17. Racing Hearts

RACING HEARTS

L eaving places never got easier. Trust me, I'd left enough of them to know. But pulling out of Jake's driveway at five in the morning, Tommy passed out in the passenger seat still wearing his pajamas, this one felt like my chest was being ripped open.

I was a fucking coward for not saying goodbye to Jake. After that kiss the night before, everything was too raw, too real. The memory of his lips on mine, the way his hand had cupped my jaw, how right it felt - shit I couldn't think about that then. Not with a four-hour drive ahead and my son sleeping beside me, completely unaware his world was about to be turned upside down. Again.

Tommy stirred in his sleep, curling tighter around his backpack like it was some kind of shield. He'd packed it himself the night before - his favorite books, the photos we took at the falls, even that stupid hermit crab shell he'd named after Jake. Kid had no idea how much that name choice messed with my head right then.

The sun was barely thinking about rising as we hit the highway. Everything felt wrong - leaving Oakwood Grove, driving my kid back to a place that was slowly crushing his spirit. But what choice did I have? One month. Just had to survive one month of Vanessa's games.

My hands kept clenching on the steering wheel, knuckles going white every time I thought about her smug face when she'd filed that emergency motion.

Tommy whimpered in his sleep - the kid always knew when we were getting close to his mom's, like his body remembered the tension even when his mind was elsewhere.

"Hey buddy." I reached over, smoothed down that wild bedhead he got from me. "We're almost there."

His eyes fluttered open, green as mine but so much clearer. Innocent still, despite everything we'd put him through. "Already?"

"Yeah, sport. Almost time."

"Can't we just..." He trailed off, picking at a loose thread on his pajama sleeve. Old habit when he was scared to ask for what he wanted.

"I know." My voice came out rougher than intended. "I know, buddy. But it's just temporary, remember? We've got our house waiting for us, right by the ocean. And Sheriff Jake said you could help plant the garden once you're back."

Jake. Even saying his name sent something warm and terrifying through my chest. Last night under the stars, wine making everything soft around the edges, the way he'd listened without judging.

Focus, Blue. Your kid needs you steady right now .

The familiar buildings of Manhattan started rising around us, all glass and steel. Tommy was getting quieter with each block, shrinking into himself the way he did when he was trying to be brave.

Pulling into Vanessa's building's parking garage felt like entering enemy territory. Everything was too shiny, too perfect, too much like the life I used to think I wanted. The valet recognized me - of course he did, probably got regular updates from Vanessa about the ex-husband who gave up racing to become a small-town nobody.

"Ready, champ?" I killed the engine but made no move to get out. Neither did Tommy.

"Do you think..." He stopped, those green eyes filling with tears he was trying so hard to hold back. "Do you think Sheriff Jake will forget about me? Before I come back?"

"Come here." I pulled him across the console into my lap, not caring that he was getting too big for this. "Nobody's forgetting you, okay? Not me, not Jake, not anyone in Oakwood Grove. You've got people there now, buddy. Real people who see you for exactly who you are."

"But Mom says-"

"I know what Mom says." I pressed my face into his hair, breathing in that kid-shampoo smell while I still could. "But I need you to remember something, okay? You're not alone anymore. Even when we're apart, I'm right here. Missing you. Loving you. Counting the days until you're home."

His arms tightened around my neck, and fuck if this wasn't killing me. "Remember our secret code?" I whispered, feeling him nod against my shoulder. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?" His voice came muffled, face still buried in my shirt.

"Love."

"Love who?"

"Love you more than racing." We finished together, and for a second I could pretend this was just another morning, just another father-son moment instead of a goodbye that was going to haunt me for the next month.

The elevator ride to Vanessa's floor stretched forever. Tommy's hand stayed locked in mine, his backpack clutched against his chest with his other arm. Every floor brought us closer to that pristine apartment with its stark white walls and endless rules about keeping things perfect.

