roared, peeling away from the overlook in a cloud of dust and defiance.
The drive was a blur of dark pines and winding asphalt. As they descended into the industrial valley on the outskirts of town, the silence of the woods was replaced by a rhythmic, mechanical thumping. They turned off the main road onto a long, hidden stretch of straightaway bordered by rusted fences and skeletal warehouses.
A dozen cars were already there, their headlights cutting through the rising mist like searchlights. Tuned imports with neon underglow sat side-by-side with hulking American muscle. The air tasted of burnt rubber and high-octane fuel- a scent that felt more like life than the sterile lavender of the clinic.
Kane rolled the GTO into the center of the gathering. Necks craned. This wasn't a car you saw every day, and Kane wasn't a face they recognized. He killed the engine, the sudden quiet filled by the distant hiss of a nitrous tank being primed.
"Stay close to me," Ryan whispered to Harper as they climbed out. He looked wary, his varsity jacket clashing with the oil-stained hoodies and leather surrounding them. "These guys aren't exactly here for the social hour."
"Relax, Ryan," Harper said, her blue eyes scanning the scene. She felt a strange, magnetic pull toward the noise. "I’m not here to make friends."
Kane walked over to a man leaning against a souped-up Supra, exchanging a few low, clipped words. When he returned, he wasn't heading for the driver’s side. Instead, he stopped in front of Harper, the silver keys dangling from his finger.
"The GTO is on the line for the next heat," Kane announced, his green eyes locked onto hers.
"Kane, you're kidding," Maxine gasped, her glittery notebook clutched to her chest. "What if-"
"I’m not driving," Kane interrupted, his gaze never wavering from Harper. He held the keys out. "She is."
The world seemed to sharpen into high-definition. Harper looked at the keys, then at the massive, predatory machine she had spent the day riding in. "Me? Kane, I’ve only ever driven my mom’s SUV. I’ll wreck it."
"You won't," Kane said, his voice dropping to that steady, gravelly register that made her believe him. "You’ve been playing it safe your whole life, Harper. You’ve been a passenger. Tonight, you take the wheel. If you’re going to go out, go out at a hundred miles per hour."
Ryan stepped forward, his face pale. "Kane, this is dangerous. She’s sick, she-"
"She’s alive," Kane snapped, looking Ryan dead in the eye. "Let her feel it."
Harper reached out and snatched the keys. The metal felt cold, but it sent a spark of heat up her arm. "Move it, boys," she chirped, her sassy armor snapping back into place with a vengeance. "I’ve got a race to win."
Maxine and Ryan were shuffled back toward the edge of the asphalt, joining the crowd of spectators who were already placing bets on the girl in the oversized hoodie. Harper climbed into the driver’s seat, the bucket seat swallowing her whole.
The passenger door creaked open, and Kane slid in. He didn't look like he was there to supervise; he looked like he was part of the machinery.
"Thought I was doing this solo," Harper said, her breath hitching as she gripped the steering wheel. Her knuckles were white.
"It’s my baby, Brooks," Kane said, leaning back and resting an arm on the window sill, looking entirely too relaxed for a man about to go 100 mph in a vintage GTO. "I’m the insurance policy. Besides, you need a navigator for the first flight."
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