Page 46 of I'm Sorry
“Every time. Mama Christina makes this stuff way too yummy.” Marcus chuckles and ruffles Junie’s half-assed messy bun. “Dad…” She draws the word out, narrowing her eyes at him.
“You’ll never be too old for me to mess up your hair, Junebug. I’m not sorry.”
“You should’ve had a son. At least they think that shit is cute,” she gripes and her dad smiles.
I shrug. “I thought it was adorable,” I comment.
“Thanks for the support. I wanted more babies, but your mothers had their hands full with the two of you.” He swallows tightly with that statement. “Besides, I have a son right here.” He taps my knee and if this were any other day, that statement would make me happy, especially with the lack of parents in my life, but not today. Marcus picks up on that and frowns. “How are you doing, son?”
I stare down at the ice cream in my hands, not wanting to answer that question yet again because what is going to come out won’t help anyone.
“I’m afraid it’s never going to get better.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
TRACE
Two weeks.
“You’ve got this, Trace. You almost hit that tipping point. Get that ass end in there.” I can’t see Spencer calling out to me thanks to all the smoke my tires have produced. When the dusky white obtrusion finally settles, my car idling in neutral, Spencer joins me at the mouth of the track. He leans over the window of the car, tipping himself enough that his arms rest on the top of the S15 I’m driving.
Ilya is funding this. In fact, it’s my first practice with him at the wheel. He’s driving his Chaser while I’m in what they deem the practice car. It’s a drift missile—shitty—on the outside, but it has all the power and performance mods of an FD car. Way more power and torque than I’m used to in my BMW. Ilya is crazy to have his car on the track with me. He’s pretty fucking zen, though. He keeps telling me he believes in me and has faith that I won’t hit his car. Even if I do, it’s replaceable.
A Japanese classic like that, I’m not so sure, but that’s on him.
He isn’t a super talkative man either. He’d rather show me than talk, and when he does talk, it has meaning. His ways of teaching and motivation are something I’m still getting used to, but I’ve never felt so confident in learning something as I do when he’s here.
Spencer is a great trainer, don’t get me wrong. However, I’ve learned so much more from Ilya by the way he handles my mistakes. To him, they’re a learning experience rather than a chance to tell me how much of a fuck up I am.
I wonder how I would’ve been on my bike had I had someone like him in my corner instead of my dad. I’d probably give Knox a run for her money…would have givenher a run for her money.
I swallow that thought down. I can’t think about her right now. When I think about her, I start thinking about how I can’t even look my best friend in the eye. I think about how our relationship has gone to shit because I blame him for losingourgirl.
Drifting is what I have to focus on right now. I’ve been hunting for the assholes that jumped her at the track that day, but I have had no luck. Since they were let out, they’ve disappeared. I’ve wanted to bring it up to Spencer and ask for his help, but he’s made it clear that Chaos is a sensitive subject, so I’ve said nothing. When I get a little more trust built up, I’ll bring it up. I want Knox back home, where she belongs.
“How are you feeling?” Spencer asks, tearing my thoughts from Knox and Benny. Driving wise, I feel great. Outside of that, not so much. But I’m not there yet with Spencer.
“Car feels good. I think I’m getting the hang of just how much power this beast has,” I say, slightly winded from the adrenaline of handling a car of this magnitude.
“You look damn good out there. Just give me some deeper angles. That’s going to be your thing to work on. The speed is there. Your handling is there. Your style is lacking.”
I grit my teeth against his criticism. He isn’t my dad, and he has my best interest at heart. Just because my angle is lacking doesn’t mean he thinks I’m a piece of shit. “Got it.”
“It’s all throttle control,” Ilya says, around the droning of his exhaust as he pulls up next to my car.
“Yes, sir. I’m still… timid when it comes to getting on the throttle in this car,” I admit. Ilya nods.
“That’s a lot of car. You’ll get used to it. I think we should stop while you’re ahead today. Perhaps we can take a couple of rounds to just screw off. If you want to get your Beemer out to play. Spencer, you down?”
“Fuck yes, I thought you’d never ask.” With a beaming smile, he taps the top of the car and skips off. Ilya chuckles.
Before I know it, a few hours have passed when Spencer pulls his car off to the pit area. He gets out, tugs his helmet off, and flags us over. He’s staring down at his phone, typing furiously every few seconds as if having an intense conversation with someone.
“Chaos hit the garage. Six deep. They snagged the McLaren before Rogers realized they were there. He took out three of them.”
“Was anyone hurt?” Ilya asks and I respect the hell out of the fact that he is more worried about his men than the car.
“Just Chaos.”