Furious Rush

by S.C. Stephens

Genres: New Adult Romance; Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

The first in an emotion-fueled, New Adult series from the #1 bestselling author of the Thoughtless novels.

For Mackenzie Cox, racing motorcycles is in her blood. Born into a family legacy, she’s determined to stand out her rookie year. But her family rival’s newest racing prodigy—the exceedingly arrogant, outrageously attractive Hayden Hayes—keeps distracting her. The stakes are high and her family’s future is on the line. Kenzie needs a win, and she also needs to stay away from Hayden. Unfortunately for her though, one thing has become all too clear: she can’t. Fueled by passion, driven by desire, Hayden and Mackenzie both want to win more than anything else. Except for, maybe, each other. But anger, jealousy, and extreme competitiveness aren’t their only obstacles …

Release date: August 23, 2016

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 400

Sample

CHAPTER 1

I hated getting phone calls in the middle of the night. It was a well-known fact that being unexpectedly awoken before dawn never led to a positive outcome. As the buzzing cell phone loudly vibrating against the glass of water on my nightstand slowly woke me up, I was sure whatever I was about to find out would not be good. Icy pinpricks of fear began waging war with my sleep-induced fatigue, and I reluctantly opened my eyes. What had happened? Was everyone okay?

A part of me wanted to ignore the rising panic and return to the calm warmth of slumber. Surely everything was fine and it was just a wrong number. But I couldn’t shake the concern that something wasn’t right, so with blurred vision and bumbling fingers, I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and glanced at the screen. It was my friend Nikki.

“Nik? What’s going on?” I mumbled. My alarm clock proclaimed the extremely early hour in large red numbers. Ugh, somebody’d better be dead. I instantly retracted that callous thought. Please God, don’t let anyone be dead.

A voice far too bubbly for the early hour met my ear. “Kenzie! Oh, good, you’re still awake. I have a huge favor to ask.”

Nikki’s relaxed tone instantly melted my worry. If something bad had happened, she wouldn’t sound so casual. Why the hell was she calling at this time of night, though? “I’m not still awake, I’m now awake. Huge difference. What favor?”

There was a long pause before she answered me, and some of my trepidation returned. “Well…” she slowly began. “I was hoping you could drive down to San Diego with five hundred dollars. Cash.” My jaw dropped as her request scrubbed the last remnant of sleep from my brain. Before I could ask her if she was crazy, Nikki filled me in. “See, I kind of lost a bet, and the people I owe money to won’t let me go home until I pay them. They don’t exactly take checks, you know…so I need cash.”

I was so stunned, I sputtered a few times before managing to curse at her. “Goddammit, Nikki. Are you kidding me? San Diego? Now?”

“I know, I know, I suck. But I didn’t expect to lose tonight, so I didn’t bring that much money with me. Come on, Kenzie, your dad is going to kill me if I don’t show up tomorrow because I’m stuck down here…so…can you help me? Please?”

“Ugh! You know what I’m going through right now, Nikki. The pressure I’m under. The season is starting soon. I want to make my father proud, honor the legacy he started…” I sighed as the weight of expectation firmly settled onto my shoulders. It was stifling at times, paralyzing at others. My voice more subdued, I added, “You know Dad is counting on me to do well, since things have been kind of…tight lately.” My gaze flicked to the clock again. It was so freaking early. “And to do my best, I have to be at my best. Getting up at three in the morning is not my best, Nik!”

“I know,” she groaned. “But I didn’t have anyone else to call. It was either you or Myles, and once he’s down and out for the night, nothing short of nuclear war will wake him up.”

That was true. Our friend Myles could sleep soundly through a heavy metal concert. “So you knew I’d be sleeping when you called, but you decided to wake me up anyway…Is that what you’re telling me?” I asked.

“Well, yeah…I could set my watch to your schedule.” That comment made me frown, but it was also true, so I couldn’t really condemn her for saying it. I liked routine; I liked predictable. It helped me race. I wanted to know that no matter where I was or what day it was, when I got on my motorcycle, it was going to do exactly what I wanted it to do. Same with my life. I wanted to know what to expect every morning when I woke up. Just another reason this phone call was irritating me.

“Nikki…”

“Please, Kenzie,” she interrupted. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t screwed. You’re my best friend; don’t leave me stranded with a bunch of thugs. I mean, who’s gonna make your bike a lean, mean winning machine if I’m dead?”

