Page 48 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

I run a hand through my hair, tugging hard enough to hurt, a physical pain to distract from the gaping wound in my soul. “This is bullshit. Complete fucking bullshit.”

Lola steps closer, her brow creased with worry, and reaches out a hand, a beacon of warmth in the storm raging inside me. I flinch away, the memories of our shattered past a fresh wave of pain. I can’t deal with her softness right now. Not when I’m all jagged edges and raw nerves, my insides a tangled mess of anger, betrayal, and a bone-deep fear that threatens to consume me.

“Cole,” she starts, her voice soft, concerned, but I cut her off, the words escaping my lips before I can stop them.

“Don’t,” I snarl. “Just… don’t.”

I catch a glimpse of hurt in her eyes before she masks it. It twists something in my chest, but I can’t focus on that now. Not with my world crumbling around me. It’s always one step forward and two steps back. Fuck!

“We need to get ahead of this,” Gene says, ever the pragmatist. “Before it snowballs.”

I laugh, the sound harsh and brittle. “Get ahead of it? It’s front-page fucking news, Gene. The snowball has already caused an avalanche.”

The room falls silent again. I can feel their eyes on me, a mix of pity and concern that makes my skin crawl. They don’t deserve my rage; this is my problem, not theirs.

“I need some air,” I mutter, pushing past them all.

As I storm out of the garage, the sunlight hits me like a slap to the face. But it’s nothing compared to the storm raging inside me.

My father’s sins have come back to haunt me. My name is being dragged through the mud. Everything I’ve worked for is teetering on the edge of ruin.

How the fuck am I going to fix this?

I slam the door behind me, the garage’s quiet replaced by the roar of the outside world. The sun’s too bright, the air too thick. Everything’s wrong.

My feet carry me across the lot, no destination in mind. I just need to move, to run from the shitstorm brewing inside.

Dad’s voice echoes in my head.“Son, racing’s in our blood. It’s who we are.”

Yeah, Dad. So is cheating, apparently.

I kick at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the asphalt. It doesn’t help. Nothing does.

Why did Chad do this now?

The question churns in my gut, a toxic mix of rage and fear. Lola said he plays dirty, but I just assumed she meant on the track, not beyond it.

I reach the fence at the edge of the property and grip the chain link until my knuckles go white. Beyond it, the track stretches out, a ribbon of asphalt that’s been my whole world. My escape. My fucking religion.

And now? Now it might all be tainted. Every win, every lap, every damn checkered flag—all of it under a microscope.

“Fuck!” The word tears out of me, raw and primal. I slam my fist into the fence, the pain a welcome distraction from the chaos in my head.

I hear footsteps behind me. Soft, hesitant. Lola.

“Cole,” she says, voice gentle as a summer breeze. It grates on my nerves.

“I told you I needed air,” I growl, not turning around.

She sighs, and I can picture her crossing her arms, that stubborn set to her jaw. “And I’m giving you air. You don’t get to decide who can share that air with you.”

The silence stretches between us, taut as a rubber band about to snap.

Finally, I turn. She’s standing there, worry etched on her face, but there’s something else. Determination. Fire. I don’t know how she knows, but it’s exactly what I need from her.

“What are we gonna do?” I ask, hating how lost I sound.

Lola steps closer, her eyes never leaving mine. “We fight. We prove that you’re not your father. That this team, what we’ve built, it’s real. It’s been earned.”

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