Danger (The Driven World)

“Danger, it’s me, Monterey.”

Reality comes back to me in a rush, and all my battle scars have returned. “What are you doing?” I ask, brushing the remaining sleep from my foggy mind.

“I had a bad dream.”

Welcome to my existence.

She snuggles in closer to me on the bed, and I wrap an arm around her. “Can I sleep with you?”

I don’t know what to say and the word, “yes,” rushes out quickly. “Stay with me.” Because even though she had a bad dream on this one night...I have them every night.

And if having her in my arms quiets the demons for one night, it’s worth it.

I fall back asleep quickly, and the next morning I feel much better.

It’s weird, but it’s the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time.

Monterey’s still passed out in the bed, and I tiptoe around the room, looking for my things. I have to meet with her father and the team in a few minutes, and I don’t want to wake her.

I’m not looking forward to my meeting with Luther after last night’s debacle, but after getting ready I head out the door of my hotel suite.

I need to face the music.

I need to step up and be a man.

“Sir,” I say, once I’ve spotted him waiting for me. “How are you?” I shake his hand and he motions for me to sit down at the table in the restaurant of the hotel.

“We’ll get some breakfast and then we’ll head out to the track.”

“I could eat.” I smile, but Luther doesn’t smile back. And I know it’s because of the mess I made last night. “Listen,” I begin, trying to get ahead of his anger, “I know I fucked up last night. And I’ve been fucking up all season, but I promise you, I’m on board.”

The waitress interrupts and we order. Once we’re done, Luther stares at me for a moment while he puts sugar and cream in his coffee.

“When I was fifteen, I was taught how to drive by my father. My father was one of the greats in the sport. He could do it all.”

I smile. “Yeah my father didn’t want much to do with me.”

Luther smiles, brushing off my remark like it’s the most insane thing in the world. What man wouldn’t want to raise his own son?

Mine, that’s who.

But, I listen as Luther tells me about how he grew to fame. How his accident took away his ability to ever drive again. How he wanted to have a team, and still be heavily involved in the sport he loved so much.

“What do you love?” he asks me.

“Love?” I laugh a bit nervously, knowing he won’t like the answer of nothing too much. “I don’t really love just one thing. Maybe I like a lot of little things a whole lot.”

“Nonsense. You have to love something in this world, Danger. You have to have that drive, that passion, for something, or else life just isn’t worth fighting for.”

I lean back in my chair, wondering to myself if I’ve ever loved anything in this world enough to fight for. I have a real love for Kav. He saved me from something fierce. If it had not been for him, I’d be dead. No doubt about it. “Racing.” I give him the answer I know he’s looking for, but if I’m telling the truth, I don’t love it enough to fight for it.

Don’t get me wrong. Racing is great. Racing has given me a life. A purpose. As soon as I win this tour and get the money, I don’t know what the future has in store for me. Will I keep racing? Probably.

I still don’t know.

Luther laughs. “Well, if you love racing as much as you say you do,” he butters a piece of toast and then points it at me, “you’d better not be fucking up your chance here.”

I can read between the lines very well. This is his final warning to me. “Yes, sir.” The little charade with his daughter needs to convince the public I’ve changed. I need to want this more than I’ve been wanting it.

And make no mistake. I fucking want this.

I grew up in a small house. Four walls, a few bedrooms in the back, and a roof that sometimes leaked on the rare occasion it rained.

I had a few friends from school, but they never came over. No, they weren’t allowed. We’d play outside mostly. On our bikes. Tag. Racing with whatever we could find with wheels.

At night, I used to hang in my room, praying sleep would come before my monster of a father would come home.

Drunk, like always. Looking to pick a fight because his own wreck of a life didn’t go the way he’d planned. And those were the good nights.

The bad nights I try not to think about.