Unfortunately she had a point. Nikki was a genius mechanic—my genius mechanic—and I needed her skills to do well this year. She was also my best friend, and I would never abandon her to that fate…even if she had brought it upon herself. “Fine. But you owe me, Nikki.”

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “My soul, my firstborn. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” I was about to tell her that I just wanted her to make my Ducati the fastest motorcycle on the planet when she quickly added, “Oh, hey, can you grab another couple hundred from your rainy-day fund? There’s another race starting soon, and I have a really good feeling about this guy.”

I just about threw my phone across the room. “No! That’s stup— Wait…What race? What the hell are you betting on, Nikki?”

“Krrr…ssssssshhhhh…Sorry, Kenzie…crrrrr…you’re breaking up. See you when you get here! Jackson and Maddox Street, under the bridge. Text me if you can’t find it!” She immediately hung up, and I closed my eyes and slowly started counting to ten.

Tossing my covers off, I forced my body out of the comfort of my bed and placed my feet on the chilly hardwood floor. Internally cursing Nikki, I walked over to my closet, where my clothes for the day were already folded in a neat pile, waiting.

While brushing my teeth, I noticed that I looked like I’d been electrocuted in my sleep. I debated whether I should spend the fifteen minutes it would take to tame the mass of unruly waves, then decided I could use the time more efficiently elsewhere in my day. Running my fingers through the worst tangles, I cinched a band around the bottom of the mess, making a low ponytail that would easily fit under my helmet.

Regretting that I’d ever mentioned my emergency cash to Nikki, I riffled through the envelope hidden under my mattress and pulled out five hundred dollars. And that was all I pulled out. Nikki was crazy if she thought I was going to let her lose even more money.

Stuffing the cash into my wallet, I grabbed my jacket and my street bike keys and headed for the garage. My everyday motorcycle was peacefully resting under the fluorescent lights next to my beat-up truck. This bike wasn’t as flashy or as fast as my racing bike, but my Suzuki was beautiful in its own understated way. Opening the garage door of the one-bedroom house I rented, I rolled the bike outside and started the engine purring. Such an enticing sound. It almost made up for the fact that the sun was still hours from rising. Almost.

Stifling a yawn, I closed the garage door, slipped on my helmet, and left my still-sleeping town of Oceanside, California, behind for the slightly more vibrant San Diego. The drive south only took about forty-five minutes, but I had a little trouble finding the streets Nikki had mentioned. The navigation in my phone kept trying to send me away from where I was sure I needed to go. When I finally found Jackson Street, I kept my eyes peeled for…something. But honestly, I had no idea what I was looking for. Then I spotted the bikes, and I knew I’d found the place. Jesus, Nikki. What the hell did you get yourself involved with?

Motorcycles were parked perpendicular to the street for at least three blocks, the occasional car or truck smashed between them. Swarms of people walked around the bikes, closely inspecting them, like they were picking out prized cattle to take home and butcher. The riders—decked out in ripped jeans and flashy leather jackets that were poor imitations of the racing leathers I wore to protect my body and promote my team—strutted around their bikes with pride-filled grins that oozed confidence. The men in charge of the betting promoted their favored racers with loud boasts and outlandish claims. Zero to one hundred in under two seconds? I highly doubted it.

Rolling to a stop in a break between the bikes, I texted Nikki: I’m here, where are you?

I instantly heard someone down the street shouting my name, and looked over to see Nikki jumping up and down, waving her arms over her head. With a sigh, I shut off my motorcycle and hopped off. No sooner had I removed my helmet than people started crowding around my Suzuki, inspecting the tires, the struts, the engine. A man leaned down to touch the seat while I was putting my helmet on the handlebar, and I slapped his hand away. “Me and my bike are not a part of…this. Don’t touch her again. Or else.”

Even though I had used my “scary” voice, the seat caresser laughed at me. He walked away, though, and took the looky-loos with him. Good thing, since I wasn’t sure how I would have backed up my threat. I hated everything about this place, and the thought of a part of this seediness somehow coming home with me on my bike—even just a stranger’s fingerprint on the gas tank—nauseated me. Racing should be done on a track, with strict rules, officiated guidance, and specifically calibrated machines. I felt like I’d just been transported back in time, or maybe zapped into some apocalyptic future, where grimy men battled to the death for a cup of clean water. I really didn’t want to be here.

