Page 77 of Dirt Driven

“That’s amazing.” My heart burst with happiness, my smile instant. “Are they hopeful he might walk again?”

“It’s not out of the question, but they give Caden the same answer every time he asks. Day by day. The most progression they see with spinal cord injuries usually happen in the first six months from the injury.”

“Oh, really? You’d think time would be the key there.”

“I thought that too, but the nerves wake up rather quickly, and the longer they take, the more drawn out recovery would be.”

“Interesting.”

Her eyes landed on Caden who had rolled himself into the hauler and was talking with the crew guys. Gray beside him looking the most excited I’d seen since she won the USAC Quarter Midget Junior Animal championship last year.

Kinsley leaned into me, motioning to Caden. “He misses everyone so much.”

“That’s why once he’s finished with therapy, you guys are coming back.”

That earned me a laugh. “That’s what Jameson’s been telling him daily.”

Hayden made her way over to us. “I need to know the scoop, girlfriend.”

Kinsley continued to rock the baby. “You and Casten need to stop sending Caden texts. He’s getting all kinds of bad ideas.”

“Like what?” Hayden rolled her eyes. “We’re helping you out.”

“They’re sending him texts?” It didn’t surprise me but I was curious. “What are you sending him?”

“Inappropriate ideas.” Leaning toward me, she whispered. “All he wants to do is have sex. All the time.”

My cheeks heated. “He doesn’t have any problems with that?”

“Nope. Works like it always did.” She laughed, covering her face, as if she couldn’t believe she admitted that.

I don’t know what I loved more that night. Sitting in the suite with Caden and Kinsley as we watched my little brother win his first Knoxville Nationals, or the fact that finally our family felt whole again in the pits that night after the win. Though shit had changed, the dynamic was different, what once felt unbearably different had settled into a new line. Not as fast as the one we were in, but we were still setting a good lap time.

Dropped Cylinder – A cylinder becomes too rich (too much fuel in the air/fuel mixture) which prevents the spark plugs from firing.

After Knoxville, I wasn’t sure I wanted to race anymore. Okay, I should rephrase that. I wanted to race, but fear had been holding me back. It showed in my performance at nationals. I loved the fact that Caden showed up and that Casten won his first Knoxville Nationals. But like it or not, something inside me had changed. Fear, yes, but emotionally, I couldn’t pinpoint what it was that had been driving me before this, and what I’d lost along the way.

For as long as I could remember, all I’d ever wanted to do was race. Now one accident had left me nervously anticipating the time when I wouldn’t be able to walk away from it. I almost hadn’t, and someone else didn’t. Seeing Caden at Knoxville only made it worse. I understood why he came—JAR Racing was still a huge part of his life—but it didn’t make it any easier on me. The one who ended his career.

It could have been anyone.

It’s not your fault.

It was just a racing accident.

That was what everyone told me, and I told myself those same things, but for someone so completely absorbed with racing as I was, I couldn’t accept any of those answers.

There was a one-week break after Nationals before we had to be in Grand Forks. Arie had her surgery a few days earlier and everything went smoothly. The day she came home from the hospital, I couldn’t stand to be in the house. I felt like the fucking walls were closing in on me, and I didn’t know how to be there for her while stuck inside my own head.

So there I sat at the Pig Pit, drinking, because I didn’t want to go home and look at her face. Not that I didn’t love her, but looking at her only reminded me that I was letting her down.

Casten showed up at the restaurant, probably because Arie sent him to check on me. Either way, I didn’t want any company and I think he knew it. For an hour, we sat in silence and drank. Before he left, he said to me, “I know it’s not the same thing, but I have an idea of what you’re feeling.” He raked his hand through his dark hair, his eyes on the televisions lining the bar I had been staring at for hours. “I was supposed to be watching Jack that night. He was my responsibility. And he died because I let him walk closer to the track.” I looked over at him when his voice cracked. “That kind of guilt, it stays with you. It fucking sucks, but you have to move on from it or you’re never going to live your life. That right there, it’s the worst thing you can do. Caden doesn’t want you to give up. Jack wouldn’t have wanted me to, or Tommy, or Axel. Everyone that was there that night, or the ones standing behind Caden now, we can’t give up because that’s a slap in their face. You have the ability to race and do it fucking better than 90 percent of the people on the goddamn planet. Don’t waste that feeling sorry for yourself.”

And then he left. It was probably the most sophisticated thing I’d heard come from his mouth, but I also didn’t absorb it. Had he said it when I was sober, maybe. Shitty timing on his part.

Hours later, I was still at the bar, arguing with Rosa about what whiskey was made where.

“Jameson isIrish whiskey. It’s not made in Mexico,” I told her for the fourth time, flipping the coaster in my hand over and over again.

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