One For The Road

34: Anything

Usually when I went out, I picked the easiest place to get as many drinks as fast as possible. My view of London, Ontario was limited to the bar scene, but there were other places to visit as well. Drake picked a nice restaurant and gave the two of us the chance to change out of the fire suit and oil-stained t-shirts in favor of dress-up shit. The sight of a tie sure as hell was a new one, but I didn't mind the change. He looked good all cleaned up, like a brand new giant teddy bear.

I wasn't quite sure why the fuck I thought that maybe a different, classier setting would give Drake the courage to ignore his child for a whole two hours. Of course, I was wrong, but how was that any different than usual?

Apparently I was driving the fifth version of Sacrilege, and she had undergone quite an evolution before I even got the chance to meet her. Originally she didn't even have the horizontal spinner, but that upgrade came with version three.

He was just getting into the subtle differences in the motor between versions three and four when I finally couldn't take it anymore.

"Drake, please. Tell me about anything besides the robot. Anything," I interrupted.

"What?"

"Anything. You're an interesting guy," I said.

He thought for a moment. "I don't know what you want from me. I thought you were into the mechanical workings of the robot."

"Oh my god," I mumbled to myself. "You know what, how about I give you an example? What story do you want to hear from me? I have a shit ton. There was when I bought an ice sculpture of myself for a party, how I met my best friend, the time I accidentally joined a Bible study when I was drunk—"

"How about the best friend one?"

I smiled. Good choice. "Well, I don't remember most of it to be honest, but Griffin pretty much filled in all of the blanks for me. I'm not really sure if I ever told you, but Talladega was always my unluckiest track. Cost me everything, really, not just my spot at RTR. But when I was racing there for the first time, I got in a really bad wreck and broke my neck. Woke up in the hospital, and I still don't remember what the fuck happened that entire time. I don't really want to remember."

"Oh," Drake said, but the story was far from over.

"Anyway, Griffin was a rookie at the Cup level, and he was watching the race and saw the whole thing. He came to make sure I wasn't going to die, and it just kind of blossomed from there. He was the whole reason I signed with Roger Truscott Racing, honestly, and we had such a good time that I hardly even regret that decision."

The main part that I remembered from that day was that I couldn't see shit thanks to the medication in my system.

No one besides my crew and a few of the other drivers I knew had visited me at all, mostly because I hadn't made peace with anyone in my family after the murder incident. But that changed when Griffin Gallagher, rookie sensation, reached out to me.

"Katie Moore," a voice said, and someone came into the room. "Oh, shit. You're awake."

"What the fuck are you doing in my room? Who are you?" I asked. All I could make out was a couple of blurry features, but this guy clearly thought he was something. No normal person put that much effort into sculpting every square inch of their muscle for fun. He wanted someone to notice, but unfortunately for him, it didn't work on me.

He held up both his hands. "It's okay. You know me, and I know you. We just don't know each other. I brought you some flowers."

He set them on the table where I definitely wouldn't be able to see them (given the whole broken neck situation), but I didn't say anything.