Vanessa opened the door in some silk bathrobe that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. Her hair was perfectly styled even at this ungodly hour - probably had been up since dawn getting camera-ready for whatever society event she'd got planned.

"You're late." No hello, no warmth for our kid who was clearly falling apart. Just that clipped tone that said I'd somehow already fucked up her precisely scheduled day.

"Morning to you too." I managed to keep my voice level, mostly because Tommy's grip on my hand had gone death-tight. "His homework's in the front pocket of his backpack. All done, just needs to be turned in."

She reached for Tommy like he was a package being delivered. "I think I can handle my own son's school requirements."

Your own son. Right. Because you've been so fucking present lately.

"Dad?" Tommy's voice cracked on that single word, and something in my chest splintered.

"Hey." I crouched down to his level, not giving a shit about Vanessa's irritated sigh behind me. "Remember what we talked about? This is temporary. Just a pit stop, like in racing. Sometimes you need to refuel before the next lap."

His chin wobbled but he nodded, trying so hard to be brave it physically hurt to watch. "Will you call? Every night?"

"Try and stop me." I pulled him in for one last hug, memorizing everything about this moment - his heartbeat against mine, the way his fingers clutched my shirt, how he still smelled like Jake's laundry detergent and morning dew from our garden exploration.

"That's enough." Vanessa's voice cut through our bubble. "Tommy needs to get ready for his tutor."

Of fucking course. Not even ten minutes back and she was already scheduling the joy out of his life.

"I've got my cell." I told Tommy as he slowly backed toward his mother. "Any time, day or night. You need me, you call. Promise?"

He nodded again, tears finally spilling over. Vanessa's hand landed on his shoulder - perfectly manicured nails digging in slightly, urging him inside.

"The court will be very interested to hear about this move to... wherever it is you're hiding these days." Her smile could cut glass. "Quite impulsive, don't you think?”

The rage that flooded my system was familiar - same shit I used to feel before a big race, that need to prove everyone wrong burning in my veins. But I'd learned some things since leaving the circuit. Like how sometimes the best fuck you was staying calm.

"Oakwood Grove." I met her eyes steadily. "That's where we're living. Where Tommy will have a real home, not just some showcase apartment. Where he can be himself instead of whatever perfect prop you're trying to mold him into."

Something flickered across her face - doubt maybe, or recognition that she wasn't holding all the cards anymore. But then Tommy sniffled and her mask snapped back into place.

"We'll see what the judge thinks about that." She started closing the door, already dismissing me. "I'll have my lawyer contact yours about visitation schedules once this... phase of yours passes."

The door clicked shut with finality, leaving me alone in a hallway that cost more per square foot than most houses in Oakwood Grove. Through the wood, I could hear Tommy's muffled crying and Vanessa's sharp voice telling him to pull himself together.

My fist connected with the wall before I realized I was moving. The pain felt good, real, something to focus on besides the hole in my chest where my kid should be.

The walk back to my car passed in a blur. Tommy was already texting - a string of heart emojis because words were too hard right then. Each one hit like a punch to the gut.

Sitting in the parking garage, engine idling, I finally let myself break. The sobs came hard and fast, ripping through my chest like they'd been waiting all morning.

The steering wheel was wet where my head rested against it. One month. Seven hundred and twenty hours without Tommy's laugh. Without pancake breakfasts and bedtime stories and the simple joy of watching my kid bloom in a place that saw him.

Forty-three thousand two hundred minutes of pretending I wasn't falling for a small-town sheriff who made everything feel possible.

My phone kept buzzing. Tommy's emoji hearts kept coming, each one a tiny lifeline saying I wasn't forgotten yet.

But right then, I just needed to drive. Needed to put miles between me and this city that kept trying to break us. Needed to get back to quiet streets and ocean views and maybe, just maybe, figure out what the hell I was going to do about the man who'd turned my whole world upside down with one kiss under the stars.

One month.

I can survive anything for a month.

My hands knew the way to the track like they knew the shape of a steering wheel - muscle memory built from years of finding refuge in speed. Funny how the one place that used to be all about winning now felt like my only shot at staying sane.

