Page 30 of Danger

Mine, that’s who.

But, I listen as Luther tells me about how he grew to fame. How his accident took away his ability to ever drive again. How he wanted to have a team, and still be heavily involved in the sport he loved so much.

“What do you love?” he asks me.

“Love?” I laugh a bit nervously, knowing he won’t like the answer of nothing too much. “I don’t really love just one thing. Maybe I like a lot of little things a whole lot.”

“Nonsense. You have to love something in this world, Danger. You have to have that drive, that passion, for something, or else life just isn’t worth fighting for.”

I lean back in my chair, wondering to myself if I’ve ever loved anything in this world enough to fight for. I have a real love for Kav. He saved me from something fierce. If it had not been for him, I’d be dead. No doubt about it. “Racing.” I give him the answer I know he’s looking for, but if I’m telling the truth, I don’t love it enough to fight for it.

Don’t get me wrong. Racing is great. Racing has given me a life. A purpose. As soon as I win this tour and get the money, I don’t know what the future has in store for me. Will I keep racing? Probably.

I still don’t know.

Luther laughs. “Well, if you love racing as much as you say you do,” he butters a piece of toast and then points it at me, “you’d better not be fucking up your chance here.”

I can read between the lines very well. This is his final warning to me. “Yes, sir.” The little charade with his daughter needs to convince the public I’ve changed. I need to want this more than I’ve been wanting it.

And make no mistake. I fucking want this.

* * *

I grewup in a small house. Four walls, a few bedrooms in the back, and a roof that sometimes leaked on the rare occasion it rained.

I had a few friends from school, but they never came over. No, they weren’t allowed. We’d play outside mostly. On our bikes. Tag. Racing with whatever we could find with wheels.

At night, I used to hang in my room, praying sleep would come before my monster of a father would come home.

Drunk, like always. Looking to pick a fight because his own wreck of a life didn’t go the way he’d planned. And those were the good nights.

The bad nights I try not to think about.

Some nights, when it was cool out, my mother would sneak into my room to see if I was awake. Together we’d crawl up to the roof from my bedroom window, and we’d count all the stars in the sky.

“Make a wish on that one right there at the tip of your nose. And it’ll come true,” she’d always tell me.

When I was really young, before I knew about the madness of my life, I’d wish for silly things. A football. A new video game. A new pair of shoes like the other boys at school wore. But, as I grew older my wishes morphed into something more. Something meaningful.

No longer did I wish for things any boy my age would want. No, I’d wish for more. I’d wish for normalcy.

I’d wish for someone to take me away from here.

I’d wish for the attention of a father who’d never shown any toward me in his entire life.

But, none of my wishes ever came true.

When I left that home, I realized it was never really my home at all. No, the track is the only home I have now.

Because when I’m out here it’s like I belong here.

The stands are empty as I walk out onto the asphalt to get a feel for the race happening tomorrow.

“Danger, what’s up,” Crank, my pit crew manager, says, shaking my hand before he returns back to the car I’ll be racing. “I installed a new barge board. Should be better than the last one.”

“Thanks, man.” I run my hand over the red paint of the car. “Anything else I need to know?”

Crank smiles, showcasing his straight white teeth, shaking his head. His brown eyes stare back at me. “Nah, I think you can take her out to get a good feel for her.”

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