Chapter 9.
836 Words
Across the line, a bright blue Mustang revved its engine- a guttural, mocking challenge. Harper looked over at the driver, a guy in a backward cap who looked like he’d never had a bad day in his life. He smirked at her.
"Ignore him," Kane’s voice cut through her panic. It was steady, gravelly, and grounded. "Feel the car. She’s an extension of you now. When the arms drop, you don't think about the doctors or the 'month.' You just floor it. You outrun everything, Harper. Even the Reaper."
A girl stepped into the center of the road, her arms raised. The crowd went silent, the only sound the twin growls of the engines.
The arms dropped.
Harper slammed her foot down. The GTO didn't just move; it screamed. The tires spun for a fraction of a second, biting into the asphalt, and then the force of the acceleration slammed Harper back into the seat. The wind was knocked out of her as the car leaped forward like a predator.
Second gear. The shift was heavy and mechanical. The world became a blur of dark green trees and gray road.
Third gear. The needle swept past 60, then 80.
The roar of the engine drowned out the static in her brain. She wasn't Harper Brooks, the girl with the terminal diagnosis. She wasn't the girl who had been ghosted by a coward. She was a streak of black lightning tearing through the night. The adrenaline hit her like a drug, sharper and more potent than any medication. It surged through her veins, tingling in her fingertips, lighting up her senses until she felt like she was glowing.
She looked to her left. The blue Mustang was falling behind, a fading ghost.
"Keep it steady," Kane shouted over the engine's roar. He wasn't reaching for the wheel or the brake; he was watching her, a feral sort of pride in his green eyes. "Go on, Brooks! Take it!"
"Come on!" she hissed through gritted teeth, her eyes wide and wild. "Faster!"
She hit the finish line at 140 mph.
She didn't stop immediately. She let the car coast for a long, beautiful mile, the heat from the engine radiating through the floorboards. Her hands were shaking- not from weakness, but from pure, unadulterated power.
"Not bad for an SUV driver," Kane remarked, a slow smirk spreading across his face as she finally slowed to a U-turn.
When they rolled back toward the crowd, the spectators were cheering- a low, buzzing sound of approval for the "new girl." Harper climbed out of the car, her hair a bird's nest and her eyeliner smeared, but she looked absolutely radiant.
Maxine screamed, sprinting forward to tackle her in a hug, while Ryan followed, looking at Harper with a mix of terror and awe, as if he were seeing a ghost come back to life.
Harper turned to Kane, who was leaning against the GTO, his hand resting on the hood of his "baby."
"How do you feel?" he asked.
Harper took a deep breath of the cold, gasoline-tainted air. For the first time since the hospital room, the tightness in her chest was gone.
"I feel," Harper said, her blue eyes flashing, "like I’m just getting started. What’s next on the list?"
The high from the race hadn’t faded; it had merely settled into a steady, rhythmic hum beneath Harper’s skin. As they pulled away from the Blackwood Sprints, the smell of burnt rubber still clinging to her clothes, she looked at her hands. They were still shaking. It was a beautiful, terrifying reminder that her nerves were still firing, that her heart was still capable of a sprint.
"I’m not done," Harper said, her voice sounding louder than usual in the cabin of the GTO. "I want something that stays. Something that outlasts... well, me."
Kane didn’t ask for clarification. He simply nodded and banked a hard left, heading back toward the city's underbelly where the streetlights flickered with a rhythmic, dying buzz. "I know a place. 'Vinnie’s Ink.' It looks like a tetanus shot waiting to happen from the outside, but Vinnie is the cleanest needle in the state. He’s a friend."
"Harp, are you sure?" Ryan asked from the back, his voice tight with that familiar, nagging protective streak. "Tattoos are... they’re permanent. And with your immune system, the infection risk-"
"Ryan," Harper interrupted, turning her head to look at him. Her eyes were still bright, the pupils blown wide from the adrenaline. "The doctors already gave me the worst-case scenario. A little bit of ink isn't going to be what takes me out. I want to choose what happens to my body for once. No more needles for bloodwork. This needle is for me."
Ryan opened his mouth, but Maxine nudged him hard with her elbow. "Let her, Ry. It’s her canvas."
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