Page 94 of Danger

I think about the book, the man who raised Dylan and everything it all means. Dylan’s right, that movie shouldn’t be made.

No one should give the man who ruined his life a voice. Even though it made Dylan into the man he is today, it’s still too much. I can’t believe how entrapped I was with the book. In the beginning, when I first started reading it, I thought it was action-packed and fun. Now, I can truly understand the mind of his father.

He’s sick.

But, it’s not Dylan’s fault.

My phone rings on the nightstand and I grab it, not recognizing the number flashing across the screen.

“Hello,” I say into the phone.

“Is this Monterey Grander?”

The voice sounds familiar and my mind works overtime trying to place the voice to a name. “Yes.”

“It’s Ricky Moore.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” I’m about to hang up, but he tells me to wait, and I pause.

“Meet me tomorrow, before the race. It’s definitely worth it.”

Chapter39

Danger

Race day. Normally on race days, I’m as calm as can be, but not today. Today there’s a different type of energy floating through the air. It’s thick, suffocating me just a bit. My head needs to be in the game, and I try to eradicate every thought I’m having that isn’t related to racing.

Especially Monterey.

She deserves better. And I’m not that guy.

“You ready for today?” Mike asks me as I step into the garage.

“I’m fine.” I sound like a woman. Saying the word fine but really meaning you have a million things running through your head that are entirelynotfine.

“Listen, you haven’t had the easiest past few weeks. If we need to sub in a driver, we can do that.”

I shake my head, looking into Mike’s worried eyes. “No, I’m fine.”

“Okay, buddy.” He pats me on the shoulder as he walks by.

“I just need some time alone.”

He nods and leaves the garage, leaving me alone with my Indy race car. I run my hands over the glossy red paint, feeling the energy the car gives off. Sure, you may think I’m crazy, but I believe cars represent the energy of life.

They each have something special to give as they burn through their fuel. Just working as hard as they can to get through the next curve life throws their way. Or in their case, the track. I study the frame of the car, trying my best to get my head into the right mindset for today’s race. I haven’t seen Monterey yet today, but I know she’s here. I can almost feel her in my bones.

There’s a slight breeze that glides through the air from the open garage. It’s noisy and I can hear all the fans getting ready to watch the race. The speedway is getting packed, and I close my eyes, trying to remember why I’m doing this.

I want a new life. I want something different for me. I don’t want to be known as a freak. Dylan Wheeler, son of a serial killer.

That’s not who I am. And it’s not what I want for my life moving forward. I breathe in deep, smelling the grease and fuel mixed in with all the wonders race day can have. The engines out on the track, getting ready for the race, sound off, and I remember why I love this as much as I do.

I really do love it.

I take another deep breath, letting my mind clear of all the craziness over the past few days. Who cares if people know where I come from?

I should be proud of the fact I survived.

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