Shift

“You’ve got company,” she says in a low voice, glancing beyond me.

I set her down and instinctively move her behind me as I hear the rumble of the Subaru pulling up.

“Yo, that was bullshit!” Aiden says, stepping in close enough that I smell stale smoke on his breath. Fucking cloves.

“Not sure what you mean there. I thought you drove that thing pretty well,” I say, playing up the naïve nice-guy routine.

The grin on my face is stretched with fakeness, and I work hard to keep it plastered there while Aiden turns and laughs toward his friends.

“This guy,” he says, thumb pointing to me over his shoulder.

Someone else would probably take his fist in their teeth, but I’ve been hit plenty of times so I see it coming seconds before he twists and fires away.

I dip so his arm sails over me and his balance falters, then I rush forward and knock him to the ground, my knee in his stomach and my hand around his throat. I’m not pressing hard, but enough to let him know I can if I want to.

“You’ve got a learning curve, Aiden. That’s all. You bought a nice car, but if you’re going to race it you need to get yourself a good mechanic, or take some auto shop at school. Maybe make some new friends who know how to do more than put stickers on perfectly fine paint jobs.” I hold his glare, his teeth showing as he grunts out his labored breath. I give him a wink and let him go, making sure to take a few steps back so he can’t sweep my legs. People are always brave a few seconds after an attack. His head will clear, though, and he won’t want me embarrassing him again.

“Fucking hustled me, you prick!” He spits at me, the kind that sprays and splatters i

“My lips to God, Dustin, that shit never gets old,” Tommy says, slinging an arm over my shoulder. I shake my head.

“No, it does not,” I agree.

I get a subtle nod from Jimmy, who’s about to obliterate someone else with his Challenger. We never speak, part of the code, but it feels good to earn that silent respect. Nothing against the hobbyists who come out here; one day most of these guys will look back on their lives and reminisce about those times they drag raced out in the desert. I bet their stories get embellished in the retelling, and I bet getting smoked by guys like me never comes up.

But for guys like Jimmy? I’ll be part of their stories. Like that nod of respect, when they talk to their grandkids about coming out to the desert to race, they’ll mention how they once lost to Dustin Bridges. Their kids and grandkids won’t have to ask who I am. They’ll know. Everyone will know.

I’m comfortable in the fantasy, and with my arm around my girl, sharing laughs and smiles with my best friend, for the first time in a very long time, everything in my life feels damn near perfect.

Thing about me, though? Feeling perfect has always been a warning sign of the hailstorm of shit about to come. The sensation raises the hairs on the back of my neck first, and before I can fully turn and slip from Ha

“Let’s see how fast you are now, asshole!” Aiden shouts. His arm hangs out of his car window as he cruises by, what appears to be a nine millimeter Glock—same brand as the one Colt sometimes carries—gripped in his hand and aimed right at my passenger side back tire.

The crack of the first shot echoes across the desert, the reverb playing off the nearby mountainside. My hands search behind me for Ha

Ha

Tommy hoists his wrench at the Subaru as it speeds away, falling short several feet only to spark as it clanks against the asphalt. My friend stares at the bright green car covered in stickers as it grows smaller in the distance, soon the only thing visible the glow of two tail lights.

“Shit!” my friend shouts, kicking at the road as he turns to face me. He’s threaded his hands behind his neck, and his teeth grind with anger. I should probably look just like him, and I’m a little surprised I don’t.

“How are we getting your car home?” Ha

“I’ll use your donut, and I’m sure someone here will give me one of theirs. We’ll get home fine. Slow, ha! But . . . we’ll get home.” At my joke, her hand sinks comfortably into mine and I bring her into my chest, hugging her and swaying her a little to calm her racing heart.

I always thought the day would come when clashes like this wouldn’t frighten me. I thought I’d be older, but I guess seventeen is the magic number. I’ll be eighteen soon; what better time to feel invincible.