Shift

7

I don’t know why I was so calm.

I should have been screaming, begging to be let out of the car.

Instead I sat there, eyes locked on the lines in the road, the distance shrinking, the milliseconds remaining for Dustin to make a move all flying through my mind in calculations. My body felt the same way it always does when I watch Dustin race. Or at least, I thought it did.

When my brother punched Dustin in the face, I peeled my hands from my legs and realized how hard I had been holding on. I don’t think it was fear of dying, though. I meant what I said. I do trust Dustin with my life, probably more than I trust Tommy. It would hurt my brother to hear that, but it’s the truth.

No, I wasn’t afraid for me. I was afraid for Dustin. I knew he wouldn’t lose, but I was willing him to win just the same. I was anticipating the big cheat, waiting for one of Alex’s guys to break the rules. I was waiting for fate to steal this from him with a blown tire or gasket. That’s what gripped my chest and held on tight. That’s why I cut my fingers deep into my skin. I didn’t want anything to take this from Dustin. I wanted him to get what he earned, what he deserved.

I always do.

I always have.

I knew he’d come to my house tonight, even if he didn’t have to. Bailey and I watched a few more races and I filled her head with what I thought she wanted to hear about: what it was like in that car, the intensity, and how close we were to losing it all. The entire time, though, my thoughts were on that kiss. And I knew Dustin’s mind was there too. I saw it in the glances he gave me from across the road where he leaned against the side of his car, hands deep in his pockets, relaxed. The only time he is ever relaxed, at least fully, is after a big win.

His headlights illuminate our driveway from down the street, the familiar growl of his engine music to my ears. I draw my legs in and hug them as I wait, barefoot, on the hood of my car. The air is a mix of warmth and the cool that drifts up from the river. It feels like summer.

Dustin isn’t in a hurry. It may be because my brother is on the verge of vomiting in his passenger seat and he doesn’t want to push him over the edge. Or maybe he’s thinking about what comes next, after he gets my brother inside, when we talk about the night.

The Supra’s lights dim as the car crawls into the driveway, and Dustin flicks them off before killing the engine. I stay where I am, coiled on my car, chin balanced on my right knee and gaze locked on Dustin’s through the windshield. I see him so clearly, even through the blur of reflected stars.

When Tommy pushes against the passenger door, Dustin leaps from his, jogging around to finish opening it before my brother gets sick inside. Tommy rolls out onto his hands and knees, heaving the cocktail mixed in his system onto the pavement. I roll my eyes and let go of my legs, sliding down the car to help. I move to Dustin’s open door first and reach in to grab his keys before closing it. By the time I get to the passenger side, Dustin’s managed to get my brother to his feet. I tuck myself under Tommy’s right arm to help keep him steady.

“Sorry about this,” I say, knowing how much Dustin hates this kind of stuff. My brother usually doesn’t get shit-faced. He has a good time, but that’s as far as partying goes. He did this to be a jerk.

“This isn’t your fault,” Dustin says, glancing at me as he leans forward and kicks the passenger door closed. I press the lock button on his key fob then stuff the keys into my pocket.

Thankfully, Tommy isn’t out enough to not be able to walk. He isn’t steady on his feet, but he’s at least able to prop up most of his own weight as we help him amble toward the front door. It’s two, maybe three in the morning by now, and our parents will be up by six for an event my mom is hosting at Town Hall. Thank God my mom quit trying to make Tommy and me volunteer for her craft fairs and bake sales. It’s mostly older ladies who help out, and they always want to teach us lessons. I don’t know that the good word can be heard when you’re seventeen and eighteen in a small town. Temptation comes in the form of nothing better to do out here, as my brother is so gracefully proving right now.

Dustin and I manage to get Tommy through the door and up the stairs before he nods off, his head slumped forward and body instantly a thousand pounds heavier.

“I got it from here,” Dustin says, sweeping my brother up in his arms. I pull my phone from my back pocket and snap a quick photo in case I need to hold this image over Tommy’s head sometime, then pull the comforter back on his bed before Dustin sets him down.

“Think we should take his shoes off?” He steps back to stare at his friend, my brother, as he inchworms into the covers and instantly begins to snore.

“I don’t think he cares,” I say, flipping the cover over half of his body. “I say we leave him.”

I move to the door and flick the switch for the ceiling fan. Tommy’s always liked the noise it makes; helps him sleep like a baby. Maybe he’ll make it late into the morning and avoid the massive hangover waiting to move in. Dustin stares at his bed for a few seconds before pushing his hands into his hair and blowing out. He rocks on his feet and spins to face me, our eyes meeting automatically.

“Come on,” I call to him, urging him out of my brother’s room. Frozen in place, he stares at me for a few breaths, probably considering the hidden meaning in my request. Where will he go when he leaves this room?

I step into the hallway and a second later, Dustin follows. I close my brother’s door and turn to find Dustin near. His body looms over and around me, my face at his chest. I reach up and run my finger along the center of it, drawing a line in the cotton of his T-shirt. I lift my chin to find his dipped, his eyes locked on my face, waiting for me to tell him what to do. I tilt my head to my right, toward my bedroom, then let my finger trace down to the bottom of his shirt, hooking the hem briefly as I turn away.

He doesn’t follow immediately, but by the time I reach my door, he’s only a few paces behind me. I hold the door wide for him to enter, breathing in his scent as he passes. He is all the things I love—oil, leather, a hard day’s work, his coconut shampoo, spearmint.

I push my door gently until it clicks at my back as Dustin moves slowly through my room. He’s been in here a thousand times, yet everything feels intimate now. My things feel on display, as if everything I own is a representation of who I am, and I’m suddenly worried he won’t like the story they tell. But Dustin, he’s one of those things too. He’s perhaps the biggest piece of my story, owning more than even my own family.

“I heard you won two grand from tonight,” I say, my voice low so I don’t wake anyone.

Dustin’s shoulders lift and he glances at me over his left shoulder, his lips ticked up with pride. “I did, yeah.”

Our eyes flirt, and eventually I have to blink away. My gaze falls to my feet, but I can tell he’s still looking at me. I feel it.

“Han . . . I’m real sorry. Tonight, what I did to you—that was too dangerous.” There’s an ache in his hushed tone, and I hate that he feels guilt over the best night of my life.

“No, it wasn’t.” I lift my head to find his eyes waiting, as I knew they would be.

His head briefly falls to the side then he shakes it.

“It was stupid. Careless,” he continues as he backs up to sit on the edge of my bed. The space around him feels so childish—my wall covered in band posters and dumb drawings of hearts and flowers I made with Bailey. The giant pink teddy bear my mom bought me for Easter is propped in the corner of my bed, and my comforter is woven with pink and gold glitter thread. It’s hard to make someone see you as a woman when everything about your space screams baby sister.