Page 123 of Final Drive

I catch my father in the parking lot with one hand on the car door. He turns at my voice, keys still clenched in his fist, and for a second we just look at each other.

I don’t thank him. I can’t. He built the thing he just risked his license to undo, and we both know it.

So I give him the only thing I can.

“We’re in lane four at nine-forty. West bank has the better view of the finish.”

He looks at me for a second before sighing and nodding his head once. “I’ll be there.”

“I know.”

He gets in the car. I stay where I am until he pulls out, then head back inside, where seven men are doing a terrible job of pretending they haven’t been watching through the lobby windows.

Beckett reaches me first. “Well?”

“We’re certified.”

Zane makes a sound I’ve never heard come out of a human being. Bo closes his eyes and drops his head. Tyler says, “Nine-forty,” like he’s confirming it for himself and immediately starts typing on his phone.

Jackson doesn’t say anything. He turns and walks straight out the side door. Through the glass, I watch him stop in the parking lot and put both hands on top of his head. Nobody goes after him.

He’ll come back when he’s ready.

Later, I’m on the balcony outside my room, looking toward the course lights nine minutes away, when Tyler finds me.

“You should know something. The complaint was withdrawn twenty minutes ago.”

I look over. “Dismissed?”

“Withdrawn. By the attorney who filed it.”

“Harrison cutting his losses.”

“That’s the obvious read.” Tyler adjusts his glasses and leans against the railing beside me. “But Kinsley Adams was expelled on Tuesday. Sophia’s statement hit the Title IX file Monday. The article ran Wednesday and put your father’s name in the second paragraph. Now the complaint disappears.”

I follow him there. “Quinton’s out of moves.”

“On paper.” Tyler looks toward the course. “That’s what bothers me. I’ve watched him play the long game for two months, and now every piece he was using is gone. He can’t hide behind Kinsley. He can’t use the complaint.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning he just lost the board.” Tyler keeps his eyes on the lights. “People like that don’t stop. They stop being careful.”

Down at the course, somebody’s running a launch up the lane with the lights on, and the wake goes out flat and silver across all six lanes.

A thought hits me.

“He’s here.”

Tyler doesn’t ask who I mean. “Signed in at the media gate at two this afternoon. Guest credential. Somebody in the athletic department cleared it.”

I keep my eyes on the water.

“Tell the others.”

“I will.”

“Not tonight, though. Tomorrow morning, before we launch.” I glance at him. “And tell Jackson last.”