Page 42 of Furious
Zara’s ex-boyfriend is dressed in a similar all-black outfit as Noel; a black apron with the logo of Gavin’s barbershop printed on the front is tied around his neck and waist.
“There you are.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he stands behind me, his hands landing on my shoulders. “What are you getting done today?”
I open my mouth to ask him what he means, but Chance reacts before I can.
“What kind of stupid game are you playing, Fox? We didn’t come here to let you or Noel slice us like fresh sushi. We have something for you?—”
A warning flashes in Cal’s eyes. “Oh, come on,” he cackles, looking at the guy whose face is being wrapped in a warm, white towel. “I’ve been learning from the best. I could give you a haircut or some frosted tips. Let me show you a book with some examples of haircuts we offer, so we can decide together.”
Chance and I look at each other a little confused, but when Cal comes back with a thick black binder with dozens of photos of hairstyles, the mystery is solved.
“Put the cash between the pages.” Cal whispers, positioning himself between my chair and the one occupied by the other customer.
I do as I’m told, stuffing the envelope with the money we owe in the middle of the binder.
“I suggest something really short, unless you want to try a new color?” he projects his voice, no doubt for the benefit of the other customer, who is now at the register and is handing some cash to Noel.
“Right.” Cal says once the man has left the shop. “Now wait a couple of minutes so that guy doesn’t see you come out and get out of my fucking face. Next time you better have the cash on you at the race, I’d rather not risk blowing my cover here.”
That confirms the rumor that this shop is just a front for all sorts of illegal activity. Especially since Noel has conveniently disappeared behind the “Employees Only” door.
“You seem to think that we’re gonna lose again.” Chance argues. “Last night was just a fluke. We hadn’t been riding in a while, but we both know you’re no match for us.”
Cal barks out a laugh. “I’d like to see that, Hunter. You came up in front of a curve and choked like your brother did in Bridgeport. Only this time, you couldn’t try to blame it on me.”
Chance rises from his chair so fast that it would capsize if it wasn’t made of heavy metal and bolted to the floor. “Atlas didn’t choke, asshole. Someone hit him. With one of your fucking bikes. We were never able to prove that you were behind it, but say another word about my late brother and so help me fucking God.”
“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” Cal snickers. “I told that to the police two years ago and to your father. I had nothing to do with what happened in Bridgeport. But your brother wasn’t the champion everyone said he was, or he would have dodged that bike. In reality, even if we had been allowed to continue racing, it was you who should have been on that bike. You had won the pole position the day before, soit didn’t belong to your brother. I guess you were too scared to race, like you were last night?”
I’m on Chance before he can punch Fox.
“Knock it off.” I say, holding him back. “And you take your money and fuck off. You don’t have one tenth of Atlas’s talent. And last night you only won because you changed the racetrack and caught us by surprise. We’ll see how long you want to continue to race once you lose every fucking week. Let’s go, Chance. We’re done here.”
I rip the cape off from around my neck and toss it on the chair. Chance does the same.
“Next week,” Cal says to our backs as we head to the door. “We race on Saturday night, when you come back from your away game. Same place, same time.”
We walk to my car in complete silence, but I know that Chance is still seething. I can tell from the tension in his shoulders and from his rigid posture as he walks by my side on the cracked pavement of the run down street.
“Dude,” I clasp his shoulder when we get to my car. “Don’t let that asshole rattle your cage. You could beat him blindfolded.”
I’m surprised when I see unshed tears in Chance’s eyes.
“Except the asshole was right. I did choke last night. When he was riding so close behind me and the road was narrowing right at that curve, I knew he was gonna try to pass me. Whichever side he picked, he would have probably thrown you, or the guy, on the Ducati off the road. For a second, I—I was back there in Bridgeport. I saw Atlas being hit again and I?—”
I squeeze his shoulder to show him my support. “So you lost control of your own bike, trying to protect me and the Ducati? Chance, when we race, we know what kinds of risks we’re taking. Next time, look after yourself and race like you mean it. Hesitating like that could have cost you way more than last night’s race. You could have ended up getting hurt, or worse.”
I’ve only seen my best friend cry twice in his life. At his mother’s funeral and in Bridgeport when it was clear that Atlas wasn’t going to make it. So his tears come as a complete shock to me.
“But don’t you see, Lev? Cal was right. I had qualified for the race when Atlas couldn’t be back in time from Florida because his flight got canceled. Atlas even offered to let me see the race through, but I didn’t take it because racing had only ever been a hobby for me. It wasn’t my calling like hockey is. But if I had said yes, Atlas would still be here. That day in Bridgeport, it should have been me on that bike. How can I look my dad and Ares in the eyes when we all know that I’m here instead of him?”
Fuck. I’ve always known that Atlas’s death had left a gaping hole in the Hunter family. But I never thought Chance carried all this guilt in addition to the grief.
I don’t even know what to say. His feelings are irrational, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t real to him. All I can do is to be there for him. I’m an only child, but Chance is the closest thing I have to a sibling. He’s my brother in every way but blood.
I pull him into my arms, squeezing as tight as I can. “I don’t know anything about fate, Chance. All I know is that you’re here. And I loved Atlas, but you’re my brother and I’m glad it wasn’t you on that bike two years ago. You can be mad at me if you want, but that’s how I feel. You know what else I think? Guilt has never done anything good for anyone. What you can do to make sure that you honor your brother is to make every day count. And Cal might have not been the one who hit Atlas that day, but it was one of his team’s bikes. Let’s find a way to make him pay.”
He composes himself, nodding at my words. “Yeah. Fox might not be entirely guilty for what happened to Atlas, but one thing is certain. He isn’t innocent.”
