Silent Half

Chapter Seven: Third Brother – The Fast Lane Feels

The racing compound was alive with energy when I arrived, even though the actual track was quiet today. It was the off-day—no fans, no press, just the hum of tools and the occasional engine revving in the background.

Jace’s friends had gotten used to seeing me around. One of the crew, Luca, handed me a can of soda with a wink. “Didn’t take the bus, did you?”

“I did, actually.”

He groaned. “You’re gonna give your brother a heart attack.”

“Probably,” I said with a smile.

Jace emerged from the garage a few minutes later, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. His jumpsuit was half-unzipped, revealing a sweat-stained shirt beneath. His smile widened when he saw me.

“There she is.”

I jogged to him and hugged him without thinking. He was all warmth and motor oil and reckless love.

“You okay?” he asked immediately.

“Always.”

“Liar.”

He didn’t press, though. None of them ever did. My brothers had learned to let me come to them, in my own time.

We sat on the edge of the track, feet dangling over the concrete. He tossed me a protein bar.

“Finn says you’re off.”

“Did he now.”

Jace shrugged. “He doesn’t say much, so when he does, I listen.”

I picked at the wrapper. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah, well... even nothing means something.”

I looked at him. “How’d you get so smart?”

“Driving at 200mph gives you time to think.”

I laughed. He grinned.

Jace’s friends came and went throughout the afternoon, dropping tools, throwing jokes. One of them handed me a helmet and asked if I wanted to do a slow lap.

Jace scowled. “She’s not riding unless I’m driving.”

I stuck my tongue out at him. “Possessive much?”

He didn’t smile back. “I don’t trust anyone else with you.”

That stuck with me more than I wanted.

It was late afternoon when we sat under the bleachers, sharing a soda and watching the sunset over the asphalt.

“You ever think about quitting?” I asked.

“Racing?”

“Yeah.”

He thought for a second. “Only when I think about you. And what I’d miss if I didn’t come home.”

I rested my head on his shoulder.

“You think I’m selfish?”

“For what?”

“For not telling you things. For letting you think I’m fine.”

He was quiet. Then, softly, “No. I think you’re scared. And I think you’ve had to be strong for so long, you don’t know how not to be.”

I didn’t answer.

He kissed the top of my head.

“Whatever it is, Lina... we’ll face it. All of us.”

And for one fleeting second, I almost told him.

But I didn’t.

I just smiled.

And the lie held one more day.