The security guard did a double-take when I pulled up. Probably wondering if the rumor mill was true, if Elliot Blue really did lose his mind and give up racing for some small town life. But he waved me through anyway. Perks of being a former champion - your crazy got labeled as "eccentric" instead of "unstable."

The locker room hit me with that familiar mix of leather and metal, sweat and rubber. My old space was still there, untouched since I stepped away. Someone had been keeping it clean - probably Delaney looking out for me like always. The firesuit felt different now, tighter across my shoulders or maybe that was just the weight of everything I was carrying.

The car purred to life under my hands, welcoming me back like an old friend who didn't ask questions. This was what I needed - just me and pure fucking speed, no custody battles or complicated feelings about small-town sheriffs with kind eyes and gentle hands.

First lap was careful, professional. Testing the limits, remembering the dance. Second lap pushed harder, engine growling as I took the turns tighter. By the third lap, I was flying, everything else falling away until there was nothing but velocity and physics and the perfect harmony of man and machine.

Then I spotted it in my mirror - that flash of red that could only be Anderson's car. Perfect. Just what I fucking needed right then.

He slid onto the track behind me, cocky as ever in that overpriced machine. We'd done this dance before, him always trying to prove something, me just trying to stay focused on my own race. But today? Today I'd got too much fire under my skin to play nice.

Four laps of cat and mouse, him pushing closer on every turn. My hands were steady on the wheel but my heart was racing with more than just adrenaline. Every mile per hour felt like distance from the morning's goodbye, from green eyes filled with tears, from the memory of different green eyes under starlight.

Anderson signaled he was pulling into pit, clearly expecting me to follow. Fine. Let's get this shit over with.

"Well, well." His voice carried across the pit lane, dripping with fake sympathy. "The prodigal son returns. Trouble in paradise?"

I kept my movements calm as I climbed out, helmet tucked under my arm. "Just keeping my skills sharp, Anderson. Never know when you might need a reminder of what real racing looks like."

"Funny." He leaned against his car, that smirk I'd always wanted to punch right off his face. "Your ex-wife was just saying how she prefers a man who stays in the game."

My hands clenched inside my gloves. Of fucking course Vanessa had been talking to him. Probably part of her whole strategy - paint me as unstable while she paraded around with my replacement.

"That right?" I kept my voice level, thinking of Tommy. Couldn't lose my shit here, couldn't give her more ammunition. "Guess she's got a type - men who peak in their twenties and spend the rest of their lives trying to prove they still matter."

His face went red. Good. "At least I'm still racing. Not playing house in some backwater town because I couldn't handle the pressure."

"Pressure?" A laugh escaped me, sharp and bitter. "Try watching your kid cry himself to sleep because his mother's too busy chasing sponsors to show up for his school play. Try explaining to an eight-year-old why mommy has a new 'friend' every month."

"Careful, Blue." Anderson stepped closer, voice dropping low. "Wouldn't want anyone thinking you're cracking up. Might affect those custody arrangements I keep hearing about."

Red bled into my vision. My fist was already pulling back when Delaney's voice cut through the tension.

"Everything alright over here, boys?"

Anderson backed off immediately. Delaney might have been pushing sixty, but he still had that presence that commanded respect in the pit lane. Plus he knew where all the bodies were buried, metaphorically speaking.

"Just catching up." Anderson's fake smile was back. "Good to see you haven't completely lost your edge, Blue. Even if you are going soft in your retirement."

He walked away before I could respond, which was probably for the best. My hands were shaking with the need to rearrange his face.

"Deep breaths, kid." Delaney's hand landed heavy on my shoulder. "He's not worth the headlines."

"She's talking to him." The words tasted like ash. "Probably feeding him shit to use in court."

"Vanessa's always played dirty." Delaney guided me toward his office, away from prying eyes. "But you're playing a longer game now. Got more to lose than just pole position."

