Page 41 of Speed Crush

Not just in the moment.

But the kind that sneaks up on you and makes you wonder if maybe—just maybe—you could belong somewhere after all.

Until it doesn’t.

“YEAH, BABY! WATCH THIS!”

The holler rips across the track—loud, reckless, wrong.

My head snaps toward the noise.

The pair of influencers—Zeke and Dash—are filming something stupid.

Zeke’s planted too close to the indoor straightaway, gripping a handheld camera like he’s Spielberg on a sugar high, directing Fast & Furious: Go-Kart Drift.

Dash is in a kart, revving, swerving, treating the track like bumper cars.

He’s standing—one hand on the wheel, the other waving his GoPro in the air like a trophy.

No seatbelt. No control. No clue. Howling like rules don’t apply to him.

“Nope. That’s not gonna fly.” I mutter, already moving.

Then it happens. Fast.

Zeke steps backward. Not looking.

Right into the live kart lane.

“CUT POWER!” I roar toward the control booth. “Kill the damn track—NOW!”

The staff moves instantly.

Engines whine down. Tires screech. The whole system chokes into silence—but not fast enough.

One woman’s kart slams into Zeke’s hip with a sickening thud.

He crumples instantly. A ragdoll folding.

Like gravity just yanked the floor out from under him.

Screams rip through the air.

A kid cries. Someone shouts.

The party implodes into chaos.

“BACK UP!” I yell, launching over the barrier.

I don’t care how hard I hit the ground—

I’m already running before my feet land.

I don't hesitate. Not even when pain lances through my side as I drop to my knees beside the groaning man.

I check for his breathing first, then bleeding. His chest rises. His eyes flutter open—disoriented, but responsive. I press two fingers gently against the side of his neck, counting his pulse. It's there. Fast, but solid.

“Zeke, stay with me,” I say, voice low and level, like I’m behind the wheel again, holding the line through chaos. “You’re gonna be alright.”

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