Nikki had made her way over to me at this point, and she was all smiles when she bounced on her toes in front of me. “Hey, you found it. Good.” Nikki was of Latin American descent, and she had that perfect, golden creamy skin that didn’t color with emotion the way mine occasionally did. She tried to keep the guilt out of her expression, but I saw the tightness in her lips, the worry in her dark eyes. She was afraid I was pissed. And I was. But there was nothing to be done about it now.

“Yeah,” I said with a frown. “Google Maps and I are on a first-name basis now, but I found it.”

Nikki’s features relaxed. “Just in time too. The next race is about to start.” She actually had the gall to light up at the prospect of more gambling, and the last straw holding my anger in check broke cleanly in two.

“What the hell are you doing, Nikki? Betting on street racing? That’s why you dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night?” I indicated the street crammed with potential competitors patiently waiting for their shot at “glory.” “You know this is illegal, right? You know Dad would probably kick us off the team just for being here, right? Hell, the ARRC could ban me from the sport for life if an official saw me here and thought I was taking part in this shit. What the hell are you thinking? We can’t be here!”

Nikki cringed as she put a hand on my shoulder. “Relax, Kenzie, no one is going to see us. I mean, they’d be in trouble too if they were here, so we’re totally cool. And to answer your question, what I was thinking was that I can make an easy grand tonight.” She paused to mime totaling a cash register. “Ka-ching!”

Before I could remind her that the entire reason I was here was because she had lost money, Nikki tightened her grip on my shoulder and turned me so I was looking across the street. She pointed a finger at a guy standing beside a souped-up Ninja. “The next race is between that guy…” She twisted me again so I was looking down our side of the street, and her finger focused on a guy a few yards away. Wearing a black leather jacket and faded blue jeans, he looked calm, confident, and comfortable as he stood beside a Honda that was completely surrounded by scantily clad women. “And that guy. Rumor is, Honda Boy there is undefeated, so I’m putting all my money on the Ninja.”

I turned to look at her in stunned disbelief. “What? Why the hell would you bet on the other guy? If Honda Boy is undefeated, then you should bet on him.” Closing my eyes, I shook my head. “And I can’t believe I just said that.” Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my wallet and handed her the five hundred dollars. “Here. Now pay up so we can leave, okay?” The sooner we got this over with, the better.

Nikki had apparently recovered from her bout of guilt, because she didn’t seem bothered in the slightest as she took my money and said, “No way. We’re staying. And I’m betting it all on the underdog. That other guy being undefeated just means he’s due for a smackdown. It’s Gambling 101, Kenzie.”

Rolling my eyes, I told her, “No, it’s You’re an Idiot 101. But I guess it’s your money, so…” Pausing, I stuck a finger in the air like I’d just had an epiphany. “Oh wait…No, it’s my money.” I lowered my finger to her shoulder and poked her for emphasis. “And you’re not betting with it. You’re paying off your debt and then we’re going home. Hopefully I can still get a couple hours of sleep before I need to be at the track.”

“Okay, okay…I hear you.” She looked completely compliant, and I actually believed she was going to listen to me. Right up until she turned and yelled down the street, “Hey, Grunts! I got a thousand on Hayden!”

The giant of a man standing behind Honda Boy raised his thumb to Nikki, then jotted down something in his book. Her bet was logged, and I had a feeling these guys didn’t allow you to have a change of heart. I pushed Nikki’s shoulder to get her attention. “I said we were going home! I said no more betting!”

Nikki bit her plump lip. She shrugged, and even managed to look contrite while doing it. “Well, we’re committed now…We have to see it through, otherwise those two guys over there will start breaking kneecaps. That’s how it works. I think.” I followed her pointing finger to see a group of burly-looking dudes who seemed like they’d enjoy nothing better than breaking a few body parts. Goddammit. I wanted to go home. Right now.

As I balled my hands into fists, Nikki patted my shoulder. “But you should be happy, Kenzie. I did what you asked and bet on the golden boy. Hopefully tonight isn’t the night he falls from greatness…” She considered that for a second, then asked, “Just in case he does crash and burn, you have more money stashed away in your rainy-day fund, don’t you?”

