Page 56 of Unmanageable

“In your dreams, Finny!” I shout back.

The red staging lights above the track tick down, the neon green illuminates, and I floor the plastic pedal to the metal.

The next fifteen minutes are pure, childish chaos. I drive like a woman possessed, taking the sharp hairpins on two screeching wheels and cut-throating Cash at the apex every single time his kart tries to slip past me on the inside lane.

I am laughing so hard my abdominal muscles actually hurt.

Cash is hooting like a madman behind me, trying to repeatedly ram my plastic rear bumper on the straightaways, his oversized plastic googly eyes bouncing wildly on their metal springs with every bump in the track.

“That’s an official league penalty!” he screams. “Two minutes in the box for intentional interference! I’m calling my lawyer!”

“The ref didn’t see it, so it didn’t happen! And I am your lawyer, so good luck with that suit!” I yell, swerving directly into his path and forcing him to slam on his brakes with a dramatic yell.

He manages to draw perfectly level with me, his elbow practically brushing mine. He looks over, winking. “See ya, slow poke.”

“Not today!” I scream, throwing my weight forward as if it would make the kart go faster, cutting him off at the final turn.

I cross the painted finish line a mere hair’s breadth ahead of his front bumper, pumping my right fist into the air like I’ve just won the Stanley Cup.

I climb out of the vibrating kart, dizzy and exhilarated, my heart pounding against my ribs with a genuine joy I haven’t felt since before law school.

“Victory!” I shout, doing a ridiculous little shimmy, using the oversized sleeves of his hoodie to wave in his face.

Cash climbs out, groaning as his massive legs unfold, shaking his head with a massive grin on his face. He yanks the googly-eye glasses off, letting them hang from his collar.

“You cheated. You definitely cheated. There are tire tracks on my sneakers, Scottie. Pretty sure that’s attempted manslaughter.”

“You’re just a deeply sore loser who can’t handle an elite driver,” I say, stepping right into his space and tapping his chest. “Now, where is my cheesecake?”

“You want cake after putting my life in mortal peril?” He grabs the hood of the oversized sweatshirt I’m wearing, pulling it down over my eyes so I’m suddenly plunged into darkness. “The audacity. Truly.”

I laugh, swatting blindly at his hands until I push the hood back up, my hair a disheveled mess. He’s looking down at me, breathing just as hard as I am, his eyes bright and crinkling at the corners.

He reaches out, plucking a stray piece of track debris out of my hair with an unexpected tenderness that makes my chest tighten for a second, before he immediately ruins it by wiping it on my sleeve.

“Fine,” he says, slinging a heavy, sweaty arm over my shoulders and dragging me toward the exit. “Cheesecake it is. But I’m ordering the expensive one just to dent your pride.”

“My pride is bulletproof, Finny. You pay, I eat, that’s the deal.”

***

After eating way too many deep fried cheesecakes we finally reach the motel. Cash stops right in front of me, the neon sign of the Holiday Inn reflecting in his eyes.

“Thanks, Scottie,” he says, his voice becoming incredibly soft.

“For absolutely destroying your ego at go-karts or for spending all your money on cheesecake?”

“For… for just being here through this. For not running back to Boston when things got messy.”

I reach out, my hand steady, and pat his chest right over his heart.

“Don’t go getting all sentimental on me now, Cash. You still have to face Coach Scottie at exactly five o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“I’m terrified,” he says, but the soft, lingering smile on his face tells me he’s anything but.

I go into my room, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t check the lock three times. Because for the first time in years, I don’t feel like I’m the only person standing guard in front of the door.

I have a goalie and he’s pretty damn good at stopping whatever comes our way.