Page 44 of First in Line

“Maybe,” I answer with a smile.

I try to visit her once a month. We go grocery shopping, I help her put everything away, then we hang out for the day before I return to my reality.

As soon as I graduated early at seventeen, Jax and I moved to Indiana together. There were better racing opportunities, and I couldn’t wait to get out of that trailer. I didn’t go no contact with my mom, but I limited it as much as possible. When I moved back into the area five years ago, though, I quickly realized she was trying to change, to become a better person, to quit drinking.

So, even though she was never the best mom to my sister and me, I decided to help her as much as I could. I moved her out of that trailer and into a proper house. Well, it’s a poorly built thing with a concrete front yard and a patch of dead lawn in the back, but it’s still better than what I grew up in. She paid the same rent she used to, and I paid for the rest.

Then, since her license was revoked years ago, I drove her to AA meetings and acted as her substitute sponsor whenever hers wasn’t picking up. I didn’t mind the twenty-minute drive to Florence twice a week. Not if it meant she would get better.

She’s been sober for nearly four years now, and she has maintained a job for the past three years—her personal record. She’s even able to pay her full rent by herself, and she’s working on getting her license back. Of course, she still has her issues, but she’s doing better than I have ever seen her.

“Okay, I should go,” I decide. “I’ll let you know what the landlord says about the leaky roof.”

“Thank you, baby.”

She gives me a tight hug, and once she lets go, she returns to the fridge and takes the picture from under its magnet.

“Do you want to have it?” she offers. “I found it the other day while I was sorting through some boxes. I didn’t want to throw it away, but I didn’t know where else to put it.”

I hesitate, looking at the two kids on it. It feels like a lifetime has passed since that day. And maybe it has. It happened almost half of my life ago, after all.

“Sure,” I decide, unsure where I’ll put it. I take the picture and slip it into my back pocket.

Reasonably, I can’t feel it in there. It’s too light and too thin. But I swear, the whole time I walk to my car, sit in it, and drive away, I can sense the picture, as if warm against my butt cheek.

Seeing Jackson again has caused so many old feelings and memories to resurface. I’ve been struggling to sort through everything and keep a clear head about it. I still remember what it used to be like to be so young and in love, and it’s messing with my head.

As I drive through my hometown, it’s hard not to think of all the moments Jax and I had here. Especially when I pass in front of the old theater that closed years ago. Or the garage where I used to help him work on his car. As I always do when I pass by it, I glance at it, either out of habit or sentimentality.

When a splash of electric blue catches my attention, I do a double take. “No way…” I breathe out.

Needing to confirm that my eyes aren’t deceiving me, I make a quick U-turn and pull into the garage’s parking lot.

I step out and walk toward the car that has all my attention. Three men are working at their stations, and when one of them approaches, I signal him I’m good.

In awe, I walk all the way to the Subaru Impreza WRX. It’s the same model from 1995, with the exact shade of blue.

“Is that you, old girl?” I whisper, letting my hand graze the curve between the hood and the fender.

Jackson made the decision to sell Winifred before we left for Indiana so we could pay for everything. He had another car by then, but it was still a very hard decision to make.

Could this really be Jackson’s old car?

I’m still trying to figure it out when a mechanic comes out of the office, wearing a navy blue tracksuit tied at his hips and a tank top covered in grease smears. When I look up, my breath catches in my throat.

Jackson pauses in his tracks and stares at me with the same surprise I feel, each wondering if this is a trick of our minds. He looks bigger than he used to. Broader. Stronger. The muscles in his arms are tight, veins woven under the light brown skin covered in tattoos, and his neck is thick, probably from all the training that allows him to withstand the 5G turns during races.

“What are you doing here?” he asks first.

“I was visiting my mom. Well, I was going home from visiting her, and I saw this. Is this… Winifred?”

He nods and comes closer. “I found her in an impound lot three years ago. The asshole I sold her to totaled her and never came back for her.”

“Oh no, Winnie…” I walk around the car, searching for damage, but find nothing. “I take it you’re done working on the body?”

“Yeah. My brother helped me with that. It’s not my strong suit. But I’m on my own for the engine.”

“He can’t help you?”