It took a lot of effort to not scream at the top of my lungs. “No! I don’t have a thousand dollars in there! What the hell are we supposed to do if he loses the race, Nikki?” Before she could answer, I tossed my hands into the air. “Great. This is just fucking great.”

The banks were closed, and I couldn’t withdraw that much from an ATM. Just like Nikki, I’d have to make a late-night phone call to save my ass. Definitely not to my father, though. Maybe my sister Daphne. But she was financially wrapped up in planning her wedding; I doubt she’d be able to help me. Maybe my other sister, Theresa. But she’d kill me, then tell Dad everything. Feeling the toxic twinge of dread beginning to radiate outward from my chest, I looked down the street at the man who was going to either help get me out of this mess or completely screw me over.

Honda Boy was holding his helmet under an arm while he flirted with the girls surrounding him. He was blond, with a short, shaggy hairstyle that probably took a lot more effort to create than it looked like. I could tell from the way the girls around him were tittering like teenagers that he was charming; with seemingly little effort on his part, he had all of them eating out of his hand. When a break in the crowd gave me a clear view of his face, I realized another thing: He was smokin’, someone-hold-on-to-my-ovaries-before-they-explode hot.

There was a perfect symmetry to his rugged features that made it seem unreal that he was standing just a few feet away from me. He should be plastered on a billboard somewhere, half-naked, selling overpriced cologne to men who wanted just a fraction of his sex appeal. As if he could feel my eyes on him, he turned his gaze my way. Our eyes met and locked, and I was helpless to turn away. There was something carnal about him, primal and dangerous. Exotic. I was instantly captivated, and I hated that I was. This guy was neck-deep in a world that twisted my stomach, a world that spat in the face of my sport. My career.

As his light-colored eyes bored holes into mine, one edge of his lip curved up in a devilish crooked grin that was both playful and promising. He was practically shouting, with just that one deadly smile, that he would satisfy my every desire, satiate every craving I could possibly have. My heart started thudding in my chest as sensations that had been dormant for far too long swirled to life inside me. Luckily for me, the big man taking the guy’s bets clapped him on the shoulder, breaking our staredown. Once I was free of his steamy gaze, I instantly turned around so my back was to him. Jesus, was I breathing harder? Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. I was twenty-two, not twelve.

“Damn,” I heard Nikki say. “You were right. I should have bet on him from the get-go. I didn’t really get a good look at him before, but he is freaking hot!”

Inhaling a deep breath, I attempted to force my body back in line with my brain. “This guy is undefeated?” I asked Nikki. “Really?” She nodded in answer and I had to close my eyes for a second. A face like that with racing skills to boot? Jesus.

Clearing my throat, I nonchalantly asked, “What did you say his name was again?” I could at least label the guy in the fantasy I was surely going to have later.

“Hayden…something. He’s been around for a while, from what I gathered.”

I risked a glance over my shoulder at…Hayden. He’d slipped his helmet on, thankfully, although his visor was popped up. The big guy taking bets had been joined by a skinny Hispanic guy who seemed to be giving Hayden instructions. Or maybe a pep talk. The little guy was acting out the race that was about to happen with his hands, complete with swerving and explosions. God, I hoped there weren’t going to be explosions. While he was going through his dramatic highlights, the big guy looped a camera over Hayden’s helmet.

When the two competitors were ready, they backed their motorcycles onto the street. A cheer ripped up and down the sidewalk as the hopeful gamblers prepared for another round of racing. I didn’t want to feel anything but contempt for what I was witnessing, yet the energy of the spectators, the roar of the bikes—I couldn’t help the zing of excitement that raced up my spine. Against my will, my mouth twisted into a wide grin, and a yell of encouragement left my lips. Hayden’s helmet swiveled my way as he revved his engine. My pulse quickened as our eyes met. Then he winked at me and slammed his visor shut.

As the riders moved into position, Nikki grabbed my arm. “Come on. We can watch the action from the van.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. Before I could ask her, though, she yanked me toward a black van parked on the sidewalk. The back doors were open, and a giant monitor attached to a swinging metal arm was sticking out above the hovering crowd. The screen was split in two, each half showing the footage from one racer’s helmet cam. Hayden and his opponent were both looking straight ahead, and the dual feeds showed similar stretches of barren road. Looking down the street, I saw that the pair were stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change.

