Chapter 26

Evan’s elation had him fighting to keep it under eighty on the way home from Cindy’s. That was until he reached the seven miles of Bayway. Then he liberated his foot and let the Monte Carlo bang up against the factory-set speed limiter. At 115 MPH, his senses were honed, all thoughts focused on the road, and his eyes were scanning for silver and black, the state troopers’ colors. The only way they could catch him would be if he blew past one of them.

After reaching the house in record time, Evan avoided his mother and Deana. Neither of them could know, and one look at his face would have told either that something was up. At some point, he would have to tell his sister, she’d figure it out anyway, but for now, Evan needed to think and work out. Cindy had busted his balls about his undisciplined approach, so he put on sweats, retrieved his wireless earbuds and went to the basement.

Nobody considers the effort required to drive a passenger car or wonders if they are in shape for it, but twenty laps on a dirt track is a full-contact sport. The constant G-force seemed to make your head gain a pound every lap, straining your neck. You were shoved back, slammed forward against the belts, thrown sideways, back, forward, over and over, and your arms and leg muscles worked the whole time. When driving down the street, it’s a rare occasion when you suddenly have to slam on the brakes, and when it happens, there is usually an adrenaline assist. On the race track, Evan would expect that every second, and at the end of each straightaway, it was required.

He balanced on one foot with an Iggy Pop station playing on Amazon Music, his other leg raised, throwing quick chop kicks at the six-foot-high mark on the heavy bag. The bag might have been getting beat up, but Evan’s fight was against his swirling thoughts and fears. It had been a great day. He got two hundred fifty bucks and a seat in Dale’s car. Uncle JC wanted him in Cindy’s car next year, and his cousin had more good than bad to say while reviewing his race. A few times, he even impressed himself. So why the confused, frustrated, scared, and angry thinking?

His father could come home Saturday afternoon, then what? What kind of a pussy driver would turn down a chance to race? He’d make a fool of himself, and nobody would let him drive their car again. What choice do I have, Evan wondered. Fuck you, Dad, I’m leaving, going to race. Yeah, then he’d wake up two days later in the hospital.

Iggy sang something about a China girl, and Evan fell backward onto the crappy couch. Cindy had an unusual taste for music, and some of it he liked, but why this? He still hadn’t heard anything that sounded like what Cindy had been listening to, and Evan’s curiosity had waned enough to be done with Mr. Pop, but his phone was too far away, so he kept listening while catching his breath. Then, it would be time to start punching.