Jace:
I sat the race out. That alone was enough to make Reid think I had suffered some kind of head injury. "You sure you're not racing?"
I was propped against the back of my Camaro, arms folded across my chest. "Pretty sure."
He stared at me. "Who are you?"
"Still me."
"Doesn't feel like it. Old Jace wouldn’t let one little slip scare him off, he’d still be chasing the high."
I looked across the lot. The race was already underway. Engines screamed down the stretch of asphalt. People shouted. Money changed hands. The usual chaos. But I stayed where I was. After the industrial bridge, I didn't feel like getting behind a wheel. Not yet. Maybe I was being careful. Maybe I was finally learning. Or maybe I couldn't stop thinking about how close Calla had come to dying. Every time I closed