Returning my eyes to the monitor, I found myself holding my breath as I waited for the signal to change colors. When it turned green and the bikes surged forward, I stepped closer to the van, like that would somehow release my pent-up energy. In unison, the crowd around me started hooting and hollering. Swept up in the moment, I bounced on my toes and prayed for speed. But after watching the screen for just a few seconds, I was struck with the harsh reality of the situation I was watching. This was no closed-off track with well-defined paths. This was down and dirty, anything goes, just get to the finish line first racing.

The bikes blew through red lights like they meant absolutely nothing. The streets were fairly empty at this early hour, but they blurred past the few vehicles on the road like they were standing still; they had to be going 100 miles per hour, easy. They dodged obstacles by hopping onto the sidewalk, they fishtailed around slick corners, and they came close to colliding with oncoming traffic more than once.

I turned to Nikki with shock clear on my face. “This is insane! Someone’s going to get hurt. Maybe killed!”

Nikki’s face was pure elation as she watched the screens. Her expression changed as my words sunk in, then she looked at me like I had a foot sticking out of my head. I supposed it was odd to hear that type of statement coming from someone who routinely hovered around the 150 mark on the speedometer while riding, but that was a completely different kind of environment. Believe it or not, what I did was safe, relatively speaking. Millions of dollars were spent to make it that way. This was not safe. At all.

“They’re breaking every traffic law there is,” I added, feeling like a giant stick in the mud. Someone needed to be the voice of reason here, though, because everyone was clearly out of their ever loving minds.

Nikki smirked at my comment. “It’s a race, Kenzie. They can’t exactly drive cautiously. Why do you think this happens so late at night?”

“Because it’s illegal,” I deadpanned. I got a couple of odd looks from the crowd after saying that, including a particularly nasty glare from Hayden’s bet collector. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to be talking about the law. Shutting my mouth, I quickly refocused on the screen.

Just as I noticed a familiar section of street come into view on the monitor, one side of the screen started wobbling, then the camera showed asphalt, sparks, spinning scenery, and a rapidly approaching telephone pole. The crowd around me hushed as it became clear that Hayden’s competition wasn’t going to finish this race. I heard Hayden’s bike rounding the corner seconds later, then Nikki was once again pulling me along like a rag doll. She shoved us into a good position to see the finish line right as Hayden’s Honda whizzed past. He was alone. Cheers erupted mixed with a few groans from the people who’d bet on the other guy.

Just as I was wondering if anyone was going to go check on the Ninja rider, Nikki grabbed my shoulders and started shaking me with uncontainable joy. “We won, Kenzie! We frickin’ won!”

“Great,” I said, clenching my teeth so I wouldn’t bite my tongue.

Releasing me, Nikki let out a squeal of excitement. “I just made enough money to pay you back and cover my loss. See, aren’t you glad you came?”

I narrowed my eyes into poisonous daggers that would hopefully drill some sense into her. “I hate you,” I murmured.

Nikki held a hand over her heart. “I know by hate you mean love, and I love you too, Kenzie. Now let’s collect my winnings and go home so you can rest up. Big year this year!”

I opened my mouth to scold her with some biting remark about how I’d wanted to leave ages ago, but she turned on her heel and left me there, gaping. Just as I was forcing the muscles in my jaw to relax enough to contract, Hayden pulled up next to where I was standing on the sidewalk. It felt like the world suddenly shifted into slow motion as I turned my head to look at him.

He was still hunched over his bike, hands on the grip and throttle; the only indication that he was looking at me was the direction of his dark helmet. Then, like some freaking Prince Charming in a fairy tale, he slowly removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. I swear the air around me condensed as his tilted smile came into view. Jesus Christ, this guy was sex on a stick.

Reaching up, he roughly ran a hand through his sweaty dirty-blond hair. The short, sexy shag he’d had going on earlier was destroyed from the helmet, but somehow after just a few scruffs of his hand, the carefree style was back to utter perfection. I kind of wanted to mess it up again, run my hands through the strands, grab a handful and clench it tight while I outlined those incredibly kissable lips with my tongue.

Whoa. No. I didn’t want that.

His penetrating gaze studied my face for a moment. There was something there in his eyes that I couldn’t quite grasp. Interest, sure, but almost…sadness too. Then he smiled, and the look vanished so fast, I was sure I’d imagined it. “Haven’t seen you here before,” he said, his voice low and easy, like he hadn’t just risked his life. “I hope you bet on me. It would be a shame to see someone as beautiful as you…lose.”

