Shift

Three years later, Tulsa, Oklahoma

Virgil isn’t Tommy.

I say this every damn race, and yet I can’t seem to let myself part with the man. He’s fifty, and wears a John Deere hat over his salt-and-pepper hair every day of the week. He’s a shitty mechanic, though. I think there’s probably some daddy issues at play with our relationship and my inability to let him go. I mean, he’s fine for a guy changing oil and filters and crap, but he’s never going to get me beyond the B-level races out here in the sticks.

“All right, give that a go and let’s see how she does,” he says, dropping the truck hood with a heavy clunk.

I’ve dropped a lot of cash into this modified Chevy pickup, and the best it’s done is fourth place. Yeah, I’m getting attention, and I’ll probably pick up enough sponsorships and wins to slide into the circuit for stock after this year, but I sure would like to feel the thrill of wi

“Alright, Virgil. I’ll treat her right,” I say. He winks at me and I remind myself again that I can’t ever drop him. The man is too good, and my life is too void of that stuff.

The ride feels choppy already, and I know a belt is too tight. I wait until I get out to the track before I step out and give it one tiny adjustment. Hopefully Virgil doesn’t see this. I hurry back inside to find my rhythm, my heart not quite ready for the final thirty laps of this stage. If I can just hold on to the top five, I’ll earn out. I’ll be able to pay off the advances from Tulsa Motors and get Uncle Jeff the rent money we agreed I’d start to pay.

I’m too old to be living with my uncle, but I don’t know yet where I would go. Everything around the city is too pricey to handle on my own, and since I left Arizona, I’m not much of a people kind of guy. The idea of picking up a random roommate sends shivers down my spine.

In through the nose. Hold, and exhale.

My ritual doesn’t work as well as it used to. Nothing does. I know I did what I had to do, and I know it was for the best.

Colt’s been out for two years now. He’ll probably find me someday, and by then I’ll probably have earned things that are important to me. He’ll take it all, too. But he won’t take Ha

I press play, curious what song will hit me out of the gate. I chuckle at the first few notes of Tom Petty’s “American Girl.” It’s a classic, and Virgil didn’t have to teach me this one. It’s not his fault, but only a few seconds in, the song has me deep in my thoughts. The Judges loved Petty, and Ha

It’s her theme song. Every verse of it.

“Alright, Han. I guess this one’s for you,” I say, flipping down the visor to get one last look at the image of my sleeping beauty. I used Uncle Jeff’s printer to run a copy of the photo I snuck of Ha

I press two fingers to my lips and close my eyes, remembering how hers looked the first time I let her ride along for a race. Nothing has ever been so pure. She was a calm in a storm, a bigger storm than she bargained for, and I’m sorry for that every day I breathe.

My vision of her is still with me when my eyes open. I press my kissed fingers to her photo and push the visor up to keep her safe.

I’ll always keep her safe—from me, from Colt, from my demons. But I’ll never quit looking for her everywhere I go. You can love something and deny yourself the pleasure of it. That’s real love. That’s the kind of love that matters, the kind that lasts. Love from afar, it can’t get hurt. It can’t be broken. And if that’s all I’m going to get in this life, I’m sure as hell going to protect it.

“Hey, you hear me, Dust?” Virgil gets a kick out of the headset.

I get a kick out of how amused Virgil is.

“Roger that, V-man,” I say.

“Huh?”

I shake my head and laugh quietly.

“Nothing, I was just trying out some lingo.”

“Oh, right. I mean, ten-four,” he says. I smile at his attempt.

“Hey, you got a call from some woman named Bailey. She said you could call her after the race if you want. You know her?”

I think maybe a full minute passes before I answer. I’m stu

Ha

“Uh, Dust? You’ve got like ten minutes till go,” Virgil says. His voice is breaking up through our co

“It’s fine, Virg. Just let me see my phone.”

I startle him when he realizes I’ve crept in behind him. His wide eyes look panicked, so I rest my hand on his chest.

“Virgil, this race is sponsored by a chicken wing shop that only has six locations,” I explain.

“Yeah, but. . .” Virgil stammers. I hold up my finger now that my phone is in my hand, and I’m already dialing Bailey’s number. She answers on the first ring, thank God.

“Dustin? Is that you?” she asks.

“Yeah, Bailey. What’s wrong? Is Ha

“Dustin—” Virgil breaks in again. I shush him this time, and he must sense by my expression that this call, it’s serious. I pace a few steps away, plugging my ear to cut out the engine noise as much as I can.

“Are you at a race?” Bailey asks.

“Yeah, but it’s fine. Bailey, tell me!” I plead.

“Oh, God. I didn’t want to tell you this before a race. And Ha

“For fuck’s sake, Bailey! What is it?” I demand.

“Colt’s dead. Your dad. He . . . passed away. The manager of your old trailer court found him. I guess he’d been in there a few days, and I, well, Ha

I fall back on my ass. For most people, the next phase to hit them would probably be grief, but all I can seem to do is cry out in laughter.

“That’s it?” I say.

“I’m really sorry, Dustin.” Bailey knows my life story. She wouldn’t think I would be destroyed by any of this.

“Don’t be. God! Oof!” I blow out. I hold my hand to my forehead then give Virgil a thumbs up. His face is still full of worry. I love that he cares.

“I’m just glad it’s not Ha

I got a new phone number when I left. I knew if she could text or call me, I’d give in. I later learned she did the same.

“Yeah, but don’t . . . Dustin, don’t let her know I told you. She’ll be so mad, and you can’t call her.”

“This is her phone you’re calling me from?” I shout. I haven’t been this close in so long, and suddenly I find myself wanting to drive across the country. Colt’s gone. My mom hasn’t shown up anywhere since she disappeared the day hell went down on Earth. There’s no longer a threat, or a reason to worry.