Page 7 of Racer

Exactly.

I swallowed hard, setting the shattered unit down. “Mason didn’t make that mistake.”

“I know.” Kane’s voice was quiet now. “And so do his club brothers. Anyone else who says otherwise can go fuck themselves.”

Standing, I wiped my palms on my jeans. “If it’d been anywhere else, he’d be facing sanctions.”

Kane clapped me on the back. “Then it’s a damn good thing I own the underground races in the entire state, because nobody is gonna keep Axle off the track when he finally wakes the fuck up.”

I appreciated his use of when instead of if. Mason had been in a coma for nearly a week, and it was getting harder by the day to remain positive.

Snorting, I mumbled, “I’d like to see them try.”

Kane shook his head with a chuckle. “Not sure who’s more stubborn, you or your brother.”

“It definitely runs in the family.”

I had pestered Kane to give me the chance to show him what I could do under the hood of one of his race cars. When I was only fifteen, he finally caved, handed me a lug wrench, and pointed at the rear tire of the nearest car, telling me to change it as fast as I could. Since I grew up trailing my big brother, and he spent all his time either in the garage or on a track, it wasn’t much of a challenge. But it took me a while to realize Kane knew that since my brother hadn’t kept any secrets from him. Which meant he was well aware that Mason had let me do more than hand him tools when he was working on cars for years before then.

Grabbing a nearby racing jack, I had the vehicle off the ground in seconds. Then I swapped out the wrench for a hydraulic wheel gun. The entire wheel assembly was off and replaced in under a minute. When it was done, I dusted my hands off and grinned at Kane.

He’d hired me on the spot and had given me the experience I needed to earn my ASE certification. That first week had been brutal. Every guy in the garage watched me as though they were waiting for me to break something. Or cry. Just because I was a girl.Jerks.

So I worked harder. Faster. Cleaner. I stayed late, got greasy, and kept my mouth shut until I had something worth saying.

Eventually, I earned my spot with them. They didn’t treat me like Kane’s pet project or Axle’s little sister anymore. I was just one of the crew, which was exactly how I wanted it.

“Damn straight, it does,” Kane agreed, pulling me out of my memories. “Which is how I know he’s gonna be hell on wheels when he wakes up from his coma.”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“Hey, Novak!” Gauge called from under a lifted Mustang, his voice muffled. “You skipping the race tomorrow night to hold Axle’s hand or what?”

I snorted. “I miss a couple of races ’cause my brother’s in a coma, and suddenly the world’s ending?”

“That’s because you’re the only one who double-checks my torque settings,” he shot back. “I don’t trust any of these other assholes.”

“You shouldn’t,” someone muttered from across the bay.

A few chuckles rippled through the garage, and I rolled my eyes as I wiped off my hands. “I’ll be there.”

The pit buzzedwith controlled chaos—shouted instructions, the hiss of pneumatics, the sharp scent of exhaust and burnt rubber. Floodlights cast everything in stark relief, shadows cutting across the concrete.

I moved between cars, barking for a 15mm socket before the driver even finished complaining, my voice rising over the rumble of engines and the shriek of tires. One of the guys tossed the tool to me without looking.

My hands worked fast, focused, and steady. I was in my element, right where I belonged.

But I still felt the tension lingering under the surface. A few of the guys seemed quieter, and not just when I was nearby, so I didn’t think it was because they didn’t know how to treat me with Mason in a coma. Some glanced over their shoulders more than usual.

The crew was off tonight. Not in any way that would tank a race, but in the little things. A distracted look here and a too longpause there. My brother’s absence felt like an unspoken echo in every motion.

“You feel it too, right?” Piston muttered, dropping beside me as we adjusted a suspension component. “Shit’s been off.”

I didn’t answer except for a sharp nod. I couldn’t, not when my chest was already tight from holding it together all night.

Luckily, he didn’t push.

Later, while swapping out brake pads, I heard Gauge call over to another crew member. “Kane’s bringing in someone new. Some hotshot racer from Tennessee.”

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