Chapter 2

The screen shattered, cutting off the call.

"Eric, have you lost your mind?"

Whitney dropped into a crouch and picked up her phone, frantically wiping at the cracked screen.

"You owe me a new phone!"

"You're not getting one!" I pointed to the door. "Get out and go find your precious Craig, because I'm done with this whole carsick act!"

Whitney stayed, sinking onto the couch and bursting into tears. She sobbed as though I was the one who owed her an apology.

Her best friend, Janet Maxwell, walked in just then. The second she saw Whitney crying, she rushed over and shoved me.

"What's wrong with you? You know how sick Whitney gets, and this is how you treat her?"

I stared at her. "Sick? She was Craig's navigator, and she kept going with two broken ribs!"

Janet froze, then quickly looked away.

"That was years ago!

"She was seriously hurt in that crash, and she's still dealing with the damage! That's why she gets carsick now!

"You should be supporting her, and instead you're throwing the worst experience of her life in her face. How can you be so cruel?"

Whitney rested her head on Janet's shoulder and nodded through her tears.

"Eric, I didn't want to tell you, but that accident damaged my vestibular nerve. I really can't handle fast cars anymore. I kept it from you because I was scared you'd think less of me."

She raised her head and looked at me through her tears.

"Craig doesn't know about my condition. That's the only reason he called, and I wasn't going to meet him anyway."

I studied her tearful face. For three years, she gave me that same pleading look every time I brought up racing, and every time, I believed her.

When I said nothing, Whitney hurriedly pulled out her phone and blocked Craig's number right in front of me.

"Honey, I swear I'll never get in a race car again. I'll never see him again, either. You're the only one I love. Can't we just put this behind us?"

I looked at her red-rimmed eyes and the hand she held up as she made her promise. Finally, I sighed.

"Alright."

I thought that would be the end of it.

The next afternoon, I told Whitney I needed to work late and left the house early. I took an ordinary sedan and parked across from the entrance to our neighborhood.

At 8 p.m., Whitney walked out wearing a fitted black outfit and a baseball cap. There was a bounce in her step, with none of the weakness she always complained about.

She got into an Uber, and I pulled out after it. We headed toward an old mountain road on the outskirts of town, a popular spot for illegal street races.

The Uber stopped at the base of the mountain, near a modified red Nissan GT-R. As Whitney got out, the GT-R's window rolled down, revealing Craig behind the wheel.

She hurried over and slid into the passenger seat. I parked in the shadows and watched.

The engine roared, and the GT-R shot up the winding road. Its tires squealed as Craig drifted through the curves at a reckless speed.

Whitney sat beside him without the slightest sign of nausea. As they passed under the streetlights, I caught glimpses of her laughing, her face bright with excitement.

I pulled out my phone and recorded everything.

An hour later, the GT-R returned to the base of the mountain. Whitney got out, and Craig handed her a bottle of water.

She tipped her head back for a sip while he reached over and casually ruffled her hair. She didn't pull away.

I got out of my car and strode toward them.

"Born with a balance disorder, huh? What happened to that damaged vestibular nerve?"

My voice cut through the night, and Whitney spun around. The bottle slipped from her hand.

"Eric?" she sputtered. "You followed me?"

Craig leaned against his car door and looked me up and down.