Page 25 of Speeding Hearts

I was worried about the dirt bike guys showing up at the track again later—now that word was out the track was usable again, I was sure my days of having it to myself were numbered. Mornings were likely the best chance I had at getting a good amount of time in, and that would be cut short today as I had to sort out trying to find a new place to stay.

“Miss!” he called out.

I grimaced, considering ignoring him.

“Miss!”

I sighed, turning to face the man jogging toward me.

“I apologize about all the noise last night,” he said, when he reached me. He ran a hand through his greasy hair. How could that gesture look so gorgeous when Dean did it and so unappealing on this guy?

And why the hell was I thinking about Dean right now?

“Well, I’m going to be checking out in the next couple of days,” I said.

“There’s no need for that. I kicked those guests out last night. We don’t tolerate that kind of behavior here at Top Quality.”

“You mean they got arrested.”

“Yeah well, those guys aren’t coming back. Cops had warrants out. I’m changing the locks too.”

I considered him. Could I believe that? Not having to move would save me a good amount of stress, not to mention add to my time on the Back Track today. I also wouldn’t have to go to Hank for help.

“Is that right?” I asked, cautious.

“That’s right,” he said. “Listen, the boss wants me to keep more respectable people here, so he’s offered to give you an extra week free if you stick around after this.

I hesitated, knowing it could be foolish to believe him but wanting to be done with this too. “I’ll think about it.”

When I got in my car, I let out a breath. This could be good. One less thing to stress about today, anyway.

The car even started up without too much fuss. Maybe things were starting to go right.

* * *

Doinglaps on my own was nerve-wracking at first, but I got into the swing of things. By mid-morning, I felt confident enough that I was taking the long stretches at nearly the speed I thought I’d be able to hit at the Speedway.

I took a break for lunch, then went back at it until the gang of dirt bikers showed up around two o’clock. But by then, I could practically take that track with a blindfold on. I was so confident, in fact, that when I took my last lap as the guys were gathered around the parking lot to get ready, I glanced up as I took the corner at speed and was surprised to see a familiar face.

Freddie, the kid from the Speedway. John, the head mechanic who had warmed to me over the past couple of weeks had hollered at him just the other day to quit following me around like a puppy dog. Freddie was on a red dirt bike I didn’t recognize from yesterday—though I could have missed it. I’d have been shocked if he’d been part of the ass-admiring crew yesterday. And doubly glad Dean hadn’t done anything about them.

Then, I hit it.

There was a crater of a pothole on the stretch closest to the parking lot, and all day, I’d carefully avoided hitting it. I’d made a game out of swerving past it at the last minute, pretending it was a car in front of me on the track. But this time, I was squinting at the gang of dirt bikes, my mind still on Dean and exhaustion creeping around the edges, and my tire caught the hole.

I swerved and the car spun, my body slamming into the side of the door.

My helmet hit the frame with a thud, making me see stars, and I was vaguely aware of something burning along my forearm.

The car spun to a stop, dust floating up in plumes around me.

I blinked. Did I crash?

I glanced around, but it was hard to see with the dust.

Then, Freddie was there.

“Stella!” he cried. His eyes went wide as he looked down. I followed his gaze. My arm was an angry, bright red—blood, I realized belatedly. I blinked, swallowing hard so I didn’t retch.