Chapter 6

Nolan

I’ve been through a lot with The Kid.

A lot of firsts.

But this isn’t one I wanna experience.

He’s never been this distant.

This quiet.

And he’s damn sure never been both of those things this long.

And not at once.

I fold my arms firmly across my chest and continue to watch him stare at the destroyed gravesite – that we’re not allowed anywhere near – from the wooded tree area he’s seated in.

It’s technically a fucking crime scene.

Vandalism.

Fine.

I get it.

It’s juvenile, but still within the realm of responsibly psychotic.

Grave robbing ?

That’s next level fucked up.

That’s hang his rich prick ass from the hook of my tow truck before driving all around town for everyone to see what happens when you mess with those I love.

That I’ve always loved.

And I have.

Long before I wanted to be loving The Kid the way I do now, I loved him.

I took care of him.

I protected him.

He was family.

I didn’t have much of it.

He didn’t have much of it.

So, naturally, we became it.

We are family.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I wouldn’t paint the world red to keep him safe.

And this shit with McAdams?

It has me anxious to fucking start doing exactly that.

Rabbit lightly nudges me in the side to get moving.

To join him.

I let my dark gaze meet hers, silently pleading for some help on what to say, what not to say, fuck, what not to do , yet she provides me with nothing.

Simply tips her chin in his direction.

Which isn’t fucking helpful.

I know where he is physically .

It’s trying to find where the fuck he’s at mentally that’s the problem.

Leaving her behind, leaning against the side of my truck near the emergency gas cans, I cautiously cross over to the space he’s occupying, internally wracking my brain for the best choice of words possible for this situation.

We weren’t exactly allotted ample opportunity to talk down at the station so much as listen , because our attorney insisted, we say nothing for legal reasons. Apparently, the investigation against me, the self-defense query against Kipp, and Rabbit’s stalker issue are all neon flashing arrows that state this shit’s related to one if not all of those things, complicating our already complicated legal situations.

Post handled talking to us with his hands metaphorically cuffed the best he could.

Tried to be understanding.

Sympathetic.

Unfortunately, his attempt at compassion ended with a needlessly cryptic line about not letting our new cowgirl stomp her muddy boots through his town.

Something that was also not fucking helpful.

Rabbit doesn’t need any more encouragement to haul ass away from us.

And I don’t need to add punching out a sheriff to the possible criminal charges Garcia is planning to get dismissed if or when necessary.

The minute I’m within range, I awkwardly inquire, “How’s that engine, Kid?”

He angles his face slightly over his shoulder, showing me the few tears that are stained on it and doesn’t say a word.

He simply shrugs.

Lifelessly.

Shrugs.

There’s no sniffle.

No grunt.

Not even a heavy sigh of defeat.

Chest aches of unmatched proportions send me falling to my knees beside him, something I’m sure they’ll gripe about in a couple hours. “ Talk to me, Kipp. ”

His attention drops back to the space between his bent legs where he’s drawing something in the dirt. Rather than respond, he resumes tracing the strange, almost boot-like pattern, again and again and again, as if each lap is providing him with some sort of relief that I can’t.

That I don’t know how to.

Fuck. Me.

How is it before we were fucking, I felt I knew exactly how to handle shit with him but now that we are, I’m completely lost?

I rearrange my frame to sit more comfortably beside him, steal a reassuring glance that Rabbit’s still safe – something she acknowledges by waving a hand at me to turn around – and then do my best to focus on the drawing being captured in the late-night moonlight.

At first, I’m convinced the picture is just aimless doodling, yet the longer I stare, the more visible the subtle movements of his hand become, ultimately revealing the creation’s identity. “That’s a track.” Leaning my back against the tree, I study his slick finger work further along the stick, noticing it’s less traditional changes. “And you’re shifting gears.”

The Kid’s head tilts just an inch closer to me as if wordlessly confirming my suspicions.

“Question is…which one.” A large huff is preceded by a stronger squint. “Most likely an F1 since you look like you’re pushing buttons versus actually shifting, and because you have a not-so-secret hardon for those.”

At that, he pauses to toss me an incredulous stare.

“Come on, Kid. I’ve damn near walked in on your jerking it to highlights more than once.”

An urge to laugh flashes on his face; however, he fights past it.

Resumes the wordless charting.

Hurts my heart again.

“I don’t think it’s Monaco. That one looks more like a fucked-up crab leg.”

He lets a small nod of agreement present itself.

“And I don’t think that shit’s Silverstone ‘cause that one looks more like a deformed bat.”

A second nod leaves him.

“Is it the one in Italy?” Scooting slightly closer to him is slyly done. “Not too far from Milan?”

The Kid nods once more yet doesn’t give me the answer.

It’s a challenge.

To remember.

Him.

Something special about him.

Pulling my lips to one side and then other is done repeatedly in contemplation until the answer finally nut taps me. “Monza!”

“ The Temple of Speed ,” he quietly adds, movements slowing down. “Racing there is all I wanted to do when I was kid.” Nostalgia effortlessly infiltrates his tone. “I wanted to be an F1 driver.” His stare remains on the drawing. “I wanted to race for Ferrari. I wanted to wear the red. I wanted to be a member of The Prancing Horse.” Seeing the corner of his lip perk up encourages mine to do the same. “Each night before bed, I would use my pillow like a steering wheel and race that course. And every night my mom was home, she’d stand in the doorway, wait for me to cross the finish line, and then cheer at my victory.” This time I manage to spot a droplet creeping down his cheek. “Afterwards, she’d tuck me in and swear she’d be there when I was all grown up, crossing the real thing.” Tears stick themselves pitilessly to his tone. “There was no doubt in her mind that I was gonna do something fucking great.”