His office hadn't changed - same photos on the walls, same ancient coffee maker in the corner, same leather chair that had absorbed years of racing strategy and personal crisis. I sank into it, suddenly exhausted.

"Tommy?" He asked, pouring two cups of coffee that would probably strip paint.

"Got him for four days." My voice cracked. "Then she filed some bullshit emergency motion. No contact for a month while the court reviews my 'stability.'"

"Jesus." He handed me a cup, settling behind his desk. "That why you're out here trying to break lap records?"

"Needed to feel in control of something." The coffee burned going down, grounding me. "Everything's so fucked up, Del. Found this perfect little town, bought a house right on the ocean. Tommy was so happy there. For the first time since the divorce, he was just... being a kid."

Delaney studied me over his cup. "This about the town? Or someone in it?"

Fuck. How did I even start to explain this?

"Both." The admission came quiet. "There's this small town, and... there's this guy."

"A guy?" Delaney's coffee cup froze halfway to his mouth, genuine surprise crossing his weathered face. "Well shit, kid. That's... new."

"Yeah." I ran a hand through my hair, nervous like some fucking teenager. "Wasn't exactly planning it. But this town, Oakwood Grove - it's different. He's different."

"A small town guy, huh?" His eyebrows climbed higher, but there was no judgment in his voice. Just that steady acceptance he'd always given me. "You never did do anything halfway."

"Nothing's happened." Except that was a lie now, wasn't it? That kiss under the stars definitely counted as something.

"But you want it to." It wasn't a question. "That why you're really here? Running from feelings instead of racing toward them?"

"When did you get so fucking philosophical?" But he was right, and we both knew it.

"Got a race next month." He said it casual, like he was commenting on the weather. "Nothing major, just a charity event. Could use a name driver to draw crowds."

The offer hung between us. A chance to dip my toes back in, prove to the court I wasn't having some breakdown. Show Vanessa I could have both - my career and a life that mattered.

"Think about it." Delaney stood, old joints creaking. "Meantime, might want to talk to this guy of yours. Running away's never been your style, kid."

"Don't have his number." The admission felt childish. "Never got around to asking."

Delaney's laugh filled the office. "And they say romance is dead. Get your ass back to that town, Blue. Some things are worth the risk."

The shower at the track didn't really wash away the morning, but at least I felt human again. Zayn's office sat in one of those converted warehouse spaces downtown - all exposed brick and steel beams trying very hard to look effortless. Kind of like Zayn himself, come to think of it.

Zayn was waiting in his office doorway, arms crossed over a shirt that probably cost more than most people's rent. His smile was genuine though - always had been, even back when we were both chasing different kinds of victories.

"Holy shit, it really is you." He pulled me into one of those half-hug, half-headlock things that guys do when they've known each other too long to pretend they're not happy to see each other. "Thought you'd fallen off the face of the earth."

"Something like that." The office screamed success - design awards on the walls, photos of houses in magazines I pretended to read at doctor's offices. "Place looks good, Z."

"Better than sweating it out in a gym, that's for sure." He gestured to his shoulder - the one that ended his boxing career but launched this whole empire. "Coffee? Or something stronger?"

"Coffee's good." My hands still smelled like rubber and metal from the track. "Need my head clear for this."

He studied me as he poured from some fancy machine that looked like it belonged in a science lab. "Heard about the custody shit. That's rough, man."

"Yeah." The coffee tasted expensive, but at least it was real. Not that fake artisan crap Vanessa used to insist on. "That's kind of why I'm here, actually."

"The house?" His eyebrow went up as he settled behind his desk. "Gotta say, never pictured you as the settling down type. Always figured you'd keep chasing that next win until they had to pry the steering wheel from your cold, dead hands."

The laugh came out more bitter than I meant it to. "Yeah, well. Some things matter more than winning."

"Tommy?"

"He needs roots." The words came easier than I expected. "Kid's been bouncing between hotel rooms and Vanessa's parade of apartments since the split. Deserves somewhere that's just... his, you know?"