His grin turned suggestive, and warning signs started flashing in front of my eyes. Danger! Do not proceed! Rocky road ahead! Turn back now! The warnings flared even brighter when he stood from his motorcycle and began approaching me.

When he was directly in front of me, so close that I could smell the subtle spicy aroma of his cologne, my heart was hammering so hard, I was positive he could hear it, positive he could see my T-shirt lifting and releasing like a frantic hummingbird was hiding under the fabric. What the hell was he doing to me? Was I nervous or excited? Because the sensation was so similar to both, I honestly couldn’t tell.

Extending a hand, he smoothly said, “Name’s Hayden. Hayden Hayes.” I was just about to lift my hand and touch him—my fingers even twitched in response—when he added, “And what should I call you, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart? With those two simple syllables he had just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head and killed any fantasy I might have had about him. I lived, worked, and breathed in a world where men looked at me like I was a second-class citizen. To prove my worth, I had to work harder, longer, and with everything I had inside me, all the fucking time. I felt like he’d just tried to take all of that hard work away from me with that one demeaning word.

“Leaving,” I said, walking away.

CHAPTER 2

The sun was rising by the time I got home from my little fun-filled adventure in San Diego. I parked my bike in the driveway instead of the garage, since I would just need it again in a couple of hours, and wearily shuffled to my front door. Once I was in my entryway, I put my keys in the basket reserved just for them, put my boots in the empty slot of the shoe cubby, and hung up my jacket on the coatrack. Then I debated what to do—go back to sleep and risk being very late to the track, or admit defeat and start my day now. With a sigh, I traipsed to the kitchen to make myself something to eat. The first race of the season—Daytona—was only a little more than a week away. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t sleep in today. There was too much to do.

After my quick, protein-packed shake, I headed to the bathroom to finally do something about my hair. Since I had some time to kill now, I might as well untangle the snarls. My coffee-colored waves were a gift (or perhaps a curse) that I’d inherited from my mom. No one else in my family had hair like mine; my two older sisters were blond like our dad. The visible reminder of Mom was nice, though. She’d passed away when I was four. Car accident. A drunk driver had crossed the center line and hit her straight on. She’d died instantly and painlessly, from what I’d been told. I couldn’t remember much about her, except that she’d loved my long, wavy hair. Although it was a pain in the ass to maintain, and even harder to stuff into a helmet, I kept it long because of her. The connection, however meager, was all I had.

When it was time to go, I pulled out my jacket, boots, and keys again and headed back outside to my bike. I was so tired and groggy that for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t looking forward to training. But this was it—my first year racing as a professional. Now wasn’t the time to start slacking.

I’d been riding motorcycles since I was three years old, but I’d been around them since birth. My father was a god in the sport of professional road racing. When my peers spoke of him, they uttered his name with such awe and reverence that it was almost as if Jordan Cox had created the sport and founded the ARRC—the American Road Racing Championship. The fact that I was his daughter placed a mountain of expectation on my shoulders. It wasn’t just my own personal goals on the line when I raced. No, my entire family legacy was at stake. And that legacy had been going through a hard time lately.

Running a business like ours was expensive, and finding top talent who could win championships was tricky. Cox Racing hadn’t placed in the top five since Dad had retired. My father was excited that I was finally ready to race, not just for me personally, but also because he needed a win. He needed sponsors, needed notoriety, needed endorsements…and frankly, he needed money. And while I wasn’t the only potential winner on the Cox Racing team, I was the only one with blood ties to a legend. To say a lot of eyes were on me this year would be an understatement.

When I got to my family’s practice racetrack, I noticed my dad at the inner gate, arguing with a heavyset man with thinning hair and muttonchops leaning against a metal arm crutch—Keith Benneti. My dad’s hands were balled into fists as Keith pointed up at the sign over the gate: COX RACING/BENNETI MOTORSPORTS PRACTICE TRACK. An aggravated groan escaped me as I headed their way. Dad and Keith fought over that goddamn sign at least once a year, and their squabbles never ended well.

My father and Keith had been teammates and best friends when they were younger. Both hotshots on the track, they’d each won multiple championships. Eventually