My mouth twitches to respond but isn’t given the chance.

“ But I didn’t. ” Anger swiftly replaces anguish. “ I haven’t. ” He struggles to banish the tears in his voice. “ And I won’t. ” The Kid chucks the stick off into the distance towards her grave. “ I’m just one…fucking…disappointment…I’m glad she doesn’t have to see. ”

Swallowing my outrage is difficult yet necessary. At least for now. “Was um… Enzo a disappointment when his family business collapsed allowing him to search for a job in cars?”

“No, but-”

“Was he a disappointment when he retired and started a racing team of the best fucking drivers he could?”

“No, but-”

“Then he was a disappointment when he started selling sports cars to fund his racing dreams, right?”

“That’s not-”

“You must mean he was a disappointment when he decided to support a new car mag that featured car sports in a better way.”

“He wasn’t a disappointment!”

“ And neither are you, Kid. ” Kipp’s face instantly whips in my direction, clearly ready to fight and lash out and scream only to be met with a stoic expression. “You think just because you didn’t grow up to be what you thought you would means you haven’t done shit that matters?” His eyes attempt to dart away forcing mine to swivel to keep them hostage. “You’re na?ve, not stupid.”

The Kid’s jaw slightly lowers.

“You had a great mom, Kipp. The type of mom who wouldn’t give a fuck if you won a Grand Prix or the Grandest pig at the local fair as long as you were happy. As long as you were doing something you gave a shit about.”

His brow crinkles in an almost objective nature.

“That’s why she stood at your door cheering you on in your racecar jammies, chasing your racecar dreams. Because she wanted you to know she would always be there to support you. And her death didn’t change that.” This time I creep closer. Move so that my hip is resting against his. “She’d still want you doin’ whatever it is that makes you fuckin’ happy, not wallowin’ at her grave about some life you didn’t live or some shit that you couldn’t necessarily prevent even if you had lived that other life.”

Seeing his jaw tremble only pushes me more to continue.

“This shit,” my chin kicks the direction of her grave, “wasn’t your fault. It didn’t happen because you somehow fucked up in life by not chasing those horsepower dreams and now the Car Gods are unleashing their wrath. Your mom’s grave gettin’ trashed was because some psycho whose mommy probably should’ve told him no more often is pissed off, you’re protecting someone who needs help. That you’re man enough to make sacrifices to guard the woman you love no matter the cost. And your mother would never be disappointed that her son was willin’ to do whatever it took to keep his family safe.”

The tears that had halted on the brims of his lids silently fall over.

“She might not love you fuckin’ a gearhead old enough to be your dad but…” I playfully cringe to end the sentence.

Chuckles bounces his frame between sniffles. “Being with you makes me happy.”

“Being with me makes you horny. ”

Louder laughs leave us both before he wipes away the fallen tears. “ That too. ”

“ That first. ”

More snickers escape prior to him resting his head warmly against my shoulder. “We’re gonna kill him together, right?”

“Absolutely.” I wind an arm protectively around his shoulder. “And once he’s dead, if you wanna chase your dream of being an F1 driver, we’ll sell the businesses and move to wherever you wanna move to get your start, Kid. Cali. Indy. The Motor City. You name it. We’ll go. Doubt Rabbit would object. And if for some reason she did…I’d fuck her into it.”

He instantly lifts his head to beam up at me. “You’d really do that for me?”

“Fuck our girlfriend into submission? Of course. I’m an incredible boyfriend.”

“The other part.” Another round of chuckles hits my ears. “The…uprooting your whole life for me thing. You’d do that?”

“ I’d do anything for you, Kid. ”

Kipp presses his lips firmly against mine, and there’s no stopping mine from pushing back.

Parting his.

Sliding my tongue inside to echo the very sentiment I spoke.

One stroke naturally shifts to two and two gets groans growing in my chest.

Shaking my frame.

Commanding my other hand to possessively cradle his face to prevent doubt from even thinking about entering his mind.

The Kid suddenly pulls back to airily proclaim, “ I’m thinkin’ maybe we finish this at home, Sir. ”

“I think not defiling you in front of your mom’s ghost is a good call.” New bursts of laughter bounce between us. “Why don’t we get goin’? Your tongue can do few warmup laps in the truck.”

Hungry chortles are followed by us rising to our feet and turning in the direction of my truck.

Unfortunately, the second it’s in sight, someone else isn’t.

“ Where the fuck is Rabbit?! ” I promptly panic, frame preparing to launch forward through the wooded area.

“ Nonononono ,” my boyfriend hysterically howls. “ She didn’t leave! She wouldn’t leave! Not again! ”

Both of our bodies propel themselves in that direction only to be abruptly stopped by a weapon drawn, pale, round faced man. We both halt in our tracks; however, instinctively, I hold out an arm in front of The Kid, preparing to use my body to shield his.

“Glad his plan to draw you here worked,” the platinum blond, curly haired male vilely announces. “Now…” he keeps his position steady, aim wisely on Kipp, “where’s the bitch?”

A loud, unexpected cracking sound echoes throughout the area as his frame unpredictably crumples to the ground at our feet.

Our attention instantly shifts to where our girlfriend is holding a shovel like a bat while leering over his body. “ She’s. Right. Fucking. Here. ”