Zayn nodded, pulling out a tablet. "Tell me about this place then. What are we working with?"

So I did. Told him about the ocean view and the wraparound porch that needed replacing. About the yard that was practically begging for a treehouse and maybe a garden, if I could figure out how not to kill plants. About the built-in bookshelves where Tommy could display his science projects without anyone telling him they didn't match the decor.

"His room faces the water." My voice went soft, remembering Tommy's face when he first saw it. "Gets the morning sun, but not too early. And there's this perfect climbing tree right outside his window."

"You've really thought about this." Zayn's fingers flew over his tablet, sketching as I talked. "What about the rest of the house? Master bedroom? Kitchen?"

Right. Because this wasn't just about Tommy. This was about me too - about making a real home for the first time since I left my parents' place at eighteen to chase speed dreams.

"Kitchen needs work." I stared into my coffee like it might hold answers. "Want something open, you know? Where I can see Tommy doing homework while I cook. Where people can just... be."

People. Not person. Definitely not thinking about a certain sheriff making pancakes in my kitchen.

"People?" Zayn had that look - the one that said he was seeing more than I was saying. "This about that small town I keep hearing whispers about?"

Fuck. "Oakwood Grove." Might as well own it. "It's different there. Real. No bullshit, no cameras, just..."

"Just?"

"Just people who give a damn." My voice caught, remembering Jake's quiet strength, the way he saw right through my walls. "Tommy's different there too. Happier. Like he can finally breathe."

Zayn set down his tablet, really looking at me now. "And you? You breathing better there too?"

The question hit deeper than he probably meant it to. Was I? Between Jake's kiss and Tommy's tears and everything else spinning out of control, breathing felt complicated right then.

"Working on it." I managed a smile that probably looked as shaky as it felt. "House needs a lot of work though. Wiring's shot, plumbing's ancient, and don't even get me started on the kitchen appliances."

"Good thing you know someone who does this for a living then." He picked up his tablet again, all business now. "When can I see it? Need to get measurements, check the bones of the place before we start tearing shit apart."

"You'd come out there?" Something warm unfurled in my chest. "It's not exactly around the corner."

"Please." He grinned, the same cocky smile that used to intimidate opponents in the ring. "Like I'm gonna let you fuck up your first real home with some small town contractor who thinks beige is a personality trait."

We spent the next hour going through ideas - open floor plans and natural light, built-in storage that actually made sense, a kitchen island big enough for homework and science projects and maybe morning coffee with someone who made everything feel possible.

"What about this space?" Zayn showed me a rough sketch of the living room. "Thinking we knock out this wall, create some flow between inside and out. Really bring that ocean view in."

"Tommy would love that." The words came automatic now, everything filtered through how it would feel to my kid. "He's got this thing about watching the waves. Says they tell stories if you listen right."

"Smart kid." Zayn's voice went soft. "Gets that from you, you know. That way of seeing magic in ordinary shit."

"Yeah, well." My throat felt tight. "Just want to give him somewhere that magic feels normal, you know? Somewhere he doesn't have to pretend or measure every word or-"

Or be like me, always running from something I couldn't name.

"We'll make it happen." Zayn started gathering his stuff. "I can be there next week, start the real planning. Meantime, send me photos of everything. And I mean everything - even the shit you think doesn't matter. Devil's in the details."

Standing to leave, something caught my eye - a photo on his wall I hadn't noticed before. Zayn in the ring, mid-punch, everything about his stance saying victory was inevitable.

"Miss it?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

"The fighting?" He touched his bad shoulder absently. "Sometimes. But you know what I figured out? Sometimes the best wins come from knowing when to change direction."

His eyes met mine, heavy with meaning. "Sometimes you gotta let go of one dream to grab onto something better."

The drive back to Oakwood Grove felt different this time. Less like running away, more like running toward something. Tommy's last text sat in my pocket like a promise - "Love you dad. Tell Sheriff Jake I said hi."