Page 60 of Endurance

“Talk to me, Sloan,” she murmured.

My throat clogged with emotion, and I tore my gaze from hers. A war raged in my head, wanting to tell her everything yet wanting to keep it all buried at the same time. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t hear the sounds of screeching tires and crunching metal that haunted me by day and slithered into my dreams at night. She didn’t know I could still taste blood in my mouth, the metallic hints as fresh as it was on the day of the crash. Then there was the agonizing pain—both physical and emotional—that followed for months afterward.

Her warm hand shifted from my knee to cover my hand, ripping me away from a dark time and back to the present. I looked down at her slender fingers, then up her arm until my sight landed on her angelic face. Kallie stared back with eyes full of concern.

“Alright. I’ll tell you,” I conceded.

She smiled tentatively, seeming pleased but also cautious.

“It’s a nice evening. If you’re through eating, why don’t we take this conversation outside?”

I nodded my agreement and stood up from the chair. Leaving the remains of our dinner on the kitchen table, I allowed Kallie to take my hand and lead me outside. Once there, I took a deep breath. The fresh air felt good and helped to clear my head. It made me realize how stifling it had become when we were in the kitchen.

I looked around and noticed one of the patio chairs toppled over. I had a vague recollection of shoving it aside in a fit of anger, but I couldn’t remember beyond that. Bending over, I grabbed the arm of the chair to flip it upright. I motioned for Kallie to sit down, then took a seat next to her.

“Where do you want me to begin?” I asked.

“I don’t know. It’s your story.” Sympathy and understanding were prevalent in every line of her expression, but the pity was also back in her eyes once more. It was the last thing I wanted. Tearing my gaze from her, I stared out across the yard. The sun had set entirely, leaving faint hints of purple to blend with the dark night sky.

“I suppose I should start with the morning of the crash. That’s when everything went bad. I was heading up a practice session at Auto Club Speedway. Before we got into the cars, I’d instructed one of the crew members to play America’s “Ventura Highway” on one of the portable speakers we kept in the pit. Like you believe in the stars and the moon, I have my own superstitions. I never race—for practice or competitively—before letting the song play through.” I paused, not wanting to admit that hearing the song now just made me want to vomit. “Anyways, this punk-ass reporter showed up and started asking me a bunch of questions about my father. I didn’t want to talk to him, and I was pissed that he was interrupting my pre-race routine.”

“What was he asking you?”

“It was the usual bullshit questions at first, but then he wanted to know why I never apologized for what my father did. I didn’t know what he was talking about, and I tried to ignore him, but he was a persistent fucker who wouldn’t let up. Back in the day, my father was a big deal in the racing world. He was a Formula One racer—a really good one. Still, he wasn’t unlike every other racer. He worried about fatal crashes on the track but tended to think he was invincible on the open road. Before hitting the height of his career, he died in a ten-car pileup on Ventura Freeway. Hence the reason “Ventura Highway” was my jam—it was kind of like a salute to him. Naturally, reporters speculated about my chosen career path because of that, but this reporter started saying stuff no other reporter had.”

I eyed Kallie for a moment, noticing that she didn’t look surprised by anything I was saying.

“Go on,” she prompted.

“Do I need to? It looks like you already know everything I’m saying.”

“Not everything.”

“Have it your way.” I shook my head and sighed. “Anyways, the reporter accused my father of being responsible for the accident on the freeway. He said my dad was drunk at the time of the crash. I was taken aback since that was the first time I’d ever heard anything like that. My mother happened to be at the track that day, which wasn’t uncommon whenever I was practicing or competing. I immediately confronted her about it. She was hesitant to tell me at first but couldn’t deny the reporter’s accusations in the end. They were all true.”

“I can’t imagine that was easy to hear.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was a blow like I can’t describe. You have to remember that there wasn’t internet back then, so any reporting on his accident was all in newspaper archives. Why would I think to dig up the information when I thought my mother had already told me all I needed to know? I was just a little kid when my dad died, but I’d idolized him all my life. It pissed me off to find out my mother had lied, and I wanted more details, but it was time to get behind the wheel. I stormed away. And then…” I trailed off and raked my hands through my hair as I tried to tell the story without hearing the sounds that lived in my memory. “Then the crash happened fifteen minutes later. If you’ve ever been in an accident, you know the sound of metal crunching. I can still hear it to this day. Everything just happened so fast—one minute, I felt cocky about schooling a rookie, and the next, I was spinning out. I have a vague recollection of the spectator crowd cheering like crazy after they pulled me out of the car, but that’s all I remember.”

“I’m so sorry, Sloan.”

“For what? I knew better than to get behind the wheel when distracted. I preached to my crew, and other drivers about the importance of staying focused all the damn time, yet I didn’t follow my own advice. That was one the first thoughts I’d had when my crew arrived to cut me from the wreckage—that I’d fucked up and lost focus.”

“What about what happened after? With…” She hesitated. “With your mother.”

“My mother,” I spat out bitterly. I paused and took a deep breath, steeling myself before I had to tell her the rest. The mere mention of my mother grated on my nerves, but it also caused the most severe kind of ache—a contradiction of emotion I had never been able to sort out. Closing my eyes, I pictured her blurred face as I raced by her on the track right before the crash. It was the last time I saw her, and my words preceding that had been laden with anger. “Why do you want to know about my mother?”

“Well, I know she committed suicide,” she answered softly.

“Fuck. Is there anything you don’t know? What else did Colton tell you when he called?” I demanded, feeling incredibly betrayed.

“Colton didn’t tell me anything. I’ve never discussed any of this with him. Rylee is the one who told me the night we all went out for dinner. She was trying to explain why you got so snippy with me when I’d asked about your parents.”

Pushing up from the chair, I shoved a frustrated hand through my hair and began to pace the patio.

“That was over a month ago, Kallie. You’ve known this whole time?”

“As I told you, I only know a bit. I didn’t press you because I thought you would talk about it in your own time. Rylee wasn’t able to explain how you feel—only you can do that.”

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