The Thin Redline Between Love and Hate

Jace:

The river shimmered beneath me, black as oil except where moonlight painted silver streaks across the current. Somewhere out there was the rope swing Camden and I had nearly broken our necks jumping from. Somewhere beyond the reeds was the dock where Calla used to cannonball into the water before either of us could stop her. I smiled before I realized I was doing it. Then it disappeared just as quickly. Two years. Two whole fucking years since I'd crossed this bridge. Two years since I left Calusa Cove with nothing but a duffel bag in the passenger seat and a town full of people convinced I'd killed my best friend.

The truck rumbled in to Riverside, tires humming over patched asphalt that somehow looked exactly the same. Mrs. Ramirez's bait shop still had the crooked neon "OPEN" sign hanging in the window. King's Shrimp Shack still had plastic picnic tables out front. The Blue Fin Bar's weathered sign leaned a little farther to one side than I remembered. Some things never changed. Some things changed too much. I drove another few blocks before turning onto River Road. Engines. I heard them before I saw them. Low rumbles. High-pitched turbo whistles. The unmistakable growl of American V8s mixing with imported four-cylinders spooling up like they were impatient to breathe. The old meet. Still here. Still alive. The headlights washed over rows of cars parked along both shoulders. Classic Camaros. Fox body Mustangs. BRZs. Civics. A matte gray Supra. A slammed Silverado. Music thumped somewhere deeper into the crowd. People laughed. Someone revved an engine. Someone else yelled for them to shut the hell up. It looked… Exactly like Friday nights used to.

For one stupid second, I expected Camden to come jogging over, waving a wrench because I'd forgotten to tighten something again. Instead… I killed the engine. Silence settled around me except for the distant music and the metallic ticking of my truck cooling beneath the hood. I stared through the windshield. I should leave. I wasn't here to race. Wasn't here to make a scene. I just… Needed to know if the city still felt like mine. I pulled the hood of my faded sweatshirt farther over my head and climbed out. Humidity wrapped around me immediately. God, I'd missed this. The sticky heat. The smell of race fuel mixing with salt air. The river breeze. The sound of tires chirping against pavement. For two years I'd raced in cities that all smelled like concrete. This smelled like childhood. Hands shoved into my hoodie pocket, I kept my head down and wandered toward the edge of the crowd. 

Nobody noticed me. Good. That was the plan. Someone laughed nearby. Another driver argued over tire pressure. A couple kids that damn well couldn't have been older than sixteen were gathered around a beat-up Miata debating whether nitrous was genius or suicidal. Camden would've loved them. I swallowed hard. 

"Well, I'll be damned." I froze. That voice. Slowly, I turned. Reid Harper stood beside a blue Chevy Nova, wiping grease from his hands with an old rag. He looked older. A little more beard, and a little less hair around the temples. Same crooked grin. Same grease-stained baseball cap. For a second, neither of us moved. Then he walked over. "You gonna hug me," he said, "or am I gonna have to pretend I don't know your ugly ass?" 

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. He pulled me into a hug hard enough to crack ribs.  "Damn," he muttered. "Thought I'd never see you again." 

"Yeah, well, me too." He stepped back, studying my face.

 "You look like hell." 

"So do you." 

"Yeah, but mine's from getting old." I smiled. It felt weird. Like muscles I hadn't used in years.

"What're you doing here?" Reid asked quietly. His eyes searched mine. "Back to race?" 

"Nah." I looked toward the rows of cars. "Just checking everything out." 

"You moved back?" 

I nodded. "Little shack down on the river." 

His eyebrows shot up. "You serious?" 

"Couldn't stay away forever." 

He looked past me toward the water before sighing. "Welcome home man." 

The words hit harder than they should have. Home. Nobody had called it that in a long time. 

Reid tossed the rag over his shoulder. "You picked one hell of a night." 

"Oh yeah?"

 "Whole Riverside is here, bro." He motioned toward the crowd. "See that blue Mustang?" I nodded. "Kid's name's Mason. Fast as hell. Mouth twice as fast." He pointed again. "Silver BRZ belongs to twins from North Beach." Another. "Girl with the purple Civic." 

"She quick?"

 "Real quick."He kept going. 

"Lotta new faces." I recognized almost none of them. 

Then he pointed toward an older Chevelle parked farther back. "Now that's one you'll remember." 

I smiled. "Duke still races?" 

"Barely, claims he's retired every damn month." 

"Still gets smoked by teenagers?" 

Reid barked out a laugh. "Every single week." The knot in my chest loosened. Just enough. "You know..." Reid said. "They still talk about you."

 I looked down. "Yeah?"

"Most of 'em weren't even here that night." 

"I know." 

"They just repeat what they heard." 

I nodded once. Didn't bother defending myself. Wouldn't matter. Not yet. Reid knew better than anyone. He'd been there. He'd watched everything fall apart. He opened his mouth to say something else. Instead— A hush rolled through the parking lot. One by one, conversations died. Engines quieted. Heads turned toward River Road. Headlights swept across the pavement. A black Mercedes S-Class glided into the lot so smoothly it looked like it was floating. Expensive. Too expensive for Riverside. 

Reid sighed. "Here fucking we go." 

The Mercedes stopped. Driver's door opened. Out stepped Reve Ronan, wearing a tailored black shirt, dark jeans, and a perfectly golden watch catching the streetlights. Not a hair out of place. Like he was heading to a magazine shoot instead of a street meet. People nodded at him, some respectfully, some nervously. He acknowledged them all with the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. I hadn't seen him in years. He still looked like money had learned how to walk. 

Then— The passenger door opened. Everything else disappeared. One tan leg stepped onto the pavement, then, another. White Nike Dunks, Baggy light-wash jorts and An oversized vintage racing tee hanging off one shoulder over a black bikini top. Dark brown hair caught in a loose braid, strands escaping around her face from the humid air. She straightened. Brown eyes swept over the crowd. Then stopped, right On me. Calla. She looked older, Stronger. The softness grief hadn't stolen had been replaced by something sharper. Her posture was confident, shoulders back, chin lifted like she refused to let the world see her bend. But those eyes… I'd know those eyes anywhere. For just a heartbeat… Everything disappeared. The music. The engines. The people. The years. I wasn't twenty-seven. She wasn't twenty-three. We were kids again. Running barefoot down the riverbank. Camden yelling because we'd stolen his keys. Calla chasing us anyway. Then reality slammed back into me. Her expression hardened. Ice. Pure ice. Like she'd looked at a stranger. Like she'd never laughed with me. Never trusted me. Never called me family.

She, just as suddenly, turned away first. Walking toward Reve without another glance. My chest tightened so hard it almost hurt. My hand found the center of my sternum instinctively, pressing against the ache beneath my hoodie. Click. Snap. The Zippo was suddenly in my fingers again. I hadn't even realized I'd reached for it. Reid watched them disappear into the crowd before looking back at me. "You still planning on keeping a low profile?" I stared at the place where Calla had vanished. The silver chain rested cool against my collarbone. The river breeze rolled in off the water. And somewhere deep inside me, a promise I'd made at Camden's grave years ago resurfaced. I didn't come back to race. I came back for the truth. No matter